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it-was-summer · 3 days ago

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... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can.

A/N: This fic genuinely had me tearing up as I wrote it. Therefore, it shall hold a sweet place in my heart. As a kid, I used to say, "If something makes you feel, then it is good." I still believe that today. If it makes you happy, sad, flustered, ANYTHING! To feel something while reading is such a beautiful reaction to media. I often cry at movies, I cry when I read romance novels, I cry when I read poetry, and I laugh when I do, too. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you feel something, Em <3 (I also apologize for vanishing; I got sick, and it made me feel brain fog)

Link to the Ao3: ... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Grief support group, mention of death(s), loss of romantic partners, struggling with mental health, tears, the rise and fall that is nonlinear healing, fear of forgetting a loved one, falling in love after tragedy, Spencer sounds like he had therapy, Maeve mentioned, guns mentioned, she/her pronouns for reader used at like one point, Reader's POV for the most part, Reader is in extreme denial and feels guilty, a secret other thing??, lightly proofread tehe!

Genre: Light Angst, Some? Hurt/Comfort, Fluff! Pairing: Season10! Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Meeting Spencer at a grief support meeting might be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to you- but it's all relative in the eyes of love.

Word Count: 9,791

You were pacing a dimly lit parking lot outside of the funeral home. It had been eleven months, two weeks, and three days since Alexander’s death. The grief meetings occurred every third Wednesday, and everyone was lovely enough. You just couldn’t find it in yourself to go inside this particular Wednesday. Because it was on this date, two years ago, Alexander had gotten on one knee at the aquarium and asked you to marry him. It was two years ago that you had said yes, not knowing that a little over a year from then, he’d be dead.

Your feet kept making strides to the double door entryway, only to slow to a stop when your hands reached the door’s push handle. Then, you’d shake your head and turn around to circle the parking lot once more. With your luck, the meeting would be over before you even got the courage to go inside.

A groan escapes your throat as you firmly put your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the Summer sky. “I’m sorry,” Your voice is raw, barely a whisper as you struggle to keep yourself from crying. You knew everyone said not to keep it in, to express your grief freely. It minimized stress. At least, that’s what the grief counselors say.

The worst part was no longer knowing who you were apologizing to— yourself or Alexander.

You were walking around one of the parking lot’s street lamps when you saw someone standing at the doors, frozen in place. It was like watching a mirror of yourself—rigid shoulders, twitching hands, shaking head.

You approach the man slowly, your image warped in the reflection of the glass doors. He turns to face you before you can speak, and he looks like you did eleven months ago. His eyes have dark circles around them, tinted with a red water-line and dull cheeks. That doesn’t stop you from gracing him with a gentle smile, “Are you going inside?”

His eyes meet yours for a second, looking away to glance back at the doors. “I’m not sure.” His voice is quiet, scared. He sounds like he is still on the fence. You nod, drawing your lips into a tiny line as you drop your hands to your sides. “Are you?” He asks, stepping out of the way for you.

You feel your mouth open to say you are going inside, but the words never come. Instead, you shake your head side-to-side timidly. “I’m not sure either,” You laugh out feebly. He nods, a dull smile gracing his delicate features for a millisecond before looking off with a forlorn expression.

“I was thinking about walking around the parking lot again… to try to gain the confidence to go inside. You’re,” you pause, wondering if it's a good idea to offer the man an invitation, “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

The man looks at you again, his eyes widening for a second. You’re sure he’s about to decline, return to his car, and drive away, but he nods. You feel yourself smiling. It’s a little subdued, but it’s real. You mouth a silent ‘okay’ as you move your hands to your pant pockets, stepping away from the doors with this mourning stranger. You figured you didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, so everything was quiet as the two of you slowly walked around the large parking lot.

Eventually, your quiet stranger speaks, “Thank you,”

You shrug a little, sniffling, “It’s daunting, especially the first meeting.”

He frowns a little, watching your eyes flit over to him and then back to the night sky. “That obvious?”

“Only a little, but that’s not a bad thing.” Your voice is gentle as your feet slow to a stop, a light smile appearing on your face as you stare into the night. Spencer tilts his head to look at the stars, silently hoping that what makes you smile will make him smile, too. “Do you see her yet?” You ask, voice like honey.

He feels like crying as he says, “No,” He doesn’t even know who you’re looking at.

Your right hand is coming out of your coat pocket as you point to Cassiopeia slowly, tracing the stars with your index finger. “Cassiopeia, she’s a little low right now, but in a few months, she’ll get higher. You see her?”

And Spencer does. He feels his body relax, just for a moment. “I do.” He feels himself smiling a little at the sky, and the feeling feels almost foreign. His gaze falls back to you as you stuff your right-hand pack into your pocket, “I’m– I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Spencer.”

“That’s alright; I didn’t introduce myself either,” you sigh before you tell him your name. He nods at your response and follows you once your feet start moving again.

“Have you—” He motions to the funeral home in the distance, “ever been inside?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a funeral home grief support group regular.” You joke lightly, though the soft chuckle you let out sounds like a sad one.

He nods, nervously adjusting the beige cardigan on his chest. “Is everyone—I mean—” He draws his lips closed as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Do you like it?”

Your feet slow for a second as you think about it. Sure, everyone was friendly, and the support was more helpful than harmful. But did you like it? You give him a little nod when you answer, “Yeah, it’s been nice. Less,” You tilt your head slowly like you’re choosing your words carefully. “Less Lonely.”

Spencer lets out a relieved-sounding sigh as he mutters a gentle “Right.”

“I just,” You swallow carefully, “I’m having a hard time going in today. My fiancé proposed two years ago today. I just— I mean everyone inside knows, I just,” You trail off for a second, sniffling lightly as a cool breeze brushes against your watering eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. With Maeve, he had barely met her in person before she was murdered in front of him— the future pulled out from under him. Nowadays, he spends his time rereading books, remembering conversations on the phone, and mourning her silently in his apartment. Sometimes, he didn’t know which would be worse: losing her when he did or ten years down the line. Nonetheless, there is no Maeve to help him answer that question.

He struggles to find the words for a second before he nods, slow and unsure of himself, “It matters.”

You grin at how scared he sounds, the sound of a man holding on to the memory of a face that keeps fading away in his mind. “I know,” you can feel the ghost of the engagement ring on your left hand, a ring that now lies in a coffin.

As the two of you get close to the building once more, you ask, “Are you going to go in?”

Spencer swallows hard, the knot in his throat making it difficult for him to breathe. “Maybe next meeting,”

You nod, “Me too.” You stare at your car in the distance before you feel yourself standing in the parking lot with Spencer— unmoving. “I know it’s not a lot, and I know that I can’t help that much, but,” You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the keypad cautiously before holding it out to him. “If you ever want to talk about it, or anything really, I’d be happy to talk with you.”

Normally, Spencer would decline such a kind gesture. He would thank you, drive home, and find solace in something familiar. His fingers twitch lightly as he reaches out for your phone, staring down at the keypad for a second before he puts in his number. He doesn’t know why he wants to talk with you. He thinks it’s because talking with a stranger about Maeve seemed less daunting than talking about it with his coworkers— his friends. You barely know him, and that makes your offer seem safe. No preconceived notions, pity, or gentle promises of being there for him, just a stranger talking to another stranger.

Two weeks go by like usual— no text from your stranger named Spencer, coffee for one at the café that was Alexander’s favorite, taking his mom to dinner on Thursdays, and so on. Sometimes, the days blur into a muddled painting filled with muted tones, and you try your hardest to remember when everything had a vibrant hue.

Most days are easy, easier than most, at least. It’s not that you forget about him. You remember him when you see a couple holding hands or golden retrievers going for walks, you think about him with everything you see, and it feels good to remember him. You’re happy to have known him so well, loved him so deeply. But all the love inside you has nowhere to go, so you go to his grave on Saturdays, hoping you can pour all the love in your heart onto a tombstone with his name on it. It never works, of course, but it helps.

You're running late this particular Saturday morning. You have two coffees in hand—one of which always goes untouched—and you’re stuck on the metro. That’s when you see him again, your stranger sitting in the fluorescents of the railcar.

Pushing through a small crowd, you approach him, slowly taking the empty seat next to him. Spencer doesn’t look up at first, his eyes glued to the book in his hands. That is until you’re leaning over to him to say a small “Hello,”

He jumps at the sound, head snapping to look at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised you remember him, but he is. “Hello,”

Your eyes meet his, “Do you remember me? I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have invaded–”

“No! I mean, yes, I remember you. You’re not invading my space. You’re fine.”

You let out a relieved sigh, looking away from him for a second to look down at the cups in your hands. His eyes follow your gaze, and he offers you a shy smile, “Are you meeting someone?” Small talk was never his strong suit.

You look at him, eyes lingering on his polite smile. “Oh,” you laugh like it's funny. “No, it's just me.” Spencer gives you a confused look, and you quickly answer his silent question. “I visit Alex’s grave. He loved black coffee. It was the most unsettling thing about him.”

Spencer doesn’t know how you’re smiling so wide as you say it. How could you talk about someone you lost and smile so wide talking about them? Would he smile like that one day? Would he even have things to smile about, or would what-ifs haunt him until the day he dies?

You find that you hate the silence that follows, the lack of sound creeping over your skin, making you itch to say something more. “I’ve always liked cemeteries too, so bonus, I guess.”

That gets you a sharp laugh, “You’ve always liked cemeteries?” Spencer’s eyes seem slightly brighter now, less red than two weeks ago, and they’re laser-focused on you.

You happily nod, “Always thought they were beautiful. It’s a creation of love, a way for your love for someone to live on.”

“Not sure everyone thinks about them that way,”

“Well, I guess they wouldn’t, and that’s alright with me.” You hum softly as the intercom announces in a static-filled voice that the railcar will be moving soon. “It’s quieter that way.”

Spencer glances towards the intercom for a second before turning back to you, “I suppose you’re right— about the quiet thing, not sure I agree with always liking them.” And he’s smiling at you, a real smile.

You feel yourself smiling back, wide as ever, “What’s your opinion on cemeteries then?”

“I’d like to say I don’t have an opinion on them, but if I had to form one, I would say they’re…” He trails off for a second, thinking about it more now. He laughs for a second, “Well, I suppose I find them rather serene.”

Your eyebrows raise for a second as you study him. How he seems to be relaxing in the conversation, and you can’t help but consider extending him an invitation to your weekly visit with Alexander. The longer you stare at him, the more you think the worst he can say is no, so you ask. “Would you like to join me?”

Spencer reels back slightly at the invitation; it feels intimate, yet he doesn’t want to say no. He wants to see what you see, to understand your mind, “I–” He looks away for a second, staring at the still-opened book in his lap. “If you’ll have me.”

Once you are on the street, you hum lightly while walking beside him. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind very much, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his book that now resides closed in his hand at his side. He’s nervous for some reason. He doesn’t understand why you invited him, nor why he said yes. He thinks maybe he should announce that he has other plans, turn on his heel, and book it in the other direction.

But when the two of you tread closer to the cemetery gates, you start talking again. “I hope you don’t find it strange that I invited you. It’s been a little under a year– well, a year next week– and I know it might seem weird, but I’d like to think he’s happy about me having a new friend.”

He knows it is a coping mechanism, and he knows Alexander cannot feel anything anymore. Spencer’s a man of science, but hearing you say that makes him feel at ease. His shoulders unwind slowly, “He sounded like a nice person,”

You let out a playful hum, “Sometimes. If he didn’t like you, he made it pretty obvious.” You pause for a second, glancing over at Spencer. “He was tall, kind of like you, and nerdy. But he was so funny; no one knew how funny he could be. They never listened hard enough, you know? I hated that people would talk over him in a crowd. To me, he was the only person worth listening to.”

Spencer finds him smiling at that, following you as you take a left. He sees that you're smiling, too, and when the two of you get to his grave, you’re still smiling. You let out a happy sigh as you talk, introducing Spencer as “Your new friend.”

For a while, you tell him stories—memories from when Alexander was still alive—and he finds he doesn’t mind listening to them. He sees them as a great distraction from his lack of happy stories with Maeve. You’re laughing a little as you tell him of the time that Alexander’s mother wouldn’t stop sending him a massive, bulk-sized trail mix every time she sent him a care package in college. He had so many bags that they lived under his bed for the better part of four years.

“Did he even like trail mix?”

“Honestly? Yes, but he only liked the chocolate and peanuts. It would just be massive bags with an abundance of raisins inside.” You shake your head a little as you stand next to Spencer.

Spencer lets out a slightly amused hum. His mind keeps going over how good you are with everything. You talk about Alexander openly. You don’t hold your feelings back. You smile so wide, even when you look at his headstone. He wants to know your secret— some secret to grief that he has yet to uncover.

His mouth opens briefly, closing quickly as he shifts his weight awkwardly beside you. He sucks in a nervous breath as he tries to muster up the courage to speak. “How do–” He sighs heavily, “I mean, I’m sure you struggle–” He licks his lips nervously, your eyes meeting his slowly. “When does it stop hurting?”

You’re silent for a second, your soft smile fading as you stare at him. He’s scared that maybe that’s the wrong question to ask as he watches you turn your head to look down at Alexander’s grave. He is about to apologize when you whisper, “It feels different now.”

Spencer’s mouth snaps shut as he waits for more, his eyes scanning your side profile slowly for some sort of sign that you’re uncomfortable. “Last year, it just felt like–” A pause, your free hand rising to your chest slowly. “It felt like someone had plunged a dull knife into my chest and left me for dead.”

Spencer’s chest tightened for a second, his own heart feeling painfully dull as he listened to you.

“But, I’m not the one who died. Alex did. I was so angry— disappointed that he had the nerve to leave me when we were about to start the next chapter of our lives together. I had–have– all this love inside my heart for him, and he’s gone. It took me a long time to understand that, to be okay with it.”

Your words catch in your throat, and you clear your throat quickly. The familiar burn of tears threatens to build in your eyes as you force yourself to look at Alexander’s grave. “He was so kind, and once I got past that feeling,” your voice sounded thick. “Life kept going, and so did I. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living my life. When you love someone, you only want them to be happy– with or without you.”

You sniffle lightly, relaxing your shoulders slightly, “It never stops hurting, I guess, but days get better. I’m happy that I got to be a part of his life. I find some comfort in that. Somewhere, in the story of him, I’m there.” Eventually, you find the courage to look over at Spencer. When your eyes meet his, you find that he’s staring at you with a compassionate expression. You can see the understanding in his eyes. You swallow hard, pushing the emotional lump down your throat.

“It does get better.” You whisper, your voice warm.

Spencer nods quickly, mouthing a little ‘I know’ before his eyes trail away from you for a second. A cool breeze passes between the two of you when he says, “Just needed the reminder,”

The next time you see him, it’s the third Wednesday of the month, and he sits right next to you. You find yourself smiling a little when he does, nudging his shoulder playfully as more people fill the space. He scoffs playfully, the silent gesture letting you know he’s happy you’re here.

The meeting passes like usual: New members share their stories, grief counselors hand out business cards with their phone numbers, recurring members offer kind sentiments, and then, just near the end, your seat partner stands up.

Your eyes widen for a second as you watch Spencer stand, his eyes laser-focused ahead as people turn to look at him. You watch how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. A shaky breath leaves him as he tries his hardest to start talking. His hands flex for a second, pressing against his pants to wipe off what you can only assume is sweat.

He stutters for a second, his confidence creeping away from him. You’re surprised when he turns his head to look at you. His breathing steadies as he watches you. “I’ve been having difficulties sleeping again. After,” His hands move a little as he speaks, his eyes periodically looking towards the rest of the group before trailing back over to you, “I just– I used to have a hard time sleeping, and lately, it’s been happening again. Every time I sleep, I see her, and I feel so–” He used to dream of her after her death, dreamt of touching her, but these were different. Dreams that constantly left him waking up feeling devastatingly alone.

He shakes his head a little, “It’s been seven months, and I keep dreaming of everything that could have been.”

The confession is met with comfortable silence and sympathetic looks, but not from you. You’re nodding, an encouraging smile spreading across your face. For some reason, he likes that better. “I don’t like leaving her when I wake up.” The admission feels like a weight lifting off his chest when he says it.

There’s a pause of silence before he sits down, unsure of what else to say besides his admission. As one of the counselors begins to talk to Spencer, he finds himself listening intensely. Seven months, and he’s finally willing to take some much-needed advice.

After that month’s meeting, Spencer has back-to-back cases. He’s keen on keeping in contact with you, which you’ve said he doesn’t have to do if he doesn’t want to, but he insists. He likes having someone to update, a friend waiting to see him when he’s free.

The next time he’s free, it’s a rare Saturday. He’s been awake since five and can’t seem to go back to sleep. He does keep dreaming of Maeve, but they’re a little different now. This time, he was in a cemetery with you. It was freezing, the kind of cold where you could see your breath, and you were laughing about something when the two of you bumped into her. Maeve’s not angry. She just laughs and glances at Spencer before hugging you. You hug her right back and say something– and that’s when he wakes up.

Spencer doesn’t like the feelings that stir inside him with that dream: confusion, curiosity, sadness, something else. The feeling is warm, tinged with an overcoat of sorrow, and he finds himself needing a good distraction.

However, reading isn’t helping, nor is the crossword. So eventually, he finds himself getting ready to go out for the day in the search of a good distraction that will get his mind off his dream.

He doesn’t know why he thinks about the cemetery where Alex’s grave is on his way to get coffee that day, but he does. A part of him feels that a nice walk will do him good, so, coffee in hand, he finds himself walking… then taking the subway… then ending up in front of Alex’s grave… alone.

Spencer’s lips slightly pout when he sees no coffee cup on the headstone. He knows that you have yet to visit your late fiancé today. He doesn’t exactly know why he’s visiting your late fiancé today; without you, it feels… strange.

The longer Spencer stares at the letters etched in stone, the more he feels a realization dawn on him. He feels guilty… guilty for dreaming of you, guilty for craving your warmth right now, and guilty for a million different little reasons.

Spencer feels his lips part for a second, a sigh escaping his lungs, before he whispers, “I’m a mess. " He knows he’s talking to thin air, but he feels lighter, admitting it to himself.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling. All I know is that I shouldn’t be, and it won’t do anyone any good, and secretly I think–” He sucks in a cold breath of air, “Secretly, I think I don’t deserve it.” The grave is silent, of course, but Spencer smiles anyway.

For a while, he thought his future had passed him by. A brief image graced his vision before leaving him blind. He can see now. He sees that he still has things to do, goals to accomplish, people to meet. Then he’s walking away.

Two meetings and four coffee ‘dates’ later, you’re rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you watch Spencer laugh over something with one of the grief counselors. It’s a strange feeling to see him laugh so openly. It's heartwarming if you’re being honest. It’s hard to explain it, and the feeling is too intense– too raw. It’s a feeling you dimly remember, and suddenly, you’re nauseous.

You have a crush, which is incredibly laughable because you’re an adult. The last time you had a crush on someone was three years ago, Alexander. This almost feels cruel. The longer you stare at him, the more real it becomes.

Spencer catches your eye for a second and excuses himself from the conversation in his polite Spencer way. When he reaches you, he smiles warmly: “Somebody’s all smiles.” You hum with a playful roll of your eyes.

Spencer pouts for a second, good-natured and playful, as he mutters a little, “When did smiling become a crime?”

“It isn’t. I’m just being observant, and you have a nice smile.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but he seems to catch on anyway. Spencer’s eyes seem laser-focused on you, studying you carefully. Internally, you’re beginning to pray that his profiling skills fail to notice the classic signs: your sweaty palms, wandering gaze, and too-tense shoulders.

And if he does notice… you hope he doesn’t say anything. That’s not Spencer’s way, and you know it. “Everything okay?”

You nod quickly, “I’m good, sorry, I was just thinking about… bills.” You know he catches the lie the second you say it; you can see it in his amused smile.

“Bills?”

“Bills.”

“I’m not sure I like this story you’re going with, but if you’re sticking to it, I won’t pry.”

You nod, letting your shoulders relax as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Thank you,”

“I was thinking,” Spencer starts as he grabs his messenger bag, following you out. “We could get dinner together Friday night.”

“Why?” Your tone is a little flatter than you’d like it to be as Spencer walks you to your car. You'll admit the idea of being alone with him is nice, but the admission feels strange— still too raw, surreal.

“Because…” He trails off slowly, hoping to find a better reason than it being because he wants to have dinner with you, but the longer he sits with the ideas, the more he feels like you’ll turn down his idea. He feels self-preservation take over, and for the first time (and what he hopes is the only time), he lies to you. “My teammates are having a get-together.”

“Oh!” You say as the two of you reach your car. “And you want me to meet them or?” The idea seems less daunting. Yes, Spencer and you had been to get coffee together, but that was just coffee. Dinner seemed too intimate, but dinner with friends? Now, that was less scary.

“Yeah! Yes, I think it’d be nice!’ Spencer’s voice cracks slightly before nervously clearing his throat in a weak attempt to control the anxiety that creeps into his tone. “Would you… like to meet them?”

You’re leaning against your car door, and the air smells sharp with the promise of snow, and Spencer’s sure you’ll decline. You grin, nodding slightly, “Sure, I mean, it’s just dinner with friends. What time Friday?” Your arms fold over your chest, pulling your coat closer to your body.

“Six.” He doesn’t know how his fake dinner has a time, but he’s surprised at how easy it is to come up with one. “Nothing fancy. I’ll, um, text you the address.”

You watch him for a second, trying to read him the way he reads you. His voice seems higher in pitch, and his eyes keep glancing at yours. You chalk it up to him being nervous. The combination of two groups already frying his nerves before it even happens. “Can’t wait. See you Friday.”

Spencer stuffs his freezing hands in his pockets as he watches you enter your car and drive off. Then, the panic sets in.

He’s tailing Derek desperately, “Listen, I know it’s rushed, but–”

“I don’t see why you can’t just text her the address and ask her out. Straightforward.” Derek says as he takes the left towards Penelope’s office. “Or you could say we canceled and make it just the two of you.”

“Considering I already lied to her once, I’d rather not lie twice. And–” He fumbles with his words for a short second. “It’s not a date. I just thought she thought it was one, and I panicked.”

“What’s wrong with it being a date?” Derek asks, knocking on the door gently before entering Penelope’s office.

“Date?” Penelope echoes back as she turns in her chair.

Spencer holds out a hand defensively, “It wouldn’t— it’s complicated! Please say yes. You’re the first person I’ve asked.”

“Asked what? Am I going to be asked?” Penelope chirps as Derek hands her a coffee.

“Pretty boy here,” Derek motioned to Spencer with a light wave, “Lied to one of his ladies. Invited her to a team dinner that doesn’t exist.”

“A team dinner would be fun! With a new addition, too!” Penelope said with a sip of her coffee. “When?”

“Friday,” Spencer mumbles, avoiding her gaze.

“Friday, as in, tomorrow Friday?” She sucks in a breath of air, “Spencer…”

He frowns and mouths a little, ‘I know’. He looks at them, pleading, “Please, even if it’s just the two of you…” He trails off slowly, watching Penelope and Derek share a look.

“I’ll text the rest of the group.”

“Not the whole story,” Spencer adds as Penelope pulls out her phone. “Please.”

“I’m already doing you one favor, boy genius.”

Spencer is surprised at how many of his team members agree to dinner. JJ, Penelope, and Derek all promise to bring their respective partners. Rossi and Hotch politely decline, but given his sudden plans, he doesn’t blame them.

However, by the time five-thirty rolls around, he can see that he’s been played. The first text comes from JJ, claiming that Henry is sick and that she can’t make it. Derek follows, saying that he accidentally double-booked and cannot cancel his reservation with Savannah. He can feel himself sending a silent prayer to Penelope before she, too, is texting him to cancel.

So now, he stands outside the restaurant in a long brown trench coat and purple scarf tied tight around his neck. When you arrive, adorned with a cream sweater and rosy cheeks, you ask him the inevitable: “Where’s the team?”

Spencer's throat tightens as he answers, “They’ve canceled, so it’ll be just us if that’s alright with you?”

He can see your smile falter momentarily before you nod, “That’s fine, another time.” You shiver a little, glancing towards the restaurant. “Should we…?” Spencer, silently elated that you aren’t leaving, nods and hurriedly rushes over to open the door for you.

Once seated, you are greeted by a slightly uncomfortable awkward silence. You’re sure that it will soon resolve itself, but Spencer seems too lost in his thoughts, and it becomes clear that if you want this long silence to end, you’ll have to speak first.

“I’m sorry every–”

“Do you–”

The two of you stare at each other briefly before laughing softly. Spencer’s eyes crinkle a little when he’s laughing, a feature you seem to be adoring silently before he says, “I’m sorry that everyone canceled.”

You push out a little breath, your gaze falling to the menu on the table. “That’s okay, I’m sure everyone has busy lives.” You shrug a bit before glancing up at him, “I do have a question for you, though,” You watch as Spencer’s back straightens, and he gives you a small smile as the ‘go ahead.’

You flatten out the front of your sweater nervously, “Do you think it’s weird that I was supposed to meet your friends— the team?”

Spencer gives you a slightly confused look before you quickly add, “I don’t think it is, but I was talking to my coworker about tonight, and she said it seemed like an excuse for a date. Then I explained it, and she called it weird, and I don’t know—Do you think it’s weird?”

Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up against his will, and his head shakes from side to side, “No! No, it’s not weird.” he pauses, thinking about it for a second. “Well, maybe a little. But not for you, for me. You’ve never expressed an intense interest in meeting them, but they mentioned bringing someone, and I thought—” He motions to you with a shaky hand, “Thought you’d be a good person to bring to dinner. You’re lovely, and my friend, and I—” he feels the rest of his words die in his throat. He wants to tell you that he wants the team to meet you. He wants everyone to see how wonderful and kind you are.

He feels his mouth dry, realizing he wants you to meet the team now. He wants a third party to witness your calming effect on him, and, most importantly, he wants them to like you because he likes you.

A slow ringing grows in his ears at the full realization of his feelings for you. Your smile, usually calming, has his heart leaping in his chest. He finds himself leaning closer when you say, “I didn’t think it was weird either,”

Spencer lets out a little huff of relief, “Good, that’s good.” His heart was beating fast in his chest. He knew he had feelings for you but was unaware of how deep they ran.

“Though I will say, it is strange that they all canceled.”

He feels awful lying to you. He can count two lies now and doesn’t want to tell a third. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one. They all did it at the last minute. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind, though I was scared this was all a set-up for a date.” You laugh as if it’s the silliest idea you’ve heard.

Spencer can feel his heart in his throat, his breathing quickening slightly. “Would it be bad if it was?” he can’t stop the words from spilling out, his eyes widening at his sentence.

Your surprised face stares back at his, breathless as you look at him. You’re about to say something when the waitress comes by to take your order. You manage a slight, polite smile as you order before you’re staring off at Spencer. His nervous eyes flicker between the waitress and you as he orders quickly.

When she’s gone, you stare at each other with bated breath. You draw in a slow, calming breath when you say, “I don’t know,”

“You don’t… know?”

“I just, I haven’t thought about—” You pause, knowing it’s a lie. “I have—” You correct gently before you let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought we were friends.” Your voice cracks slightly.

Spencer draws his head back at that, “We are friends. We are. I didn't know if you ever thought about—” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. What is he aiming for here?

“Anyone dating you would be lucky, Spencer.” You say, sweet and gentle. You don’t know how to save this situation. Your love for Alexander will always be in your heart, strong and genuine, but… looking at the man across from you.

You watch his fingers nervously trace patterns on the glass of water in front of him, how he’s looking at you with such a sweet expression. You just didn’t think this would happen to you. You were sure that Alex was it. He was all you would ever know— you had resigned yourself to it.

Would you be a bad person if you fell in love again? After everything, it feels… selfish, dirty, wrong, terrifying. “I’m not sure I’m your best option.” Is what you settle on.

Your heart silently breaks as you watch Spencer’s face fall. His nervous fingers slow their movements until he whispers a sad, “Right.” There’s a pause, like he’s deciding what to do next. He then nods, like he’s coming to terms with something.

“Right, I’m not saying I’m looking–” His brown eyes scan your face, “I’m not even sure I want something like that. I don’t know why it sounded like I was. I just want you to know that I—” He swallows thickly, “I like being your friend.”

“Me too! I like being your friend, too.”

“Good!”

“Great!”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “So we’re on the same page?”

“Same chapter and everything.”

Spencer lets out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding slowly.

The rest of the dinner seems normal; the interaction from earlier seems to be brushed under the rug, and you’re grateful it is. However, the topic kept worming its way into your train of thought. The nagging thought of ‘What if…’.

It's not a terribly horrible idea to date Spencer. If you were honest with yourself, you had thought about it before—not obsessively, just in passing. A little whisper of an idea, lovely and new. It was nice to fantasize about love, but it was just a fantasy. You had a great love, and you were grateful.

Wanting more than that was greedy.

After dinner, Spencer insisted on walking you home. He wouldn’t listen to a single one of your protests and simply convinced you with a firm, “I’ve seen what happens to people when they go off alone late at night,”

The reminder made you readily accept his company on the cold December night. Walking by his side, watching how your feet started to sync in step, your mind began to wander. What did a date even feel like? It had been so long since you’ve had a date… you weren’t even sure you would know if you were on one unless it was explicitly said.

The thought makes you chuckle, earning the interest of one Doctor Spencer Reid. “What’s on your giggling mind?”

“Nothing,” You sigh, glancing over at him. “I was just thinking about how long it's been since I’ve been on a date. I don’t even think I would know if I was on a date if I was on one. Someone would have to sit me down and explain it to me,”

Spencer’s lips quirk upwards at the idea, listening to you. The sweet look he’s giving you is not lost on you as you continue to ramble, “I mean, I’m not even sure I remember the last time I tried to look for a date.”

“Care to take a guess?”

“Uhm,” You draw out the sound as you think, your tongue wetting your lips. “Six months ago, maybe, kind of, sort of?”

Spencer’s clever mind quickly realizes that this failed dating experience happened a month before he met you, and then he notes that it also happened ten months after Alexander’s death. “And.. What do you mean by that? How does someone, kind of, sort of, maybe look for a date?”

You roll your eyes, “It wasn’t really my idea. My friends convinced me to go on some dating apps, and I tried!” You laugh lightly, “Well. I pretended to try. I just didn’t like it. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

Your feet falter momentarily before finding their pace next to Spencer again, “Something from a Nora Ephron movie, maybe? Something like You’ve got Mail.” As you say it, you see the strange look on Spencer’s face, and it makes you grin. “It’s a romantic comedy.”

He mouths a soft ‘oh’ and feels awkward because he still doesn’t know what you mean. You’re quick to explain, “It just means I had high expectations. Alexander and I were friends for a while before we,” You trail off before you wave the sentence off with your hand. “I just didn’t like it. Felt too forced.”

Spencer understands that part, slowly taking a left with you. “Haven’t tried that yet.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He grins and nods, “What do you recommend?” His curious mind was getting the better of him. His left hand slipped out of his coat as he waited for your answer, his knuckles dangerously close to yours.

“In a world seemingly becoming increasingly dependent on technology for everything? I’d recommend shooting your shot with every pretty stranger you see.” It's a joke, but the idea of Spencer asking for the numbers of every pretty person in DC made your chest feel strangely tight— a light reminder that your crush was still going strong. And you’ve already turned him down.

“I’m not sure you’ve been paying close attention to me these past four months,” He jokes lightly.

“Oh, trust me, I have been.” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself, and you can feel your cheeks growing impossibly hot.

Spencer’s quick to tease, “You have been?”

You nod, trying to act like it's nothing but friendly, but your nervous breathing might give you away. You take a steady breath, happy to think that if he sees red on your cheeks, you can blame it on the cold weather.

Instead, he slows to a stop just steps away from your apartment complex. You stop, turning to look at him, and when you see him, all composure leaves you with one little glance. Spencer’s ears are red, his hazel eyes glued to yours, and his hands nervously fidget with his long purple scarf.

He draws in his lower lip nervously, his brow furrowing in the way that lets you know he’s meditating on something in that beautiful brain of his. His hands move as he begins to talk, “I have been too,”

With that, you feel all the air knocked out of you, and your trembling fingers hide in your pockets. You’re not sure what he wants you to say or do. It feels like a confession, making your heart pound in your chest. His sweet eyes study you, “I’m not sure what I—” He steps closer.

“Not sure what I want. All I know is that I feel something—” He makes a weird motion with his hands like he’s trying to shape his feelings with his hands. “Hopeful? I don’t know! I just,”

“I know.” You rasp out, nodding quickly. “I know.” You repeat it because you do know. You know what he’s feeling, that dangerous feeling of tentative hope, the sense that something is beginning again. The world shifting into focus and becoming colorful again.

Spencer’s gaze softens as that, and then the two of you just stare at each other for a moment. Guilt seemed to creep into your chest, invading your heart the longer you stared into those pleading brown eyes. Some part of you wanted to give it a shot, take him in your arms, and just let go. The stubborn part of you couldn’t let go of what you once knew.

What would you say to your friends— or worse, Alexander’s family? Thinking about being happy with someone else again felt like a betrayal.

Spencer could see the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes glossed over with emotion, your back rigid, and he knew you weren’t ready. The feelings you were feeling were ones he wrestled with weeks ago after visiting Alexander’s grave. “I visited his grave without you a few times.”

Your brows knit together at that, stuttering gently as you manage a soft “Why?”

“I felt guilty about how I feel about you. I thought visiting his grave would make me back down, but it didn’t. I visited Maeve’s grave and thought about my feelings there too. She would have liked you.”

“Spencer, don’t–”

“You told me once that he would’ve wanted you to be happy with or without him. Why can’t you let yourself be happy? I know it’s uncharted territory; it is for me, too, and he knows you don’t love him any less–”

“You didn’t even know him!”

Spencer's lips draw into a tight line at that. You can’t stop yourself before saying, “You don’t understand the love I had for him. It was different from how you felt about Maeve. It was special.”

Your breathing is heavy, and you're trying to stop yourself from crying. The second you say it, you regret it. Your rigid posture slacks, and you step towards him quickly, but he steps back once you get closer.

“You don’t get to say that,” his voice is colder, his eyes cast down to his hands. Then he takes a sharp breath and looks up at you; his warm hazel gaze turns cold. “My love for her was just as special as yours was for Alexander. I can see that, even if you can’t. But at least I can see when something exceptional is right in front of me. Unlike you, I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers again.”

Your mouth feels dry as you try to respond, anger and guilt fighting an internal war inside you before Spencer turns on his heel and says, “Goodnight,”

The snow starts again as you watch him walk away, blinking flakes out of your lashes, cheeks red from the tears falling as you watch him disappear around the corner.

The conversation is still fresh in your mind at dinner with Alexander’s mom Tuesday night. She lives just outside the city in Maryland, so whenever she made her way into the city, you made it a point to meet up.

She watches the way you’re staring at your sandwich. The intense look you’re giving the meal almost makes her laugh. “Don’t be upset with the club. We can always get you another sandwich, dear.”

You raise your head slightly at that and let out a nervous laugh, “No, the sandwich is fine. I’m just thinking. I’m sorry, Shannon.”

Shannon lets out an understanding hum, waving you off with a simple flick of her wrist as you apologize. “Is it work?”

You give her an easy smile, “Ah, no. It’s… confusing and probably boring; don’t worry about it.” She gives you a little look that says, ‘Come on, really?’ and it makes your smile widen.

“When you retire, everything is confusing and boring, so lay it on me.”

“Shannon, please, I promise you don—”

“I will make you pay for this meal; do not force my hand.”

“I am paying?”

“Exactly. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

You slump in your seat and nod in defeat. “Alright, well,” you wet your lips nervously, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. “You remember last time I mentioned that I had that friend from the group? The genius—Spencer.”

Shannon nods, motioning for you to keep going slowly, “Well, lately, he and I have become aware of some feelings for each other, and I–” You can feel your legs trembling, “He just doesn’t get it. I can’t do that to Alex or you. He just doesn’t understand—”

“Sweetheart, slow down.” She held up a hand, an amused look on her face as you rambled at the speed of light. “Start over.”

You let out a little huff, trying to calm your growing nerves. You roll your shoulders back, gaining some composure, “I have feelings for him, and I thought it was just a passing crush, but now it’s getting so messy. And he told me that he has feelings for me too, but I told him off, and we haven’t talked in four days– which would be fine if we didn’t fight, but we did— and I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“He’s really sweet and great, but I just… I keep thinking about my love for Alex and don’t want to let go of him.” Your voice gets quiet with the admission. “I’m happy loving just him, only him.” Your voice shakes lightly, forcing your gaze down, your eyes filling with tears.

You hated telling her this— hated telling her that your stupid heart found itself attached to someone other than her son. You mentally prepare yourself for something, anything, yet you still cringe when you feel her hand rest on yours.

“He’s dead–”

“I know–”

“No, listen,” Shannon says sternly, watching as you lift your gaze to meet hers. “He’s dead. Every day, I have to remind myself he’s dead. I know you do, too.” She frowns for a second before she gives you a weak smile. “But, you? You’re alive. You’ve experienced a loss no one should have to experience at your age, and yet here you are. Would he be ecstatic over you falling in love with someone else? Not quite, but I know my son. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Or worse, unhappy.”

You blink away tears, your bottom lip trembling, “I don’t want to forget him,”

“Who said you’re going to?” Shannon jokes lightly, giving your hand a light squeeze. After a moment, she whispers, “Knowing Alex, he probably sent Spencer your way.”

You laugh at the idea, but the sound dissolves into a little sob, “He would.”

Shannon brightens momentarily, “He was always jealous of how good you were at trivia night. Maybe he wanted someone to beat you for once?”

“Spencer can!” You laugh harder than you should, but you can’t help it. You picture Alex’s face, joking about how you have too much useless knowledge in your brain.

As your laughter dies away, a wave of anxiety rolls over you. “I was awful to him last Friday.”

“Then make it up to him,”

After much deliberation, you knew you would, or at least, you would die trying. The next meeting was in two weeks, which seemed too far out. After three texts, two calls, and one voicemail, you decided to go to him.

You had been to Spencer’s apartment once before and were sure it was on this block… maybe. It was early Saturday morning, and you could only hope he would look out his window and see you pacing the sidewalk.

But an hour passed, and the cold wind forced you into a coffee shop down the block. Shivering as you waited for your coffee, you glanced at the unread texts you sent him one last time before stuffing your phone back into your pocket.

Clearly, he didn’t want to see you, much less talk to you. You chewed on your bottom lip, lost in thought until you resolved that seeing him at the next meeting would have to do if he didn’t text you back before then.

And so, two weeks and no texts back later, you sat in your usual foldable seat and waited. But he never showed. Your eyes watched the doors patiently, and you counted every last participant, thinking that the next one had to be Spencer.

But they weren’t. He was nowhere to be found. You had sat on your feelings for him for weeks, sat on with nasty comments and behavior for two weeks, and found yourself still waiting. He didn’t have to attend every meeting, but you felt even more desperate than before. Hating the feeling, you left halfway through.

It wasn’t like you could force him to talk to or forgive you. But it hurt knowing just how much you had hurt him. Were you being selfish for wanting a chance to confess to him again? Was it selfish how you looked for him in every crowd?

The unfortunate reality of your pain was that you were so scared of falling in love again that you pushed love away before it could even touch you. You found yourself driving to Alex’s grave that night. It was out of your way, but you didn’t want to go home just to wait by the phone again.

After parking in a nearby parking lot, you found yourself standing in the middle of a very dark, isolated cemetery. If Spencer were here, he would say how dangerous this was, maybe even throw in a statistic just to solidify his point.

You smile, eyes adjusting in the moonlight as you look down at your dead lover’s grave. You crouch, touching a bouquet of almost-dead flowers at the foot of his grave. “Was I bad at this with you, too?” Your fingers trace the brittle petals of a dying rose.

You can hear the crunching of gravel and slush approaching you, and a part of you freezes. As the sound gets closer, you can hear panting, your head turning cautiously to look for your rapidly approaching company.

When you see the silhouette of a man not too far down the trail, you tense. How stupid were you to be in a secluded area in the middle of the night? You curse under your breath and stay crouched, hoping it’s just a late-night jogger passing through and that he won’t see you if you stay low.

Your eyes stay on the figure, and you mentally go over possible escape plans when you see it— a messenger bag. What kind of serial killer or jogger wears a messenger bag? Your tense shoulders briefly relax for a second at the thought.

Then, a hint of moonlight illuminates your huffing stranger— messy brown hair and a crooked tie. You stand, “Spencer?” You say his name when he approaches you, the moonlight letting you get a glimpse of his soft eyes for a moment. “What are you… How’d you know I’d be here? What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t at the meeting,” He huffs, leaning over to rest his palms on his knees.

“I–” You scoff, slightly amused. “I left early. Did you show up?”

“No,” he admits, his tone becoming sharper as he catches his breath. “No, I–” he hesitates for a moment, “I saw your car on my way home, and I got worried, and I–” He roughly drags a hand through his curls, “You shouldn’t be in isolated places like this late at night.”

Your shocked expression melts, and your lips quirk into a slight smile. Spencer sees this and responds sharply, “I’m being serious!”

You hold up both hands, “I know, I—” You sigh, a slight chuckle following the sound before you say, “I knew you were going to say that. I could hear your voice when I parked across the street.”

“Maybe you should listen to it sometime,”

You nod, and then a moment of cold silence follows. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you feel your lips moving against your will, “You never called,”

Spencer can feel his heartbeat quicken, “Wasn’t aware I had to.”

“You didn’t have to. I just would have–” You cut yourself off, nervously licking your lips. “I wanted you to.”

Spencer stays quiet before he replies with a soft “I’m sorry,”

You find your smile returning as you shake your head, “That’s my line,”

He lets a little chuckle at that, ready to tell you it’s okay, when you quickly add, “I’m sorry for how I acted three weeks ago. I shouldn’t have been so cruel or close-minded, and I should have been honest with you about my feelings. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry for implying your love for Maeve wasn’t special. Oh, Spencer,” You let out a heartbroken sigh, “I feel terrible. I was such a bad friend, and these past few weeks, all I’ve wanted to do is make it up to you.”

You can feel the tears threatening to fill your vision, your cheeks burning in the cold as you let out a meek, “Tell me there’s something I can do to make it up to you,”

Spencer can see your pleading eyes in the moonlight, and his chest tightens at the sight. Ignoring your calls and texts wasn’t easy, but he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. You weren’t ready to move on, and neither was he— not completely, but he didn’t want to try with anyone else. He only wanted to try with you.

He swallows thickly when he says a sweet “You’ve already done it,” Then you’re beaming at him, and he’s right back where he was three weeks ago. As you dry your misting eyes, he softly confesses, “I watched You’ve Got Mail.” He pauses, smiling lightly when you give him a surprised look through your tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I–” He nervously moved his hands as he talked, “I watched any Romcom that I could get my hands on because I—”

You smile as he trails off, his hands twisting together in that nervous way that tells you he’s scared to say the rest of his sentence— he’s too afraid to say he missed you. “Me too,” You confess, “I missed you, too.”

He nods, a grin on his face as he looks at you. He can feel his confession rising in his throat, his lips moving awkwardly as he tries to gain the confidence to confess to you again.

But, before he can say anything, you’re speaking, “I don’t know if you still feel the same as you did three weeks ago, but I–” You swallow hard, clearing your throat softly. Your hands move with you as you speak, the cold making them feel slightly stiff. “For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine myself happy with anyone other than Alex.” You blow out a sigh, glancing back at his tombstone. “I thought one great love was enough— I only deserved one. I was happy with that, and I felt lucky for it.”

You can feel yourself trembling, and you don’t know if it’s the cold or your nerves getting the better of you; nonetheless, you keep going, “But lately, I’ve been thinking— hoping really— that you’re the expectation.” You squeeze your eyes tight at that last bit, trying to calm your breathing as you wait for his response.

“If anyone deserves more than one great love, it’s you.” Spencer’s voice sounds closer, soft.

When you open your eyes, you realize he is closer, inches from you. You gaze up at him, giving him a light smile when he whispers, “We can take it slower,”

“I like slower.”

He laughs and nods, “Me too,” he holds out a cold hand for you to take, “Let me walk you to your car?”

You stare at his palm, watching your cold fingers intertwine with his. The sensation makes the tips of your fingers buzz with anticipation. You feel his hand gives yours a slight squeeze before guiding you to the parking lot across the street.

It’s not the last time you walk side-by-side, holding hands in the middle of the cold East Coast winter, and he’s determined to make sure it’s not your last.

And whenever anyone asks how the two of you met, Spencer lets you tell the story, his hand slipping into yours as you say, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story.”

#fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #dr reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #...and fall in love whenever you can #it-was-summer

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apiptosis · 1 day ago

Text

Part 2 while I try to figure out tumbler.

The second one to meet Danny was one Cassandra Cain.

Cass ran into the thermos guy about five weeks after the incident with Tim. Unknowing this would Kickstart quite the changes in her life.

It was chaos for a while after Tim's 6 day long coma. For the first time in a very long time her brother was completely awake and refreshed. His completion returned to the healthy shade it's supposed to be and the bags under his eyes disappeared completely for a while.

The cause of Tim's coma was a caffeine overdose well that and an untreated concussion. According to Dr Leslie the last lingering traces of the larzarus pits managed to bring him back from the edge and now everyone in her family was religiously monitoring his caffeine intake. His time at the bat computer. How long he was allowed to be at WE. Etc.

Her brother was a saint for how long he lasted but eventually he got so fed up with everyone that he started a fight with Jason and Damian at the same time and after a brutal fight she, Alfred and Bruce had to break up Tim stormed off to buy the first apartment he could find that was reasonable enough.

So there she was in the early morning hours breaking into the old aparrment, room no. 404 was supposedly haunted, to give him the dented thermos she stole back from Bruce and Alfred as an apology. She even went to the Coffee shop at the corner of her studio that Tim liked and refilled it. No masks needed.

Cass was barely into the unfamiliar room when a frighteningly familiar voice appeared behind her accompanied by the singing of an unsheathed sword. "Truly Daughter, that you have allowed-"

An abnoxiously loud slurp interrupted her mother and in retaliation she stabbed the source. Said source had barely managed to turn one of the desk lamps on before he released a grunt of pain as Shiva stabbed him in the gut and he dropped his coffee mug to shatter on the floor.

A normal sized man would have recieved a mortal wound but the guy was atleast seven feet tall and struck his now vacant meaty paw out to grab Shiva by the forearm hard enough that she had to let the blade go.

The moment she let go he hefted her in the air by her arm uncaring of her kicks and merely chastised her with the barest hints of a Midwestern accent. "That was incredibly rude and since you stabbed me with it this saber is now mine." With a clean motion he tossed her out through the open window.

The whole scenario threw her off kilter and the few seconds it took her to realign herself he had already defenestrated Shiva.

With a grunt he pulled out the blade and set the bloodied thing on his sink with his ruined shirt before pulling out two chairs. 'Why would he do that? Everyone knows you don't just pull out something sticking into you, that was a sure way to bleed out.'

"I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you miss but that was rather unpleasant, you have my sympathies if that was truly your mother. So why dont we start over while I make us a cup of coffee."

"Names Danny and you are welcome to the Astral Apartments room 304." The man, Danny, said as he busied himself with the coffee machine.

"304?" For the first time Cass' rattled mind found it's voice that night. Danny immediately ought onto her confusion and radiating concern asked. "Yep 304. What room were you looking for?"

"404. Brother. My name is... Cass."

"The new guy? Moved in 5 days ago? Yeah, he left about an hour ago. If the pattern repeats he should be back in about four to five hours. It's nice to formally meet you Cass."

That was not good.

"Here," Danny said as he placed the a carton of milk and some sugar cubes down on the table next to the - yeah no that was not a cup of coffee - while it may look like an odd cup that was definitely a rather large steaming mug of coffee.

As Danny moved to take a seat Cass could find no trace of hostility from him. Her skills with spoken and written language might not be the best, it has gotten better though, her skills with the language of the body and emotion however was. Danny gave her no hostility or even dislike. Just pure concern, a lot of warmth, and comfort and a little bit of curiosity and some interest. Definitely a sense of protectiveness.

Her own worries and concern faded to curiosity and interest as she saw the wound much smaller than it was before.

"You can stay here till your brother gets back. He's usually here by the time I have to leave for Gotham U."

Slowly Cass sat down and prepared her coffee the way she liked it. Tradings one basic facts like her being a ballerina and prodding about here and there with the occasional prompt she soon found him rambling.

About his classes, how studying at Gotham U was going and how different they were from his schools in Illinois. He was studying to become an aerospace engineer. Random tidbits of space. It was kind of cute in a way how this behemoth of a man with a smile a little too toothy and bright or ears a bit too sharp rambled about his interests, eyes shining lie stars.

Eventually she had to leave when Tim arrived no matrer her own reluctance. That he was shirtless and easy on the eyes was a bonus and not one of the reasons she stayed.

As she left she concidered her options. This man with stars in his eyes would no doubt attract attention from the rogues. If she patrolled here as Orphan no one would really care all to much. It's just her way of lightening Tim's burden and keeping an eye out for Shiva.

She can come visit as Cass as well, perhaps get him to eat something. His fridge was very empty when she saw him returning the milk.

Grabbing one of the sticky notes she always kept by her she wrote down her number for him alongside a mental note to look at the academy a little but.

A few seconds after Danny closed the door Danny again. "So that's where by thermos was! I could have sworn I looked there."

#The Phantom vacation #cass x danny #dpxdc prompt #ghost king danny #dead silent #dcxdp #Cass grew up with assassins and mercenary so it's totally normal to stalk er observe a poi.#The bat's aren't any better.#lady shiva #You stab me with it and I'll keep it #dc universe #dcu #batman #cassandra cain #tim drake #He's mentioned #eldritch danny

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twentyyearstoolate · 2 days ago

Text

You awake, groggily, strapped to a metal slab - at least you think it's metal, although it's no metal you've ever seen or felt before - and the light is too dim to make out anything else in the room. It reminds you of the detention hall back in high school, but more round, and-

"That's enough... Susan."

A figure emerges from the gloom - it walks on... six legs, you'd guess, from the patter on the metal surface. It looks almost like a stick bug - like the ones you used to keep as a kid. Your old terrarium wasn't big enough for the four you kept, but you and your parents didn't know any better. Oh, it's your mom's birthday on the 26th, you still haven't gotten her a pres-

"ENOUGH!"

"But I didn't say anyth... Wait. Are you reading my mind?"

The creature chuckles, shockingly without making any noise or moving its mouth... mandibles?

"Yes, they are mandibles, Susan."

Now you understand. It was trying to intimidate you earlier with the whole name thing. What does it want? You suppose you've already asked it. The whole thing reminds you of a story out of Weird Tales. Volume 28. Or was it 27? Maybe-

"Will you pay attention? Xlaxar above... We... are the Yttites. We seek to dominate all life across the uni- Wh- STOP THAT! DISGUSTING!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"The gall of this troglodytic ape. We seek to... conquer all life across the universe. On behalf of the Grand Emperor, we- Stop. Stop. I know not what this 'God-Emperor' is or the... 'For Tee Kay' from whence it springs but they are not alike, have you heard a single word I've planted in that thick skull of yours?"

"I'm really sorry, I've been off my meds for a while."

"Mrist, communicating with you is like trying to read a dozen datapads at the same time. Yes, mrist is a swear word. No it's not like 'fuck,' it has nothing to do with forni- oh. I suppose it is, then. I-"

It pauses.

"I can feel your... flitting about, are you all like this? ...Six percent... ...Six percent that are diagnosed? No, stop, I don't want to hear about premium healthcare. Healthcare premiums, whatev- STOP! SHUT UP!"

"Look, my brain's just like this, okay? I can't turn it off."

Its face betrays no emotion, but through some sort of empathic link, you sense a creeping dread come upon the creature. It backs out of the room slowly. Sort of like a slapstick routine wh- Oh, it's run off.

---

"Commander. I recommend immediate return of the captive and an emergency condemnation order on the planet."

"What's got you so worked up? You never- oh. Oh dear. Oh yes. Agreed. Get the cognitohazard off my ship, posthaste. And carefully, we don't want to risk backlash... Why did it imagine you with... those?"

"I'm going to visit the psychodoc to flush this experience. I suggest you do the same. Let us never speak of the horror again."

The psychic races of the galaxy thought humans would be easy prey. That is, until they abducted you, an unmedicated ADHD college student.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #creative writing

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jpegarchives · 2 days ago

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𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏, 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐄 — 𝐑. 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐀

rintarō suna x f!reader

rintarō suna’s guide on how to ruin a friendship, twice

cw ; none for this chapter

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

preface

upon picking up this book, most people would be wondering, why would anyone ruin a friendship, not once, but twice?

while it’s true that friendships are thought to be unbreakable safe havens, bonds that can withstand the test of time, it’s often the people closest to us that hurt us the most. maybe it’s because we just them to stay that their actions cut us the deepest and hurt us the most.

dear reader, this guide isn’t for the faint of heart. it’s for those who have loved fiercely, perhaps too fiercely to the point of destroying what once was thought to be indestructible. this guide is for those who are looking for second chances, a way to amend the broken, a way to rebuild something stronger.

and if you're lucky—or unlucky—enough, you might just discover that ruining what once was can lead to something far more than friendship.

so, welcome to rintaro suna's guide on how to ruin a friendship, twice. let's get started.

THE SUMMER RINTARŌ SUNA TURNED SIX might have been the most memorable summer of his life.

Maybe it was because it was the first summer he can still fully recall down to the smell of the sweet grass of the field near his house where all the neighborhood kids played, or maybe it was because of the little (h/c) haired girl that moved across the street from him, but either way, it was a summer he’s sure he’ll never forget.

Rintarō Suna has never been an expressive person, even in his youth. Despite many attempts, the most anyone (his family included) could coax out of him would be a sigh or a roll of his eyes. He wasn’t much of a ‘talker’ either, preferring to stay silent and let others steer conversations while he would just nod along, sometimes he’d even throw in a word or two.

The summer after he turned six also turned out to be the summer he learned to become a little more expressive and just a smidge more talkative, all thanks to the little (h/c) haired girl who moved in across the street.

Y/N L/N DIDN’T KNOW MANY PEOPLE in the area she moved to in July of 2010, all she knew was that her father had gotten a new job and her family would have to move.

Moving from one side of Aichi prefecture to the other had some minor consequences: moving houses, changing schools, and making new friends. Y/n L/n loved her friends from her old school, and making friends was always a daunting challenge. Especially when you’re six years old, and starting in the third term as opposed to the first like everyone else.

But for Y/n L/n, it seemed as though making friends was akin to breathing for her. It was almost as if she was a people magnet, drawing others towards her like moths to flames.

And Rintarō Suna was the biggest moth to her flame.

a/n ; this is unedited/not revised or proofread teehee

taglist is open! link to be added ; @massacremars @archelangeli @sahrii @noleavemealone777 @kr1nqu @bbybibi @tanuki-tanuki @esunarint @eggyrocks @pookalicious-hq @sunathnker @mybelovedvi @hanadulsetaad @whorefornoodles @bertqut1 @saltypuffin1040 @choizzn @loveyislost @gigiiiiislife @lulumallow @thesleepinglion @kinichval @heartmaddie @sunarots

#jpegarchives’ writing.jpeg .ᐟ #jpegarchives writes.jpeg .ᐟ #suna rintaro haikyuu #haikyuu x reader smau #suna rintaro smau #rintaro suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #miya atsumu #miya osamu #bokuto koutarou #hinata shoyo #shinsuke kita #akaashi keiji #oikawa tooru

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soapcloth · 2 days ago

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Love, and it’s teeth {prologue}

Dark au -> gourmand cannibal!Price x reader

Series CW: 18+ MDNI, cannibalism, stalking {will update as I go}

not edited - 1000 words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Price, for all intents and purposes had not meant to engage in Internet forums on the topic of cannibalism. He would sooner paint a bright red target on his back accompanied by the words ‘I eat people’- and yet, something about the way you defended ‘cannibalism as a metaphor for love’ with your whole chest had piqued his interest.

‘It’s a load of shite, love.’ he typed out simply in response to your post, blunt thumb jamming the send button on his touch screen. His phone buzzed almost instantly with your response.

‘lol, don’t call me love. Just say you lack whimsy and move on 😭 anyways I’m not arguing with an old British man, ‘JohnP1977’’

He scoffed, shoulder bulk shaking as he pawed at his jaw incredulously. He spent the next few minutes typing and deleting as he puffed on one of his cigars; every response coming off far too incriminating. He finally settled for tapping your icon to snoop around your profile, there was no discernible personal information at a glance aside from the fact that you were an adult, but digging into your media tab rewarded his diligence well. There you sat on your bed, oot’d? ooted? Whatever that meant. He grinned, double tapping on the photo.

Like clockwork, his phone buzzed in his hand- a direct message popping up. He smiled, languid and knowing. ‘creep 👎’ was all the message said. ‘Just showing you how whimsical I can get x.’ He responded.

Your typing bubble popped up and subsequently disappeared in a seemingly infinite loop. ‘fine’ you finally sent. ‘what do you have against cannibalism being used as a metaphor for love?’

You- all too cozy in your bed, watched your screen with your lip drawn up past your teeth. ‘Nothing, love.’ He acquiesced ‘Just not realistic, that’s all.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘ok? not exactly going for realism here, buddy’

‘Buddy? We’re friends now? What’s your name, love? Since we’re buddies and all.’

You bit out a weak laugh at his gall. ‘you sound like a serial killer’

‘Would that be okay if I was doing it as a metaphor for love? x’

You hadn’t thought much about that man with the blank profile since blocking him after he had spammed you with likes, notably on pictures with places you frequented as the subject. It had freaked you out enough to make you deep clean your little personal account and set to private. The right choice, evidently, seeing as a few blank profiles had requested to follow you before he had finally given up. Soon, over a month had passed since you had resolved not to visit your favourite- that fact well-documented, local bar due to the aforementioned string of incidents.

As luck would have it, this seemed to be a good choice, burnt toast theory or whatever you wanted to sum it up to. It was all over news and radio in your town, two patrons, a man and a woman, had gone missing right after leaving in an unmarked ride share. Reports had suggested that they had gotten into the wrong car and local officials spoke about the possibility of a curfew and urged towards the use of established taxi services and public transportation for those getting around.

You currently sat back at that same bar, a bleeding heart for the poor owners that had lamented in a local social media group about the winter business they relied on to pay the ever-increasing bills all but dying out, putting them out a good chunk of money since investing in higher quality security measures in hopes of instilling greater public trust. You watched the blurry, soundless released cctv footage play on the news between sports game coverage as you sipped on your drink, eyes flitting between the yellowed flatscreen and a group running a trivia night. You sighed, taking another sip as you overheard someone beside you talking about how this whole disaster had been great for his cab business, likening it to a boon.

“Christ, have some respect.” A deep voice grumbled from your other side, causing your head to rip to the new stranger being dismissively jeered at by the offending party. A bearded man had somehow silently slotted himself into the seat to your right without alerting you. Catching his gaze, his eyes appraised you for a moment before he tutted and shook his head. “Distasteful lot they are.” He hissed, “Don’t even know if they’re gone yet.” You huffed out a quiet breath and nodded in response, not too keen on being cordial. His voice carried a proper British lilt, the accent a reminder of your short-lived cyber stalker. “This town always so crass?”

You sniffed and looked back, shrugging. “Maybe, dunno.” You mumbled. Something about this guy gave you the creeps. He was handsome enough, older, well kept, and filling out his wool-lined Levi’s jacket like it had been tailored around his body specifically, but there was something in the way you caught him licking at his teeth and gums out of the corner of your vision- the smile you could make out as he watched the news pop up once more, it twisted your gut- made you feel like it was a mistake coming here.

“Can I grab my tab?” You spoke, flagging down the bartender that you had caught making eyes at the patron beside you. She smiled and nodded, and you desperately wished her face would have hinted that she had caught the same vibes from him that you had, something to make you feel like you weren’t reading into it or making things up. “Leaving?” The man asked as you grabbed your winter coat. You nodded, causing him to dive into his pocket for a well worn wallet, treated hide of some sort. “Let me, love.”

You nodded, the less you’d have to talk to him the better and something told you that he wouldn’t drop it if you had refused, anyway. “Thanks.” You breathed. “Have a nice night.” See you never, hopefully.

“Get home safe.” He replied, grinning with teeth.

#‘gourmand cannibal’ okay spirit Halloween non copyright costume…!#john price #captain john price #price x reader #john price x reader #x reader #cloth writes

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umathurwin · 14 hours ago

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you know i love the thrill of the rush

jj maybank x f!reader

Summary: There’s a serial killer lurking around the island, and even though they’ve been sticking to Kook targets, you really wish your best friend would stop acting so strange. Is he on drugs… or selling them?

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

“You’re wearing sunscreen, right?” JJ called from the back of the boat, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Yes. Mother.”

She kept her eyes squeezed shut but she knew he was glowering at her. “Well damn, my bad for not wanting you to get melanoma.”

The boat swayed under her, but as long as she wasn’t reading or wasted, it was quite relaxing. She’d jumped at the chance when JJ offered to take her out on the old dinghy to catch some rays while he did a little fishing.

She lay on the flat stretch on the front of the boat, towel under her to protect her from the wet fiberglass surface. The bikini she’d ordered online ended up having far less coverage than she’d expected—ideal for sunning and wearing around JJ’s sneaky gaze. It wasn’t too hot now that summer had eased off, his tunes had perfectly set the tone for their afternoon, and she was about to lull off to sleep.

Until a putrid smell hit her nose, and she curled up in disgust without trying. “Oh my God, JJ, what the hell are you using for bait?”

“Chitlins,” he announced gleefully, dipping the bucket into the water on the other side of the vessel to rinse the slime out.

She retched. “Smells a little too–” ack! “–fermented to be pig guts. Are you sure they’re not rotten?”

“No, I am not,” he admitted, reaching behind him for the pole and grinning when fish began swarming under the boat. “But if it works, it works.”

Unfortunately proving him right, the lure hadn’t been wet for five minutes before he was pulling in a gorgeous red drum. Small enough for JJ to easily wrangle onto the boat, thwack on the back of the head, and toss in the cooler. “Text Pope and tell him to rev up the deep fryer,” he announced proudly.

Y/N shivered, combing her hair back to tie it up out of her face. “Fine, but I’m complaining about the nightmare I went through to get it.”

“No problem,” he said. JJ reached in the boats seat storage, pushed aside a set of dark, crumpled clothes, and removed a roll of black canvas. He splayed it out on the vessel’s bench, revealing a row of blades, ranging from baby paring knives to needle-like filleters to thick cleavers.

She peered over the metal, coated in innards and blood stains galore. “Cool carrying pouch. Looks pretty handy.”

JJ’s head snapped over. “Did someone say ‘handy’?” he asked excitedly, and she demonstrated an aggressive, squeezing, pepper-grinding motion. “That’s traumatizing. Hey, dude, I totally forgot to clean these from last time. D’you mind washing these off with the Dawn in the glovebox?”

“How am I supposed to rinse them?”

Blink blink. JJ dramatically looked left and right outside the boat. “Surely that’s a joke.”

“The chum water?!”

He scoffed, rolling up the pouch again. “Fine. We can wait until we get back to the dock and use the hose there.” Then, after she turned back, “You’d never survive a trip with John B and I.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to!”

***

Y/N pushed open JJ’s front door without knocking. He wasn’t the type to lounge in the nude or masturbate outside of the bedroom, so she’d gotten used to barging in without any heads-up.

She toed her shoes off to the side and ambled to the kitchen. One hand pulled open the fridge and the other tugged her hair out of its knot atop her head. God, he needs to restock on beer, she thought, opting for a soda instead. The ticking clock on the wall caught her ear just as it passed 4:30. Her fingers drummed on the counter.

After knowing him so long, Y/N was more than comfortable hanging out at JJ’s house alone. She doesn’t intend to; if he’s out, she’s usually with him, and if he’s not, he’s sound asleep in his bed.

But that hasn’t been the case, as of the last few months.

Sometimes, like today, she’ll arrive at an empty place and have to make herself at home. More often, though, he was already there and randomly sprang up with a lame excuse to leave.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go run somewhere. I’ll be right back.”

Short, simple, and used a lot. It wasn’t exactly random, nor frequent, but always unexpected to her. They’d be watching TV together or eating a late-night snack and he’d get really antsy. Before she could ask if he was alright, he’d slip out and come back an hour or so later. JJ is a free man, he can come and go as he pleases, but she still side-eyed him peeling out of the driveway and wondered where he had to be so suddenly.

Y/N flopped on the couch, turning on the TV and setting it to Criminal Minds. Something post-Elle, pre-Ashley. He must’ve been out for ages, because the reruns had her in a deep sleep long before he returned to the house.

The front door opened, the wood crackling in the frame. The stomping noises that followed drew her out of the nap. Her first, panicked thought was that Luke was making a surprise visit before remembering the old bastard had disappeared to fuck-all Atlantic City months ago. It was just JJ.

She sat up on the couch, rubbing at her eyes to force the sleep out of them. “Hey, bud, ‘bout time you came back.”

When she adjusted to the light and finally got a good look at her best friend, she was left with more questions than answers. He stood dumbfounded at the door, like it wasn’t perfectly common for her to be at his house without him. What was even weirder than his demeanor, though, was his entirely-black outfit. From his long-sleeve shirt, to his jeans, to his lace-up boots. Was he carrying gloves?

“Bro, what is that get-up?” she asked, looking up and down at the clothes. He looked good, it seemed to give him a couple inches in height, but definitely wasn’t his normal look. “It’s stylish, can’t lie.”

He stared down at himself. “More subtle at night. You know how I hate attention.”

… Right. JJ carefully pulled the shirt off by the back of the neck and started shamelessly unbuckling his pants. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked, awkwardly sidestepping to the closet with his washer-dryer and dumping the clothes in the unit. “D’you mind getting me some, eh, brighter clothes out of my dresser?”

She nodded, skipping back to his bedroom as he continued awkwardly undressing. Any excuse to be nosy in his belongings.

The top drawer of his dresser had his undergarments, she remembered, but did he want any? She held the white t-shirt and basketball shorts in her hand, eyeing the drawer curiously before pulling it open. Wouldn’t hurt to grab a sock.

She found socks, alright. Along with hefty Ziplocs stuffed with white, flat pills, rocky snow-colored powder tightly wrapped in plastic, not to mention profuse amounts of marijuana in textured, vacuum-sealed bags.

Her jaw was on the floor. Hey, JJ liked to party, that she was well aware. But a lot of this stuff was out of both their wheelhouses, especially in this quantity. This was… this was the stuff Kooks did.

And that’s when it hit her. JJ’s a fucking plug! Duh, that’s where he was always going at random times—probably where he just got back from. Also why he started wearing inconspicuous clothing and why there’s about $5,000 worth of narcotics at her fingertips. She pushed the drawer shut without fetching any socks.

When she returned to the living room, he stood in his boxers, face softly illuminated by the nic between his lips.

“You look pale,” JJ noted around wisps of smoke. “Did you see the Victorian ghost in my room, too?”

“You’re funny,” Y/N stammered, pushing the new change of clothes into his arms and trying not to check his bare body out too much.

When she backed away from him like a rabid animal, he laughed. “No. Seriously. What sex toy of mine did you find in there?”

“JJ, I know what’s going on,” she spat out. How could he keep this from her?

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Bro, I saw the drugs. I know you’re a dealer. Clearly with a clientele outside our tax bracket.”

The only sound between them was that stupid washing machine churning around his black clothes. JJ rotated through a few expressions (mostly confusion) before exhaling through his nose and grinning. “Guess you’d find out eventually,” he confessed sheepishly, eyes blinking up at the ceiling.

“Seriously,” she smiled back. “Why didn’t you just tell me? We’ve been smoking for years. You think I’m gonna judge you?”

“Nah, nah, just figured you’d turn me into the IRS for not declaring the income,” he joked, stepping forward to stick his fingers into her sides until she wriggled away. “Now, go pick something for us to watch while I go commando over here.”

“Gross!”

***

Good Lord, what has she walked in on?

Y/N dropped her backpack on the counter, untangling her keys from her fingers and taking in the view. JJ stood redhanded at the sink– literally, he was carefully holding one of his favorite t-shirts, a scarlet souvenir from their sophomore year homecoming game. The teal rubber gloves on his hands weren’t even the most bemusing part, no, that was the domed mask he wore in the comfort of his own kitchen.

“Question one,” she began, eyes flicking back up to his covered face. “Since when do you own dish gloves and N-95s?”

He scowled before realizing the stiff covering was taking the effect away and tugged it down over his chin. “Is it so hard to believe I clean sometimes?”

“Last week you wanted me to wash your Dexter Morgan cutlery with chummy water,” she said pointedly.

“Boat rules.”

“I’ve seen you make scrambled eggs in a dirty pan, and then eat them right from said dirty pan.” He had no retort. “What’re you doing, anyways?”

He bashfully looked back down to the shirt. “Got a little bit of a bloody nose last night,” he admitted, displaying the shirt and its tragic rusty splatters. It was pretty gruesome, but not shocking— she’s seen his face turn into a leaky faucet after a fight back in high school. If only blood actually dried red.

“And the PPE is for these dangerous chemicals I’m handling, obviously.”

The sole bottle on the counter caught her eye. “I wouldn’t use hydrogen peroxide on this. I don’t think it’s colorfast and it may bleach it. Do you have vinegar? You can scrub it with that, and if that doesn’t fully get it out, you can soak it for half an hour before washing it.”

He blinked and pulled the mask off his ears entirely. “Colorfast? What?”

Y/N lifted the soiled shirt and showed it to him. “The dye will bleed. Happens when it’s not high quality. Again, vinegar?”

“Uh, yeah,” JJ shook his head and reached under the sink for the dusty bottle of white vinegar. “How do you know it’s not good dye?”

“Because every white shirt you own is slightly pink, moron.”

***

JJ pulled open the door to the gas station, allowing Y/N to enter by ducking under his arm. The crisp air inside relieved their bodies of the humidity thickly swallowing the world. Goosebumps erupted down her arms and she rolled her shoulders back to shrug them away.

The cashier spoke loudly on the phone, entirely disregarding the two. JJ squinted at her; they’d gone to school with her way back when. Cass, or something. Her father owned the gas station and made her work some grueling ten hours a week, and she repaid him kindly by selling her underage Kook friends any vape they so desperately coveted.

He accidentally locked eyes with the cashier and pulled his sunglasses down over his face. Y/N returned from the fridge carrying an Arizona tea held tightly to her neck. “You look like a douche,” she said, lip curled in annoyance.

“I’m hungover.”

“You weren’t hungover outside. Just say you wanna look like a douche.” She perused over the candy options. “What are you getting? I’m thinking something fruity.”

“You’re always thinking about something fruity.”

“That’s homophobic.”

“How can I be homophobic? My bi–” JJ started, before Cass cut the both of them off.

“Do y’all mind? I’m on the phone,” she snapped, holding her palm over the speaker of her iPhone. “Sorry about that, girl…”

“Cunt,” Y/N whispered, grabbing a bag of watermelon Sour Patch.

The duo dropped their snacks on the counter, and Cass groaned. “Hang on,” she sighed dramatically to her phone, setting the device on the register. She lazily scanned the items, a couple drinks and some bags of candy. “That’ll be $19.55.”

JJ reeled, eyebrows shooting up from behind his aviators. “My ass. You scan everything twice?”

“No,” she said nastily. “If you can’t afford it, that’s not my fault.” The phone erupted in soft giggles, and Cass smirked as she picked it up and tucked it in her back pocket.

Y/N could tell he was itching to draw this out, and made pleading eye contact with him. He rubbed his nose with his thumb, reaching over to the multicolored row of Bics until he landed on a yellow one and wriggled it out of the display. He dropped it on the pile. “That, too.”

She rolled her eyes, scanning the lighter and reading out the new price, also doctored by some poverty tax she’d created on the spot. He paid, tucked his new purchase into his pocket, and grabbed the candy off the counter.

As they left the building, JJ loudly commented, “You’re right. She is a cunt.”

***

They made it back to his house with the snacks just as the OBX amateur sailor’s competition began, which unfortunately turned into local news once the sun set.

The sound of the washing machine hummed just under the television. It seemed to always be running lately, but she never paid it any mind. Sometimes it was a source of entertainment, like when they’d smoke copious amounts of weed together and watch the dark clothes swirl around in soapy water.

JJ grabbed the remote, turning up the volume until it got her to look up from her Switch, which she’d pulled out when the ship with the funniest name fell out of the top 3.

“Have you been seeing this?”

“... is still at large. Authorities state the killer has claimed the lives of six Figure Eight residents in the last three weeks. Victims have been found stabbed, mutilated, and even burned…”

“Some bastard is going around killing Kooks. What kinda fucked up world do we live in?” he tutted, re-silencing the TV and shaking his head disdainfully.

Y/N snorted. “Oh no,” she whined. “What ever will we do?”

“How offensive,” JJ pretended to scoff. “Don’t even care that people are dying.” He pushed his shoulders back, hands on his hips like a disapproving mother. “They can’t be graphic on TV, obviously. Y’wanna know what I heard the killer does? His techniques?”

Her attention to the video game disintegrated. “I don’t care about rumors,” she said, like she wasn’t tucking the device away in the coffee table’s underbelly.

“Rumors?! I have friends on the force,” he insisted. JJ has a loose definition of the word ‘friends’. “This is straight from the experts.”

“Tell me.”

“The killer sneaks into the house after cutting the lights. Locks all the doors so you can’t escape.”

He’s encroaching on her, face dark but a little teasing under it. “They say he uses some kind of knife, maybe a machete. Once he’s got you trapped, he cuts your throat so you can’t even scream. That’s when the disembowelment starts.”

His body eclipses any light from the kitchen behind him, leaving a shining aura around his frizzy blonde hair. He’s standing so still, but his eyes are fluttering all over her.

“Are you trying to turn me on?” she blurted.

His face brightened. “Does it turn you on? ‘Cause I have a Scream mask in my closet, and we can totally rol—”

“I was kidding!” she stopped him, pushing his thighs so he’d back away. It was always her job to pull the brakes on their banter, lest it go past a point of no return. “You know Voorhees is more up my alley, anyways.”

***

JJ scanned the e-ticket with the disinterested teenager working the booth. Another peeked into his backpack looking for firearms and waved him along without detecting the stash of blunts at the bottom.

He threw the bag over his shoulder and ducked into the festival grounds. His friends were already here– he was late, he hadn’t timed his tasks well, but at least they his favorite local band hadn’t gone on yet. He smacked a mosquito on his neck–so it begins. Hopefully Kiara brought that bug spray that smelled like triple sec.

When he caught eye of Y/N, she was waiting by the festival’s entrance, crouched under a tree. Her nose was buried in her phone, and he could tell when she received the I’m here text he shot her, because her head snapped up excitedly. She looked back at the opening act wrapping up, stumbled up onto steady feet, and jogged to him.

“Just in time!” she noted cheerfully. She reached up, throwing her arms around his shoulders and ignoring the sweat on his neck. “Ooh, you smell like gasoline. And…” She sniffed more, looking past the fumes and boy-smell. “Cut grass? Did you mow your lawn before you came here?”

“Kinda. Did some weed-eating,” he corrected. “I blame ADHD for the shitty time management, but I still made it and the yard looks decent,” he explained, lifting the base of his shirt to wipe the moisture off his forehead. When his eyes were covered, she stared dead at his toned stomach and the sunlight bouncing off the droplets collecting there. Why not, right?

“That took you forever. Did you get behind your house, too?”

“Behind the house? You want me to meet my fate with a copperhead? No, just had trouble filling up the gas tank without making a mess.”

“Copperheads aren’t lethal,” she muttered, then looked around at the food and drink stands. She nodded in that direction and he reciprocated, understanding.

Y/N skipped up to the bar, placing her hands on the soaking wet surface and leaning forward to get the attention of the shack’s manager. “Harvey!” she chirped.

“Hey!” the older man greeted, pouring two drinks for her without her even asking. “So good to see you. How’s your mom’n’em all?” They chatted, he waved away the cash she held out to him, and she beamed a smile before taking her treasures back to JJ.

But when she turned back, precariously carrying the two beverages, a large body shoved her to the side and she lost the top inch of both her drinks. She was ready to forgive, given the stranger admitted it was an accident, but this was not the case.

Local rich snob, friend of Rafe and company, Cole Parker. When he looked down at the shaken girl, he scoffed. “Out of the way, you fucking brat. Some of us can actually afford to buy our drinks.”

Her face burned hot as she scurried away, desperate to not catch the ear of any venue security who would dislike Harvey not IDing her.

“Hey,” she muttered to JJ, praying he hadn’t noticed.

The prayers were unanswered. “What happened?” he asked, still sizing up the situation. “What did he say to you?”

“Ignore him,” she demanded and shot a warning look. She pushed the beer into his hands. “C’mon, let’s just find Kiara and Pope.”

His hand squeezed the plastic cup into a misshapen oval at the sound of her voice catching. The tuning of the band’s guitars forced him to follow her, but he wasn’t ready to let this go. It’s unfair that he and his friends had to duck their heads and run whenever Kooks bite first.

Glancing back at the beer stand, Cole was already shouting at the young employee who brought him the wrong drink. What a prick.

***

Y/N thumbed the front doorknob, staring out onto her porch and the flooded yard. It was too dark to see how far the clouds expanded or how long the storm would last. She wished JJ was here– they’d hole up together in her room and watch House of the Dragon episodes, picking through microwave popcorn, jumping at the thunder until they both fell asleep. She let the door fall shut.

Her gaze fell down, attention grabbed by the front hall light’s reflection. A little ring of water had collected at the base of the door. A weary sigh escaped her lips– anyone who said they loved the rain never lived in a crappy house. She padded down the hallway to get towels out of the linen closet. It’s a temporary fix, but better than the water reaching her damn bed while she slept.

As she pulled the rattiest cloths from the back of the closet, the hall light snapped off, leaving her in icy darkness. Fuck, the stupid storm knocked the power out.

There was more towel than water at the moment, but it would pay off if the rain persisted. Once she was satisfied with the fabric arrangement she’d kicked around, her eyes trailed back up to the lock and deadbolt, both securely fastened.

Wait.

She hadn’t done that.

“Sneaks into the house after cutting the lights. Locks all the doors so you can’t escape.”

JJ’s words rang in her head and chills erupted over her body. Surely she was being foolish, right? The killer only targeted Kooks. Maybe, maybe she actually had locked the door and merely forgotten.

Regardless, she stumbled backwards from the door, bumping into one of the living room chairs. Wait, she shouldn’t blindly move backwards. Where was her phone? Should she call JJ? The cops? Nothing had even happened yet. Calling the cops because her door was locked, they’d think she was cra–

No, no, she was absolutely not fucking crazy because there was a figure standing right in front of the big window in her living room. Clear cut, a tall and slim silhouette cutting a man-shaped void in the rainy backdrop, it would be beautiful if her insides weren’t curdling and rotting within her.

Dear God, she wanted to vomit. Her mind flipped through everything she could do and came up with nothing. The doors were locked, God knows where her car keys are, it’d take too long to find her phone. The figure was only a good ten feet away from her. Tears sprung in her eyes— what the fuck does she do now?

The figure decided for her. “Run,” it said.

If the man in her living room had said ‘jump’, she’d ask ‘how high’. Her feet moved faster than her brain, to her disadvantage, because they did not take her in the direction of an exit. She skittered down the hallway to her bedroom, slipping on the floor runner as she bolted.

It didn’t matter, because the intruder was significantly faster than she and caught up in a matter of steps. He pinned her to the wall and she squealed before he placed a hand on her mouth, keeping her from crying out anymore. The man was drenched, still soaked from the rain, and he dripped over her body, her clothes, the floor.

A flash of lightning hit, briefly illuminating the Scream mask the intruder wore, and everything came together.

The bait, and the knife collection. The gasoline smell on his clothes. Fuck, fuck, her head was spinning. The drugs, that massive stash she’d found in his dresser— if he hadn’t been sneaking off to sell, then what? Were those trophies from his conquests? Like it wasn’t enough to just take their lives?

She felt so small under him, more than usual, until she realized he was actually wearing some kind of hefty boot that changed his height. It’s intentional, to throw off anyone who might see him near his victims’ homes. She wailed, but it was mangled behind her sealed lips. He removed his hand from her mouth and lifted the mask, revealing her bright-eyed, grinning best friend.

“Guess where I just came from.”

When nothing came out of her gaped mouth, he showed a gloved hand and dragged the thumb across his face. In the low light, she could see a dark streak painted on his cheek. Blood.

“Jesus fucking Christ, please tell me it wasn’t Cole Parker’s house,” she pleaded, fat tears rolling down her face.

“Wow. You are the world’s best guesser,” he noted. “C’mon, doll, don’t be upset. Remember how he treated you yesterday? Now he can’t do that to anyone ever again.”

She sobbed out louder, wiggling to escape his grasp. No use. “Please, don’t hurt me, please,” she babbled.

“Stop crying,” he snapped, then shook his head. “Shh, shh, I’m sorry. Look, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d never hurt you. You’re my favorite girl in the world, y’know that?”

“Y- you made me wash the knives,” she bawled, and he had to stop and think back to what she was talking about. “And the t-shirt!”

He snorted. “Hey, you offered to wash my shirt.”

“But JJ, you can’t…” she trailed off, voice high and pathetic.

“What? I can’t what?�� he demanded. “Get a little revenge on the people who’ve made our lives hell? Levels out the playing field, and I get to blow off steam.”

She was quiet, panting and staring up at him with bewildered eyes. He let her process everything, accept the huge revelation she’d just come to. Lightning flashed again, and they both held their breath in anticipation of the succeeding thunder explosion. The lack of power left the home eerily silent, no fans or appliances whirring to fill the emptiness. All that was left was the sound of her gasps slowly evening out.

“What if you get caught?” she asked meekly.

JJ’s smirk came back. “Sweetheart, I’m never gonna get caught.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How many times have you done it?”

It’s a challenge. She’s asking partially to check his credibility, sure, but there’s something else to it. Curiosity, her gaze shifting from scared and threatened to… intrigued. Maybe a little into it?

So he pushed back. He leaned down, getting close enough to her ear that the plastic mask he wore knocked on her temple. No harm in being honest now.

“Ten,” he whispered.

He felt her shiver under him, body arching instinctively into his own. “No, no, don’t tell me you enjoy that,” he shook his head mock-disappointedly. “You like the fact that your best friend is a murderer?”

Her head knocked back against the wall, eyes shutting guiltily as he drew out that last word. JJ’s hand raised, the soft leather connecting with her skin. He painted the same streak on her face that he bore, just so they’d match.

“I’m not sorry about Parker,” he said, daring to leave a kiss on her clean cheek. “I’d beat his fucking face in again, and again, and again. And anyone else who thought about trying me.”

She finally touched him, stopped cowering away like her brain told her to. Instead, she gripped at his wet, dark clothes and sought for zippers, hems, anything to get them off him.

JJ scoffed, unable to enjoy a moment without getting complacent to save his life. “Oh, now you want me, pretty girl? Now that you think I’m cold-blooded?”

“Always wanted you, JJ,” she whined, giving up and pulling his jacket up from the bottom. Her hands found contact at least with his torso, feeling the chilly skin and trying to warm him up. “Didn’t know you cared enough about me to do something like that.”

He lightly dug his teeth into the skin on her neck, having to crane down to reach in those stupid shoes. “You have no idea what I’d do for you.”

And she got a little confident. Her hand plunged down to palm roughly against the black denim covering his zipper. To her delight, he was caught off guard, groaning in pleasure and pushing his hips for more purchase. She shimmied down, pushing him away from her enough to fall to her knees.

JJ couldn’t believe what was happening before his eyes. He lifted his hand once more, bringing the leather-covered middle finger to her lips. She obeyed his silent command, biting the tip of the glove with her front teeth and pulling it off his hand.

She spat the glove onto her floor, metallic taste dancing over the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t care. His now-free hand entangled itself into her hair, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Such a good girl for me. Knew you’d understand.”

The button and zipper on his jeans popped open after some struggling from her, and she pulled down his boxers until his leaking cock was in her hand. He got lightheaded—fuck, his best friend of years, who just found out he’s been on a killing spree, is about to suck him off. Butterflies filled his stomach for the first time in ages.

Tentative at first, she held him in her left hand and guided the tip to her eager tongue. Her lips closed around him and his eyes rolled back into his skull when he realized how fucking good at this she was. She licked at the head while sucking him as far back as she could comfortably manage, and when her tongue perfectly found that one spot on the bottom, he audibly let out an “oh fuck”.

Is she touching herself right now? JJ slammed his still-gloved hand on the wood panel in front of him for stability. For a moment, his brain went on red alert thinking of the blood smearing on the wall but then she literally swallowed around his cock and he decided he’d hang a fucking picture over it for all he cared.

Enough was enough. He threaded his free hand through her hair and tugged her off, to her whimpering protests. “None of that. Ladies first.”

Together, they ducked into her bedroom, and JJ pulled the jacket and t-shirt off of his body. He’d continue this fully clothed if the threat of pneumonia didn’t loom over him. His boots and the other glove went too.

She waited for him, toes digging into the hardwood floor and hands wringing each other out. When he suggested she take her shirt off, she obeyed without thinking, and a blessed flash of lightning illuminated her body when her face was covered by the fabric. He stared hungrily—why not, right?

JJ tugged down his jeans, and when he was just left in his boxers, she softly gasped. His head snapped up. “S’that why you’d been doing so much laundry?” she asked, doe-eyed.

He laughed, pressing a finger to his lips and using the other hand to cup the back of her head. “C’mon, don’t think about my laundry right now. Don’t think about any of that. Think about this.” His hand dropped down to her covered mound, the only part of her body that had a bit of fabric on it. With his middle digit, he pressed in, right on her clit and her brain melted again.

JJ walked her backwards to the bed and she flopped down eagerly. He dropped down to be face-to-face with her panties, fingers running eagerly over the cotton covering her mound. He gathered the fabric and pulled it upwards, taut against her clit. She gasped, pushing down to meet his actions.

“Please, more,” she whispered, and he was happy to comply. Teasing was for people who had patience, and he didn’t have an ounce of that in his body right now.

JJ pulled down her panties only enough to get off one ankle. Maybe next time he’d keep the pair for himself, but he didn’t have a pocket available right now. A hand on each thigh, he exposed her to himself again, and wasted not a second pushing his face into her cunt.

She gasped, body arching away to keep him from where she was so sensitive, but his mouth followed. The only breaks she got were when he stopped sucking her clit to kiss around the rest of her pussy. His hips rolled into the mattress when she started making the best fucking noises, and he didn’t stop her when she held him in place with her thighs, or when she pulled at his hair with her wandering, desperate hands.

“Mm, you’re not so scary after all,” she noted, teasing smile on her lips. JJ pushed his middle finger inside her without warning and she choked on her own breath.

His eyebrow raised. “Fine. I can be a little mean to you.”

He withdrew himself and she curled up to him out of desperation. JJ tutted at her and motioned for her to flip over and her eyes widened. Before she could comply, he impatiently grabbed her hips and did it for her.

She started to lay on the bed, but he scoffed and pulled her up by the waist so that her back pressed against his chest. If not for his boxers, his cock would be perfectly aligned with her ass, but this was more than enough for him. His free hand dove down to keep dragging his wet fingers over her pudgy clit. She wasn’t going anywhere, not with the grip he had on her, but she still desperately clung to his supporting arm. His gliding fingers slipped right into her wet cunt, providing almost no resistance as he stretched her open.

Boneless. Head tossed back onto his shoulder, arms dropped in front of her, and JJ took this opportunity. The hand that wasn’t pushing two thick fingers into her hole snugly wrapped around her throat, tenderly keeping her in place as he threatened to draw a world-shattering orgasm from her while hardly trying.

“Y’like when I hold you like this, sweetheart?” he asked, lips buried in her hair. The soft breaths around his words ghosted the shell of her ear and goosebumps erupted on her skin.

“Pleasedon’tstopI’mgonnacum,” she cried, body tensing and warping back to touch him.

Her stream of babbling continued as her orgasm coursed through her, and JJ grinned smugly with the feeling of her swollen clit pulsing under his slick fingers. When her words slowed and so did her muscles fidgeting, he slapped her sensitive core. Can’t be too nice.

Still, he let her cool down, kissed on her neck and thumbed at her skin with the arm tucked around her. She finally tapped him when it was okay to keep going.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, ready to bend her forward, but she resisted and looked back at him. “Are you alright?” he spat out nervously, wondering if he’d been too rough or gone too far—

Nope. She leaned over the edge of the bed and fished through the pile of clothes that had been yanked off in his scramble to undress. His eyes narrowed, struggling to see what she was coyly presenting him, and his jaw dropped when he realized it was the Scream mask he wore earlier.

No one could smack the glee out of him. He took the mask and pulled it back over his face while she got back in position with her ass up. JJ aligned himself once more, gliding the silky tip against her entrance. “Fuck, doll, you’re so wet. This all for me?”

“Mm, who else?” she purred, slyly turned towards him.

Fuck, he’s really starting to rub off on her. He had to pretend that the tight grip on her ass was to be sexy and not steady himself. He’s never been so nervous lining himself up– this was her, after all.

Air sucked into his chest when he glanced down to see himself disappearing inside her. It was dark, thank God, because if his view was even the slightest bit clearer, he’d finish instantly. She parted around him so hungrily, like she was pulling him in by his cock. The grip he had on her hips tightened and he resorted to straining a look at her face dug into the bed sheets instead.

Every roll of his hips rang out a new slap around the bedroom. JJ smirked at the delicious noise. “So wet, fuck. Can’t tell if it’s you or me.”

It was both of them. Droplets still covered his thighs even after removing the clothes, and the sound of their legs colliding combined with the sounds of her own cunt. Her legs shook as he continued to assault her pussy, the din spurring him along.

Her second orgasm came crashing over her unexpectedly, pulled from her body with ease as he kept his rhythm splitting her open.

After she came, all bets were off. His pace lost its rhythm at the same time he completely lost his cool and the only thing on his mind was how long he could’ve been stretching her open on his cock. The whole time they’d been just awkwardly checking each other out and shacking up together, and now every fantasy he’s been tormented with is a reality. JJ pulled his cock out and painted her back with cum, body spasming and rough ohfuckfeelssogoodsweetheart muttering spilling out of his mouth.

Y/N’s spent body collapsed onto the bed, disregarding the mess he’d just made. Ever-so-polite JJ used his wet t-shirt to wipe her down before joining her, but both were too fucked-out to care about proper clean-up. Before she could fall asleep, though, he had something important to ask her.

“Hey, sweetheart? When I reset the fuse box, can I use your washing machine?”

#jj maybank smut #i know you whores love ghost face so here’s my rendition of it #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj x reader #jj x you #jj x y/n #outer banks #obx #obx4 #outer banks smut #outer banks fic #obx netflix

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queerdaisyjane · 2 days ago

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Yes sir, don’t be alarmed. Yes, I’m from the agency. Yes I’ll get my ID for you in a minute. But you know why I’m here, right? Yes, you’ve been identified as a man who will be forcibly transitioned. Yes, I understand. You probably don’t want this. After all you’ve been married and at least straight acting and appearing your whole life. But now under the new laws, your wife has the opportunity to turn you in. As a candidate for gender reassignment, that’s right. After the pandemic with so many people dead, there’s a need to repopulate the planet. We need far fewer men and many more women of breeding age. That’s what makes you a good candidate. 27 years old, works out, relatively good physical and mental health, some tendencies toward feminine behavior, although well disguised for the sake of social convention. Children with your wife, no? Yes, I can see why you’re a good candidate. Don’t worry, darling. The procedures are relatively painless, although they take some time to heal. Yes you will be given high dose feminizing hormones to start. After you start to develop primary feminine physical characteristics— thicker hair, the onset of feminine breast tissue development, the widening of your hips to accommodate childbirth, softening skin, atrophy of male muscle tone, plumper, shapelier bottom, shrinking of male genitalia, mental and physical receptivity to male sexual advances— after all that, I’ll take you to the surgery center and stay with you through your recovery. Yes that’s where they’ll do your castration and your sexual reassignment surgeries. Yes, I generally assist with your castration and you’ll be lucid throughout the procedure. It helps with mental acceptance of your new role, and with my role as your master, so you know that I’m the one emasculating you. In addition to a vaginoplasty, you’ll receive laser hair removal, adams apple shaving, and vocal cord tightening to raise your voice several octaves. You’ll have the option to receive supplemental breast implants, although I expect you may want to wait to make that decision until you have gotten used to your natural breasts anyway. You’ll also have the option to decorate your body with tattoos and piercings, in addition to your mandatory identification tattoo. Yes it goes at the base of your scalp under your hairline where it’s not too noticeable. You’ve been staring at my penis this whole time—do you have a question about that? Yes OK then. Yes, I will be the one to take your virginity. Yes, in all the ways. You will learn to fellate me and not only allow me to have vaginal and anal sex with you, but to enjoy it immensely. Yeah you will want to cum as a girl. Finally, since you’ll be a fully biologically, correct woman, you will be fertile and have a monthly ovulation cycle. In order to test the functionality of your body, the doctors will trigger your menstruation and ovulation cycle while still in the hospital. And you will learn how to couple with a man, with me, while you’re there. Since you’re being reassigned in order to be a breeder, you will not have a hymen and so your first time will not be painful, other than the stretching of your vaginal tissue and anal ring. Yes thank you. I do have a nice sized penis. I’ve been told it’s rather ideal, big enough to trigger orgasms, but not so large as to do physical damage, particularly when having anal sex. Yes it gets about half as big again as I get an erection. Yes you’ll learn to pleasure me with your mouth and hands, in addition to your vagina and your anus. Yes, if all goes well and we match well, then you’ll become my wife and join my household. Oh I have several wives yes. It is a virtual certainty that you will be pregnant when you leave the reassignment center. This is highly desirable. Yes I realize it’s very shocking, but I think you’re going to love being a woman. I’ve seen the digital projections of what you look like. And you’re going to be stunning. Congratulations sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you when you are in a family way.

#Forcible gender reassignment #Help repopulate the planet!#Meet your breeder #he’s cute! And such a big cock mmmm #Ready to be pregnant for you daddy

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cecilyv · 2 days ago

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New Fic: the chain I forged (9-1-1, buck/tommy)

Happy Holidays, my friends. @liminalmemories21 and I had Tommy get Christmas Caroled just for y'all. Wherein he meets some ghosts (or possibly hallucinates as a result of whatever was in those shots Lucy handed him last night). Either way, he’s too old for this shit.

"I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it." — Jacob Marley, in Charles Dicken's, A Christmas Carol

11.6k | General Audiences

[Read here on Ao3]

He comes awake abruptly, the hair on the back of his arms standing straight up. He lays there, trying to get his breathing back under control, when he hears the chair creak on the other side of the room. Shit. Fuck. Damn. There’s someone here. And not in the fun kind of way, the way he'd gotten used to with Evan — shit, Buck (he still gets that wrong in his head, when he's half asleep, still a little drunk). He'd gotten used to Buck getting up in the middle of the night, and then pausing before he got back into bed to take a sip of water, put on chapstick. Six months shouldn't have been enough to overwrite the pattern of a lifetime of sleeping alone. But— He still reaches for Evan — fuck. Buck. He still reaches for Buck when he wakes up, expects the heat of him next to him in bed, expects his pillow to smell like Buck’s shampoo and aftershave.

This time though, there's a person in his room and it's not Buck; doesn’t sound like him, smell like him. He breathes and smells dirt and cold and rot. He keeps his eyes closed, facing the ceiling, trying to remember what he might have on hand to defend himself with. Tries to figure out how this person got into his house without setting off the alarms. What he's here to steal.

"I know you're awake," whoever it is says, voice low and raspy like he doesn’t use it much. There's a rustle of fabric as the guy shifts position. "I ain't here to hurt you. You can go on and sit up, open your eyes."

He pushes himself up warily, flicks on the light and blinks in the sudden brightness. Blinks again. A burglar in a Halloween costume was not on his list of possible scenarios. And why, he wonders, if you're going to dress up to break into people's houses, wouldn't you wear a mask?

He’s wearing a cowboy hat, and a vest, but what Tommy can’t look away from (and doesn’t want to look at at all, honestly) is his skin so tight across his face it’s translucent ( like butter scraped over too much bread, a voice in his mind echoes). And the guy has— He squints, and then shakes his head. Looks back. Those look a lot like the inflamed boils Evan — Buck — had had. This seems very specific for a Halloween costume robbery. He would have expected more dead president masks.

"Uh. You're welcome to take whatever you want. I'm not going to fight you on it." It's just stuff.

The guy — the cowboy? — crosses his arms and looks annoyed. "Ain't here for your stuff."

Tommy glances at his bedside table like that's going to reveal that he'd gone to bed with a kitchen knife, or a hammer, or something useful. There's a glass of water and a book he's been saying he's going to read for going on a year now. "Okay. So, why are you here?" Keep him talking, he thinks.

The guy rolls his eyes. "Ain't here to kill you either. Didn't I just say I weren't here to hurt you? Keep up."

He's not sober enough for this. "Okay. I give. Why are you here?"

The guy relaxes, like he's been waiting for this cue. "I'm here to show you what has been, what is, and what is yet to come." And Tommy thinks, okay, Galadriel.

Tommy gives him a blank look, and the guy elaborates. "I owe a debt." He stops, like that’s all the explanation he thinks Tommy should need.

Tommy wracks his brain, but, "I think I would remember meeting you. Was it on a call?"

"Didn't say it was to you.” Pauses and says reflectively, “I wasn't always a good man, but I always paid my debts, and no one can say different." There's another pause and then, “Unless it was to a bank."

Okay, sure. This seems … nope, he’s got nothing. This seems like nothing he can possibly put a name to. This is clearly what he gets for letting Lucy talk him into going out after their last shift, and then letting her buy them shots. The wages of sin. Or something. "Are you seriously telling me you’re here as the Ghost of Christmas Past? Because you owe a life debt? To someone? Who is not me?"

The Ghost — sure, why not — nods, like he's glad Tommy is finally catching up.

He looks closer at the guy, really looks and — leather vest, chaps, boots, boils. Just fuck his life. "You're Billy Boils, aren’t you?"

Billy makes a face, like he tasted something nasty. "William James McCurdy. At your service.”

#buck/tommy #911 fic #Tommy gets chrismas caroled

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qodlysinz · 2 days ago

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Wild Goose Chase

—The Day of the Jackal—

Pairing: Alexander "Jackal" Duggan x Reader

Summary: The Jackal has competition for best underground sniper. He doesn’t care at first, but then you start stealing his clientele, and he grows competitive. The stakes grow higher with each passing assassination and you find yourself enthralled by what the Jackal was capable of.

Word Count: 1,173

Tags: second person pov, no gender specific pronouns are used, depictions of blood, mentions of guns and violence, fighting, swearing, reader's nationality isn't mentioned, reader is a sniper and is pretty much self-taught, reader goes by The Reaper

A/N: Oh em gee I am back with another Jackal story 🙈🙈 since a lot of people liked my other one, I’ll write another because this guy is so difficult to write and I want to broaden my horizons. Reader and Jackal don’t technically interact but I might do a part 2 if it’s requested :)

You didn’t care about the bodies you dropped. You had a job, and you followed through. It was nothing personal, it hardly ever was. You never killed for yourself, it’d draw attention. You weren’t stupid enough for that.

After four years on the job, you’d made quite a name for yourself. However, in those four years, you never hit the same city twice. It was somewhat stifling—turning down good jobs with good money just because of where they were located, but you valued your freedom more than a cool million dollar hit.

Once you hit the one year mark, where, apparently, you made your presence a bit known, you earned the moniker ‘The Reaper’.

Somehow, you managed to never be suspected. You supposed a few years in theater and drama school paid off quite well.

Currently, you were leaving the scene of the crime; some quaint city in Boston. You were walking down the street when your head turned to a store, an array of TVs playing the news. The red band stretched across the screen read: GERMAN POLITICIAN, MANFRED FEST ASSASSINATED THIS MORNING.

“This sniper managed to shoot 3,815 meters, that’s 12,516 feet or 2.37 miles for those who are not familiar with the metric system. Authorities are calling this shooter The Jackal.” The news reporter stated, her hands folded over one another as she spoke. “Unfortunately, no one had gotten a good look at the shooter, authorities are doing their best as we speak.” Her co-anchor added in.

You stared in disbelief—3,815 meters was almost impossible. Not literally impossible, but damn near impressive. You’d heard of The Jackal during your time as a… mercenary… but you weren’t all that interested in what he did. There were probably thousands just like him. But 3,815 meters was something to gawk at.

“This damn world…” croaked an old man beside you. You quirked a brow, “I’m sorry?” You asked, letting out an awkward laugh. The man turned to you and spoke with a straight face; “these people, killing the ones who actually give a damn about us. Don’t they care about the youth of our nation?” He sighed and shook his head.

You deadpanned, blinking. “Right…” you, begrudgingly, agreed. “This damn world.” You smiled weakly at him and walked away. “This damn world for letting selfish, ignorant asses like you do anything you fucking want as long as you’re white and a man.” You muttered under your breath, not even audible to the man that was most likely hard of hearing. He looked older than your oldest grandparent, and that was saying something.

Though, the Jackal was probably both white and a man. But that wasn’t important.

What was, was that no one was talking about you dropping another fascist in Boston. The whole reason you were even in town. You bit into your cheek with a grimace. You weren’t usually all that competitive, but now you were. A guy who goes by Jackal is suddenly taking all the credit? Who even goes by that ridiculous moniker as an assassin? It’s fucking shameful. If you’re gonna be a killer, at least have class.

Jackal. The goddamn Jackal out-bested you. Some jackass (pun intended) named after something that couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to be a coyote or a wolf.

God. Now you pissed yourself off.

You decided to do some research when you got back to your hotel, looking up some of the best snipers who could have made that shot (maybe if you were lucky, you’d gun him down and be on top). But, of course, as a hitman, he was excruciatingly hard to come across.

By this point, you were headed to Europe for yet another job. Given your research, a lot of the Jackal’s work originated from Europe, so you might as well head into his playground, ruffle his feathers (or, fur?), and maybe have a good rival to compete with. That’d be fun. Or maybe you were just a wee bit unhinged and eager to one-up this guy.

But then. That was when it happened. Tallinn, Estonia.

An attempted hit was made on Ulle Dag Charles, but was compromised the moment one of Charles’ own men ruined it. Since it wasn’t a done job, The Jackal was definitely in town somewhere.

Ironically, your target was a woman named Bianca Pullman. Apparently, your guy, stupid fucking Jackal, had this British agent on his ass since Munich. Some place in New York hired you to kill her so his job would be easier.

She, of course, followed him to Estonia, and you followed her. A game of cat and mouse. If the mouse was a highly dangerous being capable of killing anyone and everyone with a single bullet from miles away. This only made the game more exhilarating to you, if you were honest.

Yet, as the days pass, Pullman gained more and more security until she just.. stopped following the Jackal altogether.

That is what you’d say if you were a gullible idiot.

You called in a few favors (few… hundred… favors) and did detective work; allowing you to find out the Jackal’s real name. Maybe if this whole hitman thing doesn’t work out, you’d have another option.

Alexander Duggan, a member of the British army. He was believed to have died on the field, but come on. You weren’t stupid. You had an uncle who faked his death to evade his taxes—this guy probably did something similar to brush his identity off the earth. Because who in their right mind would accuse a dead man of terrorism? What would they do? Lock up his gravestone? Coffin, maybe? Hell, Duggan was believed to have been blown up. Army guys are normally smart, and he probably planned ahead and staged it if he was smart enough to be in the game as long as he’d been.

Duggan was a man of many names—many lives. It would be difficult to track him down from here. From this point on, you weren’t even sure why you were so enamored by his skillset. Like, sure, two miles to shoot some dick in the head is impressive, but seriously? Tracking him across all of Europe? It wasn’t like you were trying to put him to justice like Pullman. Maybe it was just the mystery behind it all? You did love a good mystery novel…

Irrelevant. He was just an amazing sniper and you felt… threatened. That’s exactly it. He was too good, and it threatened your own abilities, so, like one does, you needed to hunt him down, kill him, and take the mantle of Most Badass Hitman.

Then, curveball, you got your hands on the facial composite drawing of the Jackal.

And… for fuck’s sake.

You fucking knew him.

You’ve seen him around before.

Sure, it also kind of resembled a 1980s gremlin… oddly enough… but no doubt, you’ve seen someone who looked like this before.

“Charles Calthrop.” You whispered.

#x reader #eddie redmayne the day of the jackal #the day of the jackal #the jackal #eddie redmayne jackal #eddie redmayne #the jackal x reader #alexander duggan x reader #hitman!reader #reader is called the reaper hehe #im not done bullying the composite drawing #it looks nothing like him why are they so convinced it does #reader is obsessed w the jackal #who wouldnt be hes so fine

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dangermousie · 2 days ago

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When she runs to him, this time not in a dream but reality, and not during midst of suffering but in victory and after they are safe!!!!

The antidote thing was rather sudden, but I will take it!

And we end the drama on a wonderful coda of them having left their titles and worldly affairs ages ago, living happily as harried parents of a hellion little girl and planning a romantic getaway trip now she is finally old enough to go to school. Healthy and loved and loving and oh so thoroughly normal.

Blossom came out of nowhere and ended up as one of my top 5 cdramas of the year. It stayed strong all through the end (do you realize how rare that is?), was gorgeously filmed, and had such an incredible competent, ride or die OTP that will go into all time faves. Sure, it had flaws, some due to censorship restrictions - the tap dance they had to do with the emperor was impressive but imo not fully successful and occasionally random. In a 2010 drama, Song Mo would have just deposed the fucker. Though seeing him have to issue self-repentance edict and suffer was great. And because of that the whole political storyline was not as coherent as it could have been (though still surprisingly entertaining and not brain dead for a drama that none of us expected to the The Adivsors Alliance.) And some flaws were not the censors' fault and revolve around the supporting cast - for example Gu Yu randomly disappeared for the bulk of second half. Why? (Also, personal preference, in a longer, older 70 ep drama, we'd have gotten more of Song Han x Ansu GMP or that prince x warrior princess in Dreamer novel wannabe dysfunction and I'd have loved it, though that is not a flaw per se.)

But overall, it was such a wonderful pleasure and a high note on which to end 2024 cdramas!

#cdrama #blossom #li yunrui #meng ziyi

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amyispxnk · 7 hours ago

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Silent Night

Summary - You're back from college for the holidays, and you've decided on exactly what you want for Christmas - Joel Miller's cock.

A/N: this was such a last minute fic im ngl rn. wasn't even planning on posting a Christmas fic, let alone my FIRST dbf joel miller smut?? anyway, i hope everyone enjoys. happy Christmas<3

Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut, some good ole daddy kink, age gap (20+ years), Joel is pretty pervy in this, alcohol, divorce mentions. Not proofread because I'm tired

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

When you left for college all that time ago, Joel didn't have any strong feelings towards you. You were his best friend's kid, so naturally he saw you often, and got close with you. You were a sweet kid, kind, smart (more than him, he reckoned), and very.. determined when you wanted to be.

Now you're back for Christmas, and as he sees you exiting your dad's car, hurrying over to him, yelling “Joel! Joel! Oh, I missed you so much!” he realises how fucked up his mind might be.

Any normal guy who was reuniting with a girl he'd known since she was a teenager, and a girl he had at least 20 years on, would not be looking at how her tits bounced in her crop top, or how her leggings were tight enough to let him see just how perfect your ass was.

But Joel wasn't normal, he wasn't a good man, so he was looking for all of those things. If he'd actually been looking at your face, maybe he'd have seen you smirking. Maybe he'd have realised you wore those clothes for exactly this reason.

Joel, or dad's best buddy, Mr Miller, as you'd known him until you were 16 and couldn't be bothered to pay respect to your elders, had been a part of your life for a while.

Ever since your mom took off, Joel was coming around far more often and, in his own gruff and quiet way, was taking care of you more than your own father was at the time.

Nowadays, you didn't really have any resentment towards your father because of this - he'd just gotten divorced, he was going through a rough time.

But teenage you definitely did, and having Joel step in like that definitely left you with mixed feelings.

If things weren't the way they were back then, you'd probably have developed this all-encompassing crush on him even earlier.

When you were leaving for college though, the crush suddenly dived into your life, crashing down and muddling up everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Now, as you returned back home at last, you knew you had to have him, or you feared you might just lose it.

He was everything a girl.. like you, could want right now. Old, brooding, mysterious, and so fucking hot.

So as you hopped over to him where he stood in his front lawn, you made sure to hug him tight and make sure he could really feel that you weren't wearing a bra. You knew he was looking already, so why not let him feel it?

He hesitated for a moment - probably struggling with his boner which you swore you could already feel - before bringing his arms around you and clapping you on the back.

“I missed you so much, Mr Miller.” You hum sweetly, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His own eyes almost flutter shut at the name you chose to use for him, and he manages to choke out a soft missed ya too, darlin’.

That darlin’ would be enough to make you come tonight.

Your dad finally turns around after unloading your luggage and turning the car off, greeting Joel before the two of you head to your house.

The next day, it's Christmas Eve. Dinner rolls around, and you check over your makeup one more time. You don't want it to be too much - it would look weird, considering it was only Joel coming over (your dad was a solitary creature) - but you still had to look good for him.

The doorbell rings and you almost trip down the stairs. “I'll get it, dad!” You yell, and he thanks you, completely unaware of your motives.

You open the door, biting back a smirk when Joel immediately looks you up and down, only just managing to tear his eyes away from your chest.

“Hi, Mr Miller. It's so good to see you.” You smile sweetly.

“Hi, sweetheart… told ya y’dont have ta call me that. Joel's fine.” He says softly, eyes still a little hazy.

You step back to let him inside and immediately take one of the beers he'd brought over once he sets the case down.

“Y’old enough to drink that, honey?” He teases, mind finally out of the gutter for now.

“I'm 21 in like.. a month. It's fineeee.” You smirk, tipping your head back and taking a big swig, showing off the long column of your neck and the swell of your breasts.

His mind is back in the gutter.

Your eyes are off him for now, so he allows him to drink in the sight of you properly. A silly Christmas hat atop your curled, gorgeous hair; red sweater tight around your breasts, little candy-canes dotted around it; your skirt, far too short and he's almost certain you're teasing him now, tights underneath making him want to rip them clean off of you. Your makeup looks perfect, red lips which he knows would look perfect around his cock, mascara which he can picture smudged and ruined from tears and sweat while you fuck-

“Joel, y’made it! Cmon, sit with me.” Your dad grins, and Joel's eyes widen. What the fuck is wrong with him? He cannot be thinking that way about you.

He shakes his head, muttering something to himself before going to sit with your dad.

Joel finally thinks he'll have some reprieve from your incessant teasing, letting out a tired sigh as he sits on the couch, your dad on the armchair.

“Tired already, old man?” Your dad teases.

“You're older than me, asshole.” Joel grunts, earning him a chuckle.

Just then, you appear in the doorway. Of course, of-fucking-course, you'd decide to watch TV with them tonight. It's soccer, for Christ's sake, you'd always get bored out of your mind and run upstairs to go on your phone whenever the game was on.

Not today though, much to Joel's dismay.

“What're you watching?” You ask, sitting beside Joel. He tries to mask his discomfort.

“Just soccer hon, I know you don't like-” your dad starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“No, no! It's fine. I'll try watching it tonight.” You smile softly, and settle in to watch.

You clearly get bored after about 5 minutes, sighing softly.

“You really find this interesting?” You murmur to Joel, now having made yourself comfortable on his shoulder. He tried to make himself as stiff as possible when you first lay on him, but you were persistent as always, and he just gave in.

“Ain't nobody forcin’ you to watch it.” He argues, and you keep quiet after that, eventually getting up to go get the food ready.

Dinner is yet another trial for Joel. You've gotten just as frustrated and impatient as he is, it seems.

Leaning in front of him when serving the food, giving him a clear view of your tits. Not to mention you never serve food, set the table, but all of a sudden you're acting like little miss helpful today.

‘Accidentally’ dropping a cup and bending over in his eyeshot to pick it up.

Sitting beside him at the table instead of with your dad.

When your hand moves to his thigh, he bolts upright, earning him a look from your dad.

“Bathroom,” is all he can get out before he's rushing upstairs.

“Fucking kid. Thinks she can fuckin’.. pull all this shit with me.. thinks she can act like this in front of her dad.. fuck me.” He mutters to himself, despite undoing his belt and pulling his cock out, barely stifling his groan when he spits on his palm and starts tugging at his length so fast it's almost painful.

His mind conjures up all sorts of unholy images, and he's on the brink of release when- “Mr Miller,” you coo, knocking on the door. “is everything okay? You've been gone for like 10 minutes. Was it something in the food?”

He's so angry, so pent-up, he wants to pull you in here and just fuck that goddamn attitude out of you.

He's deathly silent, flushing, turning on the sink as he pulls his pants up, blue-balled like he'd never been before, and exiting the bathroom.

“Everything is fine.” He grits out, fists clenched as he walks past you. You eye his bulge and smirk before practically skipping down the stairs.

“He said everything's fine, daddy.” You smile to your dad, and he almost collapses. He swears he sees god for a second.

That word coming out of your mouth should absolutely not turn him on like it just did - but it did.

The rest of dinner, he's almost silent, just gulping down beer and chewing on his now cold turkey. You don't try anything with him, actually a little afraid he might just get up and leave.

Instead, you wait until the movie.

Your dad puts Die Hard on, and after a lengthy argument about whether or not it even counts as a Christmas movie, - you insist it's not and will carry that with you to the grave - you settle beside Joel.

Joel thinks he's made it through the worst of the evening, but then you shiver. You shiver again, and then you pout, and he feels obliged to ask.

“Are you cold?”

“Yeah.. can I have some of the blanket?” You whisper. Your dad is practically falling asleep in the armchair.

He goes to hand you the blanket, and you, devious as ever, put it over both of your laps, cuddling up to Joel even more.

He's on full alert right now, stiff as a log, waiting for your next game.

The movie goes on, and then your hand creeps under the sheet. Moving from the side, to your own lap, to his arm, then to his leg-

“What're you-” he grunts, but you just shush him.

“I'm trying to watch the movie, Joel.” You huff, as if your hand isn't on his cock right now.

His eyes are darting between you, the screen, his lap under the blanket, and your dad. Way too much is going on, and as you start palming him, he lets out the most pained groan. He sees you biting your lip and he's so angry, so horny, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Your dad suddenly wakes up, and the bubble pops. You pretend you're asleep on Joel's shoulder, and you know you've won when Joel tells your dad to just go on up, that he'll make sure she gets to bed.

As soon as your dad's bedroom door shuts, Joel grabs your jaw, glaring at you.

“Exactly what the fuck do you think you're doing, little girl?” He spits, and you giggle softly.

“‘m not doing anyth- ow, Joel!” You whimper when he squeezes your cheeks together.

“You gonna tell the truth now? Gonna answer me properly?” He says, tone and eyes cold as the ice on your driveway.

You nod, trying to stifle your whimper. He eases the grip on your jaw, still holding it, before asking you again.

“What do you think you're doing?” He says through clenched teeth, and you know he's not fucking around anymore.

“I.. I just..” Fuck it, you may as well shoot your shot, otherwise what was the point of everything tonight anyway?

“I wanted you to fuck me, Joel.”

Creak goes the step at the top of your staircase, and you squeak, jumping off the couch as Joel pulls the blanket and a pillow over his lap. You rush upstairs past your dad, hurriedly bidding him goodnight before slamming your door.

“Just came to grab my phone. Everythin' alright..?” He asks, brows furrowed at your skittish behaviour.

Joel nods, and your dad leaves him alone.

His cock has been throbbing for hours. So long that it's actually painful. But now he can't do anything. You and your dad are upstairs, you'll be asleep in 5 minutes, and Joel will just have to pretend it's your pussy wrapped around his length when he fucks his fist in the guest bedroom tonight.

Guilt gnaws away at him as he cleans his come off of his hand and stomach, tossing the tissues into the bin before changing into some sweats and managing to fall asleep after half an hour of tossing and turning.

The world seems to hate him, since he wakes up at 2am, heading to the bathroom only to walk past your bedroom and hear you moaning. He can't make out what you're moaning - but he has a good idea - and he's thankful your doors are quiet when he opens the one to your room.

You're facing away from the door, legs spread, face in your pillow as your hips buck, fingers working your pussy furiously.

“Joel, Joel, fuck-” you gasp, whimpering as you get close.

Fuck this.

If he didn't get to come for the entire evening, you did not get to come right now.

He walks over to you, morales abandoned, and growls your name.

You squeak, biting your lip as you turn and look at him. You'd been so close, but now you're too petrified to finish.

“Joel, I-”

“Not another word.”

It's the last thing he says before he flips you back onto your stomach, pushing your head down into the pillows.

“You're gonna be a good girl and shut the fuck up while I fuck this needy pussy. You understand me?”

You part your lips to reply, earning a spank to your ass.

“Can't fuckin’ listen, can ya? No talking, baby.”

You nod, whimpering as he pushes your head back down and pulls your soaked panties off, tossing them onto the floor.

“Fuck, look at her. Drippin’ for me, ain't she? Didn't know you were such a slut, babygirl.” He teases, knuckles dragging along your slit, and you cry into the pillow, hips bucking back against his hand.

Another spank, making you moan, trying to stop your hips from bucking once more.

“You take what you're fucking given. Do you understand me?”

You nod, having learnt from your mistakes.

“Good girl. Knew you could listen for me.” He coos, before he's thrusting two of his thick fingers into your dripping heat.

You gasp and whine, moaning his name into the pillow, almost tearing your sheets with how hard you grip them.

“That's right.. moan my name. Fuckin’ slut.” He grunts, head ducking down to tease your clit with his tongue. You almost lose it, starting to clench hard and fast around his fingers. You're right on the edge when he pulls away.

“Joel!” You practically sob, deflating as your orgasm drifts away.

“Shh, shh. You thought you could tease me all night and still get off? Y’thought wrong, honey.” He coos, mocking, pulling down his sweatpants and slicking up his cock with your wetness, giving you no warning as he starts to push in.

“Ohh, fuck. Knew you'd be tight for me, baby. That's it, good girl.” He groans, bottoming out. He allows you to cry his name into the pillow, but when he starts really fucking you, it gets too much.

He pulls out to the tip before slamming back into you, making you almost scream, back arching and hips bucking - unsure if you want him to get out, or fuck you even harder.

He decides for you, starting to pound into you. The only sounds in the room are your broken moans, his heavy breathing, and the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin.

“Joel- Joel- pl-please I'm gonna come- please Daddy-” you moan, and his hips stutter before he's pulling you up by your hair, his back to your chest when he resumes his aggressive thrusts.

“Shut- the fuck- up.” He pants in-between thrusts, and you whimper, brows drawing together as you get close. He starts rubbing your clit and you see stars, unable to stop yourself from coming.

“Fuckfuckfuck yes, yes daddy- oh my god-” you sob, before he's pulling out and manhandling you onto your back, thrusting back inside to the hilt, palm covering your mouth.

“You better shut up right now unless you want your real daddy to wake up, find us here like this-” you curse silently when you clench around him at the thought - what is wrong with you?

“Oh, you like that? Dirty fucking girl. Such a slut for daddy, huh?” You clench tighter at that, and his thrusts speed up, pace irregular. “Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.”

His hand leaves your mouth and you cover it yourself, not wanting to anger him anymore.

“‘s okay, baby.” He murmurs, taking your hand from your mouth and leaning down to kiss you. As he does, his hand goes to your clit, and you moan loudly, muffled slightly by the kiss, as your back arches off the bed and you come so hard you see stars, setting off his own release and making him groan, biting your shoulder as he fills you up.

It's quiet for a moment, save for your shared panting, before he pulls out.

“Fuck, honey..” he murmurs, watching your shared fluids dribble out of your cunt, gathering them up on his fingers and pushing them back into your tight hole.

“Made such a mess, didn't we?” He says softly, brushing your hair away from your eyes as you giggle softly, nodding.

“That was so good.” You whisper, and he nods, gathering you up in your arms.

“Joel, you can't stay in here-” you mutter, confused.

“Just relax, honey. I'll leave in the mornin’. Just let me hold you for now.”

You're utterly perplexed, but you're definitely not complaining, swallowed up by his warmth and drifting off within a minute.

The next morning, you're opening presents, and you bite your lip when he reads his card from you. At the bottom, you'd added - come to my room afterwards for the second part of your gift - and when he comes upstairs afterwards, it's safe to say he doesn't leave for a good hour.

Dividers by @adornedwithlight <3

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Have a good Christmas everyone!! ❤️

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am000risbest · 2 days ago

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Hay! Heh, I am a fan about your post, and i was wondering if you can do a bakugou x y/n post where they are 25 and have a 6 year old son named kanji that looks and acts like bakugou, and they are at a grocery store and kanji sees a toy and makes a BIG tantrum embarrassing Y/n, and bakugou let's out his strict father side, aka bakugou is 1 hero, so... yeah.... rich.. THANK YOU 😭

Yeah for sure! And thank youvsosososo much,I really appreciate it. As always,have a good read and enjoy!

You,your husband and kanji,your angel of a child were doing regular grocery shopping before passing the toy section.

Kanji would then go over to grab a toy or two and bring it back to you.

“Mama look,can I have these? Pleaseeeee?”

Kanji would then proceed to give you the so called “puppy eyes” but you knew good and well they didn’t work anymore on you.

“No kanji,sorry bud,maybe next time,me and your papa are real busy and can’t spend time or money on toys”

sure you guys were rich but you or Katsuki didn’t want kanji to be a spoiled child that was entitled.

So you both kept him without knowing just exactly how much money was in your back account,and referred from spending so much on toys,as kanji had a box full of them.

“Mama please! I’ll be good I swear! I really want them! I don’t have these all might toys yet!”

“Sorry kanji it’s a no.”

“Mama! Please!”

“Kanji I said no,stop asking.”

“I want them!”

“I know you do,but it doesn’t change the fact that neither me or your dad will not be buying them.”

Kanjis eyes began to tear up and he slummed onto the ground still holding the little toys he had in his hands.

“No! I’m not leaving until I get them!”

“Kanji,stop making a scene and put them away.”

“No!”

kanji then began to sob,flinging his arms around as if there were no tomorrow.

“Kanji tetsu bakugou you get up right now.”

Kanji knew that when you said his full name he was in trouble,but he didn’t care,not when there was an all might trophy toy in his grasp.

“Noo mama! I want them!!”

Kanji was persistent with his cry’s,and Katsuki was already on his way to get his little devil child to calm down.

Katsuki was busy getting produce from a few aisles away before hearing cry’s and little distant yells from you.

“Ah shit,bet he’s acting up again.”

Kanji had almost gotten out of the “toddler crying stage” even though he just turned six,he still sometimes acted like he were 3 years old.

Katsuki put the items you had made him get before a random girl walked up to him and asked for his number.

“Hi dynamite! I was wondering if I could get your number?”

She looked eccentric,but that was quickly shut down by his rbf.

“I have a wife,and kid. I don’t know where you’ve been but if you don’t know that then I obviously don’t talk about them enough,outta my way.”

Katsuki then left the girl alone with a surprised look on her face before leaving.

Katsukis steps were steep,walking fast but not running,because if you guys were in trouble he knew you could handle the both of you and kanji.

“Mama ple-ease!” The hiccups were now apparent and in kanjis way of speech.

“Kanji,I said no.”

Kanji didn’t look at you,just staring at the all might toys he cry’s for.

“But mama!!”

“Get up and put em away”

“Papa I want them,can I have them please?!”

Kanji looked desperate and he definitely looked as if he had a tantrum over it.

By the time Katsuki had reached were you both were,people were already staring.

“No,now get up,clean your tears and put those stupid toys away.”

Kanji didn’t say anything,looking intimidated by katsukis “dad stare” and his deep,rasp voice.

Kanji then got up and walked to where he had gotten the toys from,and walked over before cleaning his tears with his long sleeved shirt.

“Atta boy,now go get us some eggs from the dairy section okay?”

“O-okay papa.”

Kanji stumbled a bit before walking over in sights view,grabbing the eggs and walking back,handing Katsuki the eggs.

“Good job,now I want you to say sorry to mommy for making a scene okay?”

“Sorry mama..”

“It’s okay baby.”

Although he had often tantrums like this,you just couldn’t handle these like Katsuki could.

Kanji then proceeded to jump into the shopping cart,this was a thing he’d do when his tantrums would get stopped,so you and Katsuki didn’t mind because he was right in front of you and in safe sight.

“Dad mode huh?”

“Just doing my job,you know that.”

“Either way,thank you. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“It’s me,I was the same way with my old ma. Always throwing tantrums.”

You and Katsuki both look at kanji,a spitting image of Katsuki.

“Two peas in a pod.”

You said as you looked into katsukis eyes with a sense of wonder and curiosity as to how you got so lucky to have a good husband.

And a great child,even if he doesn’t act like it sometimes,you were still truly grateful.

You and Katsuki continued to do your grocery shopping this time,hand in hand.

#katsuki x reader #bakugou #bakugo x reader #aged up characters

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matrixbearer2024 · 9 hours ago

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Remember when I said these two knew how to play instruments? It was just a teeeeensy thing in a post- yeah here's both of them playing a pretty iconic melody cuz what the hell and holy shit drawing instruments is HARD LMAO

I got skill issued with this piece so bad and I know the piano keys are wrong but I do not have the energy to care about it right now-

Context of the picture is them just practicing, this was taken before they graduated senior high so it's not actually that far back but it's old enough. They don't look all that pleased considering it's like the twentieth time they've played that piece again just to get it perfectly right. Ford literally wouldn't shut up about it until they did despite Stan being slightly annoyed by it and his inability to keep up sometimes on faster pieces HAHAHAHA

ANYWAY- yes, Ford isn't wearing his gloves because it's harder for him to play when he is and Stan plays the violin because he lost a game of rock paper scissors with his brother... well it's more than that but basically they wouldn't stop fighting over the piano(classic case of siblings pissing each other off for the sake of pissing each other off) and they had a best of three with rock paper scissors to see who had to learn a second instrument and Stan lost LMAO

Good on him though for sticking to his word though, so he picked up the recorder in the meantime while trying to decide on a duet instrument. Problem being he couldn't really learn the recorder much before he found his snapped in two at some point in his room(Filbrick). So he tried something else, the violin.

That thing stuck, even until college he still knows how to play the violin and play it well. Stanley just rarely practices where people can accidentally hear him or stumble into him because he'd rather not get bombarded with music requests.

Ford actually did give up playing the piano at some point though, mostly because he's always pestered to keep his gloves on while practicing(Filbrick) and he's sadly too impatient to actually get used to such a thing when he knows he's already much better off without the gloves. He hasn't forgotten how to play though, he just refuses outright for the most bit.

It's pretty upsetting to watch him practice sometimes though because he's that piano player that slams on the keys when he's pissed enough and his perfectionist tendencies really doesn't help when he misses a note or screws up the tempo. Stan's gotten pretty good at notifying him about it though since neither would want to accidentally deal with a broken piano from Ford breaking something in the mechanisms from hitting the keys too hard.

It's actually happened once before when they first started out and the earful he got for it plus some pretty unsavory things(Filbrick) I won't specify had kind of low-key traumatized both of the twins.

Also if you do notice, Stan's shirt is the same design as the one he has in college. It's not because it's the same shirt, he bought the same design after he wore this one to shreds because it's comfy. I don't even know what to say about it cuz that's kinda it chat HAHAHAHAHHA

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onegianthotmess · 1 day ago

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“Hey, it’s cold outside, yeah? Stay a bit longer…”

Synopsis: When they’d first arrived and settled into their room in the home of Finnian and his spouse, Leona was quite annoyed at how cold he was and was fairly jealous that Morel had adjusted so easily. It seemed that even Gardenia, who was only a year old and much more fragile, somehow adjusted better than her father. But, after a few nights, Leona completely changed his mind since the cold meant Morel snuggled up to him even more in bed and they were covered with even more blankets, making everything ten times more comfortable. This also made Leona ten times more difficult to drag out of bed, but at least it made him ten times cuter…

A/N: I’ve been feeling the cold cozies lately (what I call feeling extra snuggly inside while it’s cold enough to freeze hell over outside during winter) and I wanted to write something that allowed me to describe the lovely feeling of being perfectly snuggled up in your bed during winter but also slightly Christmas-y since that’s what me and my family celebrate during the holiday season. If the title didn’t give it away, I took inspiration from the song Baby, It’s Cold Outside and basically used it as an excuse to write clingy Leona trying to keep Morel in bed. Such is the dynamic of chronic napper/one who always sleeps x early bird/one who never sleeps enough. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this little fic and are having a good holiday season so far!!!

Lions—and lion beastmen by extension—weren’t built for the cold. They were built for being the apex predators of the savanna, to live in hot conditions that taught them the absolute joys of enjoying a lovely rest in the shade and near a nice and cool water source. The blistering heat of the unfairly breathtaking savanna was their ideal habitat.

That was the environment Leona Kingscholar was built for. Not the fucking winter wonderland that was his father-in-law’s home.

When Morel had proposed spending the Christmas holiday with her side of the family—namely her father, stepparent, and two half brothers—Leona didn’t see much of a problem with it. After all, Gardenia was now a year old and could handle a two week stay somewhere without getting sick or causing too much of a fuss. And it was a bit unfair that Finnian always had to come to them to see his precious little granddaughter. The fact that it would be the first time Gardenia would be seeing snow was also a cute added bonus to the trip.

He’d dealt with the winters at Night Raven College a few times instead of going home to his family for the holidays, excusing that the unfamiliar climate had gotten him a bit sick. All of it was bullshit, he really just didn’t want to go home and Crowley was too busy with his head being sixty-five feet up his own ass that Leona probably could’ve stayed over the summer as well as the winter holiday and Crowley wouldn’t have cared.

So, with that past experience, Leona figured that he could live with a bit of cold and snow after suffering through NRC’s winters that were arctic compared to the warmth of Sunset Savana.

Oh, how wrong the Second Prince was.

Not only was he very wrong, but he was also very unprepared for just how cold his father-in-law’s homeland would be. The temperatures were well below zero when Leona and Morel arrived with Gardenia and Leona was shocked at the sheer amount of snow. In some places, snow drifts were likely about up to his shoulder, and the top of Morel’s head was maybe only an inch above that without her heels on. On top of all of the snow, the wind was so cold that it felt like pins and needles against his face and he could almost feel it through the hat—that Morel made just for him so that it would cover his ears snugly but comfortably—on his head.

Leona was actually extremely almost jealous of Gardenia at that moment because not only was she completely bundled up thanks to Morel’s maternal anxiety, the cub was also snuggly wrapped against Morel’s chest in a baby sling that was specifically bought for the trip so ensure that she wouldn’t get too cold or sick. It didn’t help that she was also sleeping soundly in the thing as well, the wind providing the perfect amount of white noise that was muffled through the thick hat on her head.

Leona had never been more grateful to be inside in his life once they’d actually made it to Finnian’s home and he let them in. Luckily the beastman was able to hold it together until he, Morel, and Gardenia, who was sleeping in what used to be Morel’s crib, were all settled into the guest room. Morel had only turned around to lay their cub down to finish her little nap when Leona had instantly wrapped himself in every last blanket on the bed, trying to warm himself up as best he could.

“Really, Cubby?” Morel asked, laughing a bit as her husband began to pout.

“I grew up on the savanna! I’m not built for this!” Leona hissed, no bite to his words whatsoever.

“Oh, poor baby,” Morel cooed, using her baby voice as she crawled onto the bed and wrapped her arms around Leona—as best as she could, given the mountain of blankets he wrapped himself in compared to her small size. “Do you need to be wrapped and swaddled up like Gardenia, Cubby!?”

“You’re lucky you’re my mate, or I’d claw out your tongue,” Leona threatened emptily, leaning into his wife’s embrace. Though it was subtle thanks to the layers of blankets, he could feet her body heat and it made him feel even warmer.

Throughout the first few nights, Leona wasn’t very happy. Even inside, he was still chilled to the bone and sat the closest to the fireplace he could, often holding his napping daughter while idle chatter or the chaos of a competitive board game filled the space.

But, as they reached the middle of their first week in Finnian’s home, Leona realized something amazing about the cold.

Not only was it an excuse to lovingly smother Morel with cuddles in bed as they slept, but Leona had more leverage to keep her in bed with him due to the warmth and comfort of both the blankets and his embrace, especially since Morel’s small size meant she got cold much quicker than he did. This revelation made him even clingier, holding onto Morel with a gentle but firm grip and trying every way he knew how to keep her laying in bed with him even for just a few more minutes.

Which brings us to the morning towards the end of their first week.

Nothing was planned for the household today. Since going outside and letting Gardenia see the snow for the first time in person yesterday, everyone silently decided to just stay inside for the day since it was still snowing quite heavily. Though they had extra blankets and each other’s body heat, Leona could still feel the cold of the room around his head, especially around his sensitive ears. He’d planned to stay in bed with his wife until noon, but said wife’s father had different plans.

Plans that started at six thirty in the morning.

“Morel?” Finnian asked softly as he gently tapped on the door a few times before poking his head inside. Leona was still asleep like the dead, but Morel murmured and sat up to face her father as he said her name. Even as an infant she was a light sleeper, a trait that unfortunately contributed to her being an early bird. “I’m sorry I woke you up, but I was wondering if you three would be out for breakfast?”

Morel yawned a bit, rubbing one of her eyes with her hand before she answered, “Possibly. But, given Leona’s sleeping habits, don’t count on it.”

“Alright, my dear,” Finnian nodded. “Have a good morning.”

Morel sleepily waved after her father as he left, gently shutting the door and walking down the hall to the kitchen. The white haired woman was about to go back to sleep for a bit—she was especially tired after Gardenia was up so late last night thanks to Morel’s half-brothers playing with her—but she felt her bladder press inside of her. Morel groaned, feeling too cozy to want to leave her bed with her husband, but also not in the mood to hold it and possibly piss in the bed if she did fall back asleep.

But—and she should’ve seen this coming—just as Morel moved to get up and leave the bed, Leona’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back down. With a small “oof” she was back to being snuggled up to her husband’s chest.

“Leona, let me go, I have to get up,” Morel laughed sleepily, trying to remain quiet so she wouldn’t wake Gardenia up. Though the cub slept like a corps much like her father most of the time, she could also sleep lightly just like her mother.

“No,” Leona replied simply, planting a small but firm kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Stay in bed with me, Herbivore.”

“Kitty, I know you’re cozy, but it’ll just be for a few minutes at most,” Morel sighed, trying to squirm out of Leona’s grip.

“No, it can wait,” Leona murmured, gently pulling Morel closer to him. “It can wait until about noon.”

“It really can’t, Kitty. I need you to let me go,” Morel sighed, still attempting to escape her clingy husband. She loved him and cuddling with him, but she’d rather not do that on urine soaked sheets and possibly piss on him as well.

With a huff, Leona pulled his wife on top of him before murmuring, “Hey, it’s cold outside, yeah? Stay a bit longer, Herbivore.”

“I would love to, but I wouldn’t love pissing all over you and the sheets,” Morel replied, earning a groan and a pit from Leona. With a laugh, the white hearted woman kissed her husband’s cheek with a smile. “If I give you a good enough deal, will you let me go?”

“How good are we talkin’, Morel?” Leona queried, raising an eyebrow.

“If you let me go to the bathroom and get Gardenia some breakfast, and you change Gardenia, you can stay in bed with us until lunch around one,” Morel offered with a smile, watching Leona think as the cogs and gears turned in his mind. “Do we have a deal, Cubby?”

“As long as you quit it with that stupid name, we sure as hell do,” Leona replied after a moment, giving his wife a peck on the forehead before releasing her.

Morel gave Leona a kiss on the cheek as a small show of gratitude before she left the room. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to pee until the need his her like a truck halfway to the bathroom and the poor woman ended up cutting off her younger half-brother just so she wouldn’t piss herself.

“Really, Ellie?” he asked, more so playfully than actually upset.

“If you wanted me to piss right outside your bedroom, I would’ve done it!” Morel retorted playfully from inside the bathroom, letting out a much-needed sigh of relief. “I may be an adult and a mother, but I’m also the pettiest woman you’ll ever meet in your entire life!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” her half-brother quickly stated with a small laugh before he very nervously continued, “please don’t piss outside of my bedroom.”

Morel chuckled as she finished washing and drying her hands and opened the bathroom door, “Be nice to me and I won’t.”

“Fine, fi- Hey!” the younger boy quickly protested as Morel pat him on the head two times before walking back down the hall, blinding towards the kitchen.

The white haired woman smiled as she rounded the corner into the kitchen where Finnian was busying himself with making breakfast and reminding his daughter where she got her love of cooking from.

“Papa, do you have a small plate I can take for Dena to eat?” Morel asked as she took a couple of water bottles from the fridge. “I’ve made a deal with Leona that will require all three of us to stay in bed until around lunchtime.”

“I figured you’d say something like that when you eventually came out, so the answer is yes, there’s a plate for the baby,” Finnian replied, gesturing to the island. There was a tiny plate with some eggs and cut up bits of sausage on it, a tiny baby spoon sitting next to it.

“Thank you, Papa,” Morel smiled, hugging her father, who quickly moved to reciprocate the gesture. “You are so sweet. I love you.”

“I love you more, my darling Clementine,” Finnian sighed, patting his daughter’s head once they both pulled away from each other. “And you don’t have to thank me. I would never deprive a sweet baby of her right to eat, much less my own granddaughter. What kind of opa do you think I am?”

“A very good one,” Morel replied as she took the plate and spoon from the island, holding the bottles of water with her arm. “I’ll see you around lunch, Papa.”

“Make sure you and Leona eat at some point today, Morel,” Finnian smiled after his daughter, watching her turn the corner to exit the kitchen before calmly going back to preparing breakfast for everyone else in the house.

Meanwhile, Morel had made her way back down the hall and quietly entered the room her and her family were using for their trip, trying to not disturb anyone else in the house. The white haired woman quietly shut the door behind her before she turned around and stopped once she noticed Leona and Gardenia staring at her.

“Finally, I thought you’d run off or something, Herbivore,” Leona grumbled, not bite to his words whatsoever. He was too soft around his wife and daughter to ever actually have any sort of bite to his words at all.

Gardenia seemed to have been impatiently waiting for her mother as well, making grabby hands at her as she babbled, “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

Morel smiled at her daughter before she tossed a bottle of water to Leona, who expertly caught it thanks to his cat reflexes, before making her way to her side of the bed. The short woman set down her own water bottle and the plate of food on the nightstand before she crawled onto the bed, shuffling until she was under the covers and finally a bit more warm. But, she didn’t have long to get too comfortable, however. Leona quickly pulled his wife towards him and just as quickly maneuvered himself, Morel, Gardenia, and even the blankets to create a perfect nest of blankets wrapped around the three of the in the middle of the bed.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Morel chuckled as she gently took Gardenia into her arms. “Did I make my kitty wait too long?”

“Damn fuckin’ straight,” Leona sighed, burying his face into the crook of his wife’s neck as she hissed at him to watch his language in front of their very young and impressionable daughter. “I love Nina, but she isn’t big enough to fully cuddle with and use as a nice and soft pillow.”

“Well, you could, but you’d crush her,” Morel laughed lightly, Leona pouting and bumping her shoulder blade with his head.

“Papa! Papa!” Gardenia babbled, making grabby hands at her father as she saw his ears.

Leona let out a laugh through his nose, resting his chin on Morel’s shoulder as he raised an eyebrow at his daughter with a grin, “What do you want, brat?”

“Papa!” Gardenia repeated, leaning towards him and wiggling her little body as she puffed out her chubby cheeks in a pout. “Papa!”

“I think someone wants her papa’s ears,” Morel giggled playfully, moving one of her hands to gently tug on one of Leona’s soft ears.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Leona sighed, gently pulling Morel’s hand away from his ear before giving his hand to his daughter, who happily took it and began to gnaw on his pointer finger. “She can have my hand to use as a teething toy instead.”

“Stingy,” Morel hummed playfully, no actual bite to her words other than soft sarcasm, as she kissed Leona’s cheek and leaned her head against his.

It was cold outside. But, within their tiny nest of blankets on the bed, it was rather warm. And no one planned to leave for quite a while, especially after Leona and Gardenia fell asleep again while Morel simply smiled and gently pet both of her sleepy kitties.

A/N: HELL, YEAH, GOT IT DONE BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE! I hope all of you enjoyed this little fic of Leona and Morel’s first holiday season as parents with Gardenia and have a wonderful rest of your holiday season! Especially since I’ve got one more piece planned that may or may not come out tomorrow!

#holiday fic #twst #twst oc #canon x oc #twst fan kids #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #morel rosehearts #gardenia kingscholar #finnian rex #leona x morel

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