#coffee mug photo frames | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

outerspacebisexual · 5 months ago

Text

Memories of Days Gone By - Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer has never understood having a cluttered desk at work. Then you start at the BAU, and he's forced to share a desk with the least desk-tidy person in the whole FBI. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Word count: 3.1k Warnings: none, except talk of reader getting shot a/n: woah, outerspacebisexual actually writing instead of just reblogging post about writing? crazy Masterlist

Spencer always thought that having personal mementos in the workplace was weird.

Maybe it came from his mother, whose desk was always so cluttered she could barely place anything down without something else falling off. He could—as with everything else—vividly remember sitting in her office chair, spinning in around and around in circles, watching his framed toothy six-year-old-self flying past him again and again and again.

She never swapped out that photo, even when he got older and his round, chubby face became angular with his teen years. Not when he graduated high school, or college, or college again. In fact, he knew for certain that photo still sat on his mother’s bedside table. So you’re always here with me, she’d said on one of her good days. And even though most of the time she had no idea who the tiny child with thick frames was, she still traced a finger down the side of the glass before bed.

When Spencer first joined the BAU, he’d made a point to ensure his desk was cleared every hour. Empty coffee cups, old files, shredding, sticky notes; after one hour, it all went. That way he could ensure that everything got done.

And that same habit continued for years, until you showed up.

Hi, you’d said on your first day, sticking out your hand and smiling wide. Looks like we’re desk buddies.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The desk had belonged to Emily before you got there, and the idea of looking up and seeing you was just another reminder that he’d lost her.

He was nice to you, of course. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You’d simply taken a job opening from the ballistics unit to the BAU. It wasn’t your fault that his dead friend’s desk was now yours.

At first, he noticed how you had a habit of leaving empty coffee cups on your desk, choosing to get another one rather than reuse the one already on your desk. It wasn’t a problem. There were plenty of mugs in the kitchen. But when your chair hit your desk, they chimed together, and the noise set him on edge.

He left it alone for the first month.

But then came the files.

Files piled up on your desk---not in neat piles marked ‘Complete’ and ‘Incomplete’ like his—just spread out across the surface in every direction and orientation. And as the week went on, more and more were added until there was no discernible way to tell which had been done and which hadn’t. This led to you having to leaf through folder after folder until you found the one you were looking every day.

Spencer had been tempted to say something one week when he’d watched you out of the corner of his eye search for a file for fifteen minutes. You’d found it right as he opened his mouth, spinning in your chair and heading straight for Garcia’s office. Spencer had sat and stared at the mountain of manila folders then entire time you were gone, thinking to himself, How could you put up with this?

How could you deal with having to fight with your desk at every second of the day just to find something? The idea of it made him want to throw up. Not that his apartment was any better, he knew that. But there was a difference between work and home. Home was allowed to be messy and cluttered, full of the rest of your life outside of work. Work was work. It depended on being able to obtain information quickly and efficiently—not after ten minutes of rooting around.

Hey, Reid? you’d asked one afternoon. Have you seen that Milwaukee case file?

Which one?

The consult one? With the three missing girls?

He tried his best not to roll his eyes. I think you put it down on the edge of your desk.

You spun and rifled through the stack, grinning when you held it up. You’re a genius, you know that?

Pursing his lips, he said, Believe it or not, I do.

Spencer might’ve been bad at reading social clues, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you were just trying to be nice and start a conversation, but he reached over and lifted the phone to his ear, pretending not to notice the way your face fell. You quietly turned back to your computer and opened the file.

A week later, you tried again. Reid, do you want coffee?

No, he answered quickly, despite blinking back the sting of a 3:00am emergency case. ‘Urgent’ was all the text from Hotch had said, and now he was sitting behind his desk once again, for the fifty-second hour this week. Hotch was never wrong. There had never been a case that Hotch had chosen where the team hadn’t been needed, not in all the years Spencer had worked for the BAU. But he couldn’t deny that there were times that he wished he wasn’t at work.

You sure? I know we got more sugar, if that’s what you’re worried about.

I’m fine, he snapped, harsher than he’d intended. Thankfully, you left it alone.

Then, you were all in Atlanta, consulting on a case of three male bodies and another man missing. By the morning, his head had cleared, and he noticed the space you’d put between the two of you when you both arrived at the ME’s office.

Doctor Glenn, thanks for meeting with us, you started.

Doctor Glenn had smile brightly at you, standing from behind his desk to shake your hand. Spencer waved. Of course. And please, Scott is fine.

You sent him a soft smile. Where are we with the latest autopsy?

Well, from what I can tell, the murder weapon was some sort of short-bladed knife. What kind, I can’t say for certain. The advanced decomposition on all three makes it tricky.

Something like a kitchen knife? Or pocketknife?

Scott nodded. It’s possible. Like I said, I can’t be sure at this stage.

Can I see the photos? Spencer asked.

Absolutely, Scott replied. I was going to give you the file anyway. He opened the closest folder to him, but frowned. Oh, this isn’t right. Sorry, it’s here somewhere.

Noting his reddening cheeks the longer he searched, you said, Your desk looks a lot like mine.

If Scott noticed you attempt to put him at ease, he didn’t make it known. Brows pinched tightly together, he queried, The BAU doesn’t have strict guidelines on that kind of thing?

You shrugged. Maybe, it does. Though, I’m sure I’d have been written up by now if it did. You leaned forward in your chair to glance at the photo frames on the side. Spencer could see them clearly from where he sat. Two dozen frames littered the side of his desk, all displaying four boys---from baby photos to teenagers. Are they your boys?

Scott, visibly grateful to have a distraction while he continued rustling through drawers, didn’t look up. Yes, the four of them. James, Patrick, John, and Liam.

Spencer watched in silence the conversation the two of you had.

How old?

James is almost 21, Patrick, 19, and John and Liam are both 16.

Twins?

Indeed.

Must have been a handful when they were younger, I’m sure.

He smiled gently. You don’t know the half of it. John’s decided to head to college in California and Liam’s heading to New York.

It must be nice to have them close, at least for the time being, you replied.

It is. I don’t quite know what I’ll do once they’re gone, if I’m honest. And I worry. Like every parent does, I suppose.

Well, if they’re half as kind as all these photos make them out to be, then I’m sure they’ll be just fine.

That’s kind of you to say. I’m not blind, either. I know it’s a lot.

You laughed. It’s not, I promise. It’s nice to have something to remind you of the good. Especially with jobs like yours and mine. Reminds you of what you’re working for. Who you’re working for. There’s so much darkness out there, if we don’t remind ourselves, we can get lost in it.

Scott produced a file from the bottom drawer, and Spencer just stared at you, even as you took the file and flipped through it.

A month later, Spencer found himself hunched over his desk, computer brightness on low as he tried his best to block out the noise emanating from every corner of the bull pen. With the migraine he was sporting, he was sure he could hear all the way to reception, which did nothing to help his pounding head. He clicked random buttons on his computer as his eyes watched each minute tick by.

Four hours. That was all he had left. Then he could leave and collapse down onto his couch and sleep for two days until it was gone. With each passing minute, his brain fog got worse, until he was reading the same sentence for the fifth time in a row without comprehending what it was saying. Who even sends an email at 1:04pm on a Friday?

Aaron Hotchner, according to the contact name at the top. He needed to reply. Hotch would be expecting an answer.

Spencer hadn’t even realised you’d been speaking until you waved a hand in the air over the partition between your desks.

What? he asked, when you just stared blankly at him.

I asked if you were OK?

He sat up straighter, doing his best to ignore the pain that stabbed through him. I’m fine.

You cocked an eyebrow. Are you sure? You don’t look great.

I said I’m fine.

You were silent for a long moment, and you refused to break eye contact with him. That was until you leaned over and reefed open a drawer.

What are you doing?

You continued to dig through it. I have some pain meds in here. Nothing fancy, but you look like you could use some ibuprofen.

I don’t need it.

And I don’t need to sit here and watch you suffer for the rest of the day, Reid. Seriously. It’s painfully obvious.

Spencer didn’t have it in him to reply. Any other day, and he might’ve snapped at you. But today, he would take your kindness. As he came around to your side, he peeked inside your drawer, noting it was the same as the top of your desk. Cluttered and messy.

He stared at the mountain of files, eyes roaming over your desk. Your nameplate. Your empty coffee cups. Your photos. He paused as he took them in—for the first time since you’d been here.

Many different photos were tacked onto the partition. Most were of a cat and a dog and a few people who he assumed were family and friends from outside of work.

Only one was framed—a photo of the team. He could remember the day. You’d only been at the BAU for a month and upon returning from a hard case, Garcia had surprised you with a cake and balloons in the conference room. You’d cried, he remembered. Which he’d thought was weird, but hadn’t taken much note of at the time. Anderson had snapped a photo at Garcia’s insistence.

Suddenly, a sleeve of ibuprofen was thrust into his chest. Here.

Thank you, he mumbled.

You don’t need to thank me, Reid. Just take it, and maybe seen Hotch about leaving early. That can be your thanks. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, which he returned before heading to the breakroom.

Six months after you started at the BAU, you got shot.

Not life-threatening, but a bullet to the shoulder meant you were laid up on leave for two weeks.

The bullpen had never been so quiet, Spencer thought. Though maybe it was his guilt that made him think that. It had racked him every day of the two weeks since they’d gotten back from Wichita. The bullet had been meant for him, and if he’d actually been paying attention to his surroundings, then he wouldn’t have missed the UnSub lining up the shot, and you wouldn’t have pushed him out of the way, taking the hit for him.

Your screams still echoed in his mind. The first, his name: Spencer! Get down! And the second, your yelp of pain. Spencer had fired off two shots in quick succession, taking out the UnSub with barely more than a thought before he was turning to you lying flat on your back and gripping your shoulder.

He’d accompanied you to the hospital, where they said long-term damage was unlikely, but you would have a long road to recovery until you had full use of your arm again.

Hotch had immediately put you on leave, threatening that he’d make you take even longer if he saw you in the office at all before the two weeks was up. You had kept your word to him that you’d take the full two weeks.

Spencer hadn’t been sure what to do about your desk for the first few days. Hotch had instructed him to take over your files, which was easier said than done.

Heaving your last folder into his ‘Complete’ tray, he breathed a sigh of relief. Glancing at the clock, he realised he’d been zoned out writing reports for four hours. The rest of the team had all gone—aside from Hotch, but when wasn’t he in his office.

Starting over the partition, Spencer eyed the mess that still cluttered your desk. He hadn’t wanted to touch anything except the files, which he’d gingerly sorted into what was done and what wasn’t, careful not to disturb anything else on the desk.

Now, staring at all you’d left behind when they’d suddenly been forced to jet off, he wondered if tidying it was the least he could do. Maybe you would thank him for it. Or maybe you’d tear his head off for touching your stuff.

He decided to take that risk.

Collecting the loose papers and random Post-its, he placed them neatly into piles to the right of your computer. Most where mindless reminders for yourself—Get the dry cleaning! and Pay the water bill by tonight!

Spencer wasn’t always grateful for his eidetic memory, but not having to remember small day-to-day tasks was a huge bonus for him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to cope without it.

He straightened the tacked photographs and wiped down the team photo. He made sure your computer was properly plugged in. He ensured your tablet was fully charged for your return. He was almost satisfied, when he noticed one green Post-it note had fallen behind your monitor screen. Weaving his hands between the cords, he pulled it out.

Thanks for the ibuprofen. I really appreciate it.

Below his barely legible script, sat a small face he’d doodled. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought anything of it since he stuck it to your monitor.

But you still had it, even two months later.

He stuck it back where he’d put it the first time.

You’re back, Spencer said as he entered the bullpen the next morning.

I am, you replied, grinning wide. Do I have you to thank for this?

Placing his bag down on his seat, he said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Oh, come on. There’s only one other office neat freak in this whole place, and I know for a fact it wasn’t Hotch. When he said nothing, you rolled your eyes. Fine. Guess I’ll have to pass my thanks on to the boss man.

Spencer smiled as he unloaded his bag.

Cat got your tongue or something, Reid? He kept his lips sealed perfectly shut. Ok, then. Keep your secrets. I don’t need to know them. I don’t want to know them anyway.

I’m getting a coffee, he said suddenly, cutting off your teasing drawl. Do you want one?

You blinked. What?

I said, I’m getting a coffee. Would you also like one?

Uh, yeah. That would be great, you managed after a moment. Thanks.

He nodded, and he pretended he didn’t feel your eyes watching him the whole time as he made his way to the break room.

“Reid?” Morgan called, and Spencer looked up from the file he was currently nose-deep in. “Are you coming?”

“What’s happening?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Morgan groaned. “Don’t tell me you forgot about dinner at Rossi’s tonight.”

“Oh, that’s tonight?”

“Yes, pretty boy. How could you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” he mumbled, gathering his belongings as Morgan made his way over to him.

“From the looks of it, you absolutely did.”

“I didn’t. I just…have a lot on my mind.”

Morgan stopped at the side of Spencer’s desk, his signature smirk adorning his face. Spencer didn’t even look at him as he hastily jammed files into his bag.

“This is new,” Morgan commented, and he glanced over to see him staring at a framed photo he’d picked up.

When he flipped it around, Spencer could see it. The photo of him in his apartment, sitting on the couch, grinning ear to ear, and you sat right beside him, holding your left hand up to display the shiny ring adorning your finger. You’re looking directly at the camera. Spencer is only looking at you.

Spencer took the photo from him. “I liked it, so I got it printed.”

He didn’t have to tell him that he got every photo printed now. He’d never been a fan of technology, and the idea that all his best memories were being held ransom on a device that could be destroyed any minute made his head spin. So, he got every photo printed. Most were safely tucked away in albums on his bookshelf at his apartment.

But this one was special.

Morgan’s voice was gentle as he said, “It’s nice.”

Spencer smiled and brushed a finger over the glass. “Reminds me of the good,” he said.

Then he placed it back down on his desk, the frame right at home amongst all the others.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert

512 notes · View notes

angelicgirlmj · 12 days ago

Text

100+ angelic christmas gift ideas

𓂋

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

i adore christmas - its one of my favourite holidays! so beautiful and wintery, the lights and decorations, mugs of hot chocolate, childhood memories and so many traditions make it such a special time of year for me. i however, often struggle with knowing what to ask for or what i want for christmas, so i created a little inspo list to help me and anyone else! whether this is for a family member, friend, partner or even yourself im sure this will help you know exactly what you want (or at least give you some pointers in the right direction). these are all obviously just suggestions and vary in price so please put down in the comments what you are asking for this year! enjoy angel!!

uggs

victoria secret pjs

cozy fluffy socks

laneige lip balm

lush body lotions

rose quartz gua sha

glossier makeup

dior lip oil

sonny angels

yoga mat

silk pillowcases

litre water bottle

candles

jelly cats

cute claw clips

ear warmers

books

cute planner

posters or tapestries

camera

philosophy body washes

makeup bag

sylvanian baby blind bags

slippers

matcha

records or cds

five minute journal

desk or wall calendar

eye mask and bonnet

fluffy blankets

large candles

benetint lip tint

rare beauty products

cuticle oil and glass nail file

gold jewellery

silver jewellery

knee high boots

colourful/printed tights

pocket mirror

mugs

house plants

hair band or cute hair clips

gisou hair products

highlighters

charlotte tilbury makeup

pretty nail polishes

salt lamp or other lamp

tea bags (chai, green etc)

wallet or purse

bag charms

dyson hair wrap

your fave chocolates

makeup bag

quilt

vintage room decor

fluffy/patterned rug

new phonecase

slippers

headphones

rings

belt

portable speaker

crystals

fuzzy scarf and gloves

patterned tote bag

dried flowers

fairy lights

jewellery box or trinket dish

photo album

bath oils

incense

locket

bows or pretty scrunchies

sunglasses

mini crates or storage boxes

lululemon clothes

new bedsheets

laptop case

cute pillows

hair curlers

alarm clock

vintage/thrifted clothes

picture frames

snowglobes

miniature trinkets

personalised charm bracelet

makeup brushes

diffuser

face masks

lego

coffee table books

skims

tea infuser

reusable straw

warm jacket

sports bag

keyrings

jumpers

heels

charity donation

thank you so much for reading angels! this season is such a wonderful time of year because of the ideas and ethos surrounding it; one of giving. this winter should be about our loved ones and those in need. whether you do something as simple as donating old clothes to charity or making christmas cards for the homeless, i would encourage everyone (myself included) to make it their mission to give back in at least one way. remember - angels are kind and generous inside and out! as we plan our gifts or think about shopping and the fun things to come let’s all take a moment to reflect on how we can give back.

love, m.

p.s it’s never too early for christmas!

𓂋

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

#becoming that girl #girlblogging #girlhood #it girl #just girly things #it girl energy #that girl #pink pilates princess #christmas #pink aesthetic #pink christmas #gift ideas #wish list

389 notes · View notes

noceurous · 2 months ago

Text

lights, camera, action

your boyfriend gets his hands on a handycam, later on you

warnings: mentions of divorce, mentions infidelity, Dave’s family is also mentioned, some self-doubt and angst, looots of feelings (sorry idk what took over me ehehe), swearing, smut: fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), p-in-v sex, slapping, daddy kink, usage of various nicknames (baby, darling, etc) minors dni (18+) reader is able bodied + has some length of hair + afab.

a/n: my birthday is officially on 10th of september, but this fic turned out to be longer than i expected, so i said post it with a fic you feel good.

a/n2: this fic takes place in the same universe with [take the heat away, make the girl stay] but they can be read separately.

Carol was a really nice woman after the divorce.

It was nice of her to call you a homewrecker, among many other names.

It was nice of her to fill Molly and Alice’s heads with wrong ideas about you.

It was nice of her to call Dave in the middle of your date and tell him that he’ll come back crawling back to her after he’s done with you. just like the girls before and made sure you heard it.

Lastly, it was nice for Carol to send all of his belongings to your tiny apartment. You didn’t even know how she got your address. Just after a simple ring of the doorbell, you were standing between piles of light brown boxes.

“Shit, did she really do that too?” Dave asked over the phone as you stood inside the labyrinth made of boxes.

“Yep, what’s left of your relationship is now inside my living room.” You said as you eyed over the boxes. Trying to find out if your relationship was enough to fill one box.

“They’re mostly clothes, family photos and Father’s Day gifts. There is nothing left of the relationship.” You were familiar with the last sentence. Dave used that to reassure you during the beginning of your relationship.

He also used that sentence to girls, and Carol. When any one of them accused you of breaking them up.

“Yeah, probably. I’m gonna take a shower. When will you be back?”

“Fifteen minutes tops. Do you want anything?”

“No, just you.” His chest hurt when he heard how your voice cracked before you ended the phone call.

He hated Carol when she did that. Blaming you for everything went wrong in the marriage. Taking her anger out on you, when in truth you came into him long after he decided on a divorce.

—

“Darling? I’m home.” He didn’t hear your reply, but the water sound came from the bathroom.

He took off his long coat, his keys still in his hand when he walked towards the living room. Greeted with a pile of boxes. He couldn’t imagine how you felt when a box after a box came into your place. He would call Carol again, but he knew pretty well whatever he said to stop her, just would fuel Carol’s anger.

He raised his key, slashing and opening one right through the tape with it.

Fake plastic trophy of being the Best Dad Ever, broken hand painted coffee mugs, a photograph in a frame from Alice’s first soccer game.

He went through some of the boxes more. As he assumed they were mostly clothes and stuff related to girls. Mainly photo albums which were half empty since Carol only sent him photos he was included. Nothing more.

When he was going over his last box, something silver at the corner of the box caught his eye. When he took it out, he was greeted with an old handycam.

“No way.” He smiled as he took it out. Shocked when he found out it was still charged.

He heard your footsteps when you came towards him, wrapped a towel around your body and another one around your head.

“What is that?” You walked towards him, the scent of your shower gel filling his nostrils.

Orchids.

“That’s my old handy-cam. Got stuck between stuff, still works.”

He explained as he checked if there were any pre saved videos. He remembered using it for Alice’s school plays and Molly’s soccer practice. Half remembering that he already saved them to Carol’s computer.

He pressed on the record button, when he saw the red blinking light he raised the camera to you.

“What are you doing!” You chuckled, covering your face.

“Recording my lovely girlfriend.”

“I’m in a towel.” He shrugged, still keeping the camera on you.

“That’s better.” He said as he zoomed on your legs, slowly lifting the camera to your body. “Don’t be shy. Camera loves you.”

“Is it the camera? Or is it my horny boyfriend?”

“Both. Give me something baby, come on.” You rolled your eyes, blew a kiss and winked at the camera.

“That’s better.” He said as he placed his hand on your towel, raising an eyebrow.

Before you could understand his next move, he tugged the towel down, watching it pool around your ankles.

“Dave!” You protested, hands covering your breasts.

“Don’t be shy honey. This is just for me. Show it to me.” You huffed, placing your hands at your waist. Sticking out your chest more as he pointed the camera at your breasts, recording every inch for you.

He licked his lips at your sight. “I’m a lucky bastard aren’t I?”

“Try the luckiest.”

He chuckled, motioning you to the couch. “Take a seat.” You rolled your eyes, swinging your ass as you walked towards the couch. You knew he was zooming in there.

He whistled, “That’s my girl” as he followed you. Sitting further from you on the coffee table. “Open your legs for me, come on.” The sight of your glistening pussy was on camera, Dave’s hand was slightly shook, blurring the view for a second. He tried to play it like he was affected less from the sight of you than he actually was.

“Hmm, you’re wet baby.” You smirked at the camera, slowly nodding. “Who made you this wet?”

“You did.” You pressed your fingers on your lips, spreading them to show him your swollen clit covered in your silk. “See? It’s all for you.”

He felt his pants tighten, he didn’t even find the time to take off his tie since he got back. Now you were standing all naked for him, showing off your perfect body. And he had too much clothes on to feel you on his skin.

“Be a good girl, play with yourself for me. But don’t cum.” He said as he slowly placed the camera on the coffee table. Angling it to the perfect angle.

Your eyes were looking into his eyes, as he clicked his tongue pointing at the camera. “Eyes on the camera baby.” You swallowed down your whimper. Thumb pressed onto your clit, feeling your walls clench around nothing.

You pushed a finger inside you, moaning at your wetness. You closed your eyes, for a second, your other hand was on the cushion, grasping it tightly.

You started moving your finger, in and out, playing with your clit then back in. “Open your eyes.” You opened them, seeing Dave in front of you, behind the camera.

He was naked, his cock in his hand, slowly pumping himself. You could tell he was rock hard, it was painful for him not to touch you. “See what you’re doing to me?” You gulped, nodding quickly.

“Add another finger.” You did as he said, your toes curled, walls clenching around your fingers. You didn’t have to look down to know your juices were dripping down on your couch, making a mess.

You continued to finger yourself slowly, eyes locked on the red light on the camera. You could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, trying to hold it as long as possible.

Your whimpers filled his ears, his eyes locked at the way your naked chest came up and down. Each second it became harder for him to not feel you on his skin. You were a sight for his sore eyes, all he carved for his life.

“Show me.” He said as he knelt between your legs. You took your fingers out of your pussy, the wet sound of it crying made both of you moan.

Your fingers were glistening with your juices, you took them inside your mouth, sucking off your juices.

His warm breath fanning your weeping pussy. He quickly hooked your legs on his shoulders. Diving into your pussy, drinking your juices right from your core.

Your body trembled as his warm tongue touched you. Drawing long strokes with the tip of his tongue. “Oh Fuck!” You said as your hand went back to cushion. Supporting yourself as Dave continued to lick over your folds aggressively.

He raised his face, his lips and chin covered with your juices. The corner of his lips raised into a smirk. “You taste so good.” He said before he dove back in. Sucking down your clit.

You smirked at the camera, hand going to your breast. “Fuck! Dave! You are so good!” You pinched down your swollen nipple. Pulling him closer to your core by pressing your ankles on his back.

He pushed a finger inside you, eyes pointed up to your blissed face. You were looking right at the camera just like he told you. His pretty girl always followed his orders without making him give them twice.

“Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!” You were chanting out as he was brutally fucking you with his finger. His lips on your thigh, kissing along the soft flesh, pressing his teeth on your inner thigh.

He pushed another finger inside. “Are you going to cum?” You looked down at him, eagerly nodding.

“May I? Please daddy, I’ve been so close.” He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Earning a loud moan from you. “Please.”

Who was he to deny you from pleasure?

“Cum for me.” He said as he sucked your clit once more, fingers still moving inside you. Your body shook when he brushed along your sweet spot. Pads of his fingers pressing on it just right. “Fu—“ Your body jolted backwards, your mind went blank as the white pleasure surrounded your body.

You were panting heavily, as he got up between your legs slowly, his hand wrapped around his cock. Fingers shining with your juices. Your mouth watered with the sight. You wanted him. You wanted more.

With the dark look in his eyes, you knew he wanted the same. “Get on the floor. On your hands and knees.”

You got in the position like he asked, shaking your ass a little when you got on your knees. He slapped you harshly causing you to fall on your hands. Your lips parted, showing him one of his favorite views; your ass in the air, your hole greedily waiting for him.

He pressed his tip on your entrance, “Look at the camera, don’t close your eyes, or I’ll stop.” You knew this was more of a statement than a threat. Before you could say something he gradually pushed himself inside of you, letting go of his breath when he reached your limit. His cock twitched inside you when your walls welcomed him inside.

“Oh.” You moaned at feeling full, still sore from his fingers. Your pussy greedily accepting him, already addict to the sweet pain.

He could see your glossy, lustful gaze thanks to the camera. Cursing himself for not thinking this sooner. Not thinking of saving these moments of you. Not starting saving anything he could save from you.

He placed his hands on your waist. Getting his momentum as his hips started slapping against your ass, not wasting any time with being gentle. Today was not one of his gentle, love making days. He needed you. He needed to take what was his.

He was not having a great time at work. Now he also had to handle Carol and stop her from attacking you.

He had to protect you and he had no objection to that. If it was allowed, he would tear up the limbs of anyone who dared to hurt you. It does not have to be physical abusive, just a simple word was enough to get him violent. There was nothing in this world that would stop him to protect you.

You were his purpose in life, his guiding light.

“Please.”

Your crying voice turned him back to reality, his eyes snapped back to the camera from your shaking ass. Your eyes teared from pleasure, thin layer of sweat covering your cheeks.

“Yes?”

“Please cum inside me. I missed feeling your cum inside. I’ve been empty for days.”

He had some stuff to take care of in Denmark. Unfortunately his little business trip took longer than he expected. So all you were able to do were some quick calls and exchanging text messages. Whispers of “I miss you” were exchanged as you bit your tongue not to say “I love you” too soon.

“Baby…” He said, getting faster than before, chasing his pleasure. You moaned, when he pushed in a bit too hard. Your hand stopped you from falling forward. Forehead almost hit the coffee table.

He cursed his ignorance, wrapping his arm around your neck, leaning over figure. He pressed his lips on your sweet spot behind your ear, feeling your body tremble between his arms. He nudged your temple with the tip of his nose, taking in your smell.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered, eyes locked with yours on the screen.

“You look so good, baby. I feel how you tighten around me, you want to cum again don’t you?”

“Yes, please.”

“You want me to make you?”

“Ye—yes...” His hand went to your clit from your waist, flicking it rapidly. “F—fuck! D—dave!”

“Go on, come all over my cock baby! Fuck you’re milking me so good.” He slapped your ass, grabbing a handful of the soft flesh before whispering to the shell of your ear. “You want me to cum inside don’t you? Fill you right to the brim?”

He groaned at how your walls tighten around him with your question. “Yes! Fuck yes! Please fill me up. I’ll do anything, please.” He sucked a bruise your neck, his hot breath from his nose fanning on your throat.

“If you really want to…” He said as he spurted out his cum inside you, pressing down on your swollen clit. Holding your body with his arm still wrapped around your neck as it trembled with your orgasm.

“Dave!” Your voice shook as you tried to keep yourself up. Feeling his hot cum spill inside you. He turned your head to the side, smashing his lips to yours. You moaned into the kiss, opening your mouth for his tongue to enter. Your salty taste on his tongue as he sucked yours.

Taking everything you offered to him.

He slowly took himself out, some of his cum spilled out from your hole. He tsked, gathering them with his fingers and pushing them back in. You hissed with the contact, looking over your shoulder to him.

“I’ll send someone tomorrow, to take care of the boxes. I don’t want you to worry about them.” You nodded, as he lied down next to you. Pulling your naked body to lie on his naked chest. You buried your head on his chest, kissing right above where his heart his.

You took the camera from the table, stopping the recording. You smiled at the video, thinking how better you looked than you guessed.

“Like a true temptress.” Dave said, as he buried his nose in your hair, his fingers drawing circles on your upper arm.

“Can I keep a copy as well?”

“Anything you want darling.” He said as he kissed you, slowly moving you to his lap between kisses. “Anything for you.”

—

The next morning Dave’s men came to collect the boxes. And Carol had an anonymous email in her inbox with no subject.

It was a small photo where Dave was eating you out. When she scrolled down, she saw your text added underneath.

Mine, back off.

Needless to say, the email disappeared a few minutes later it was read, without leaving any trace.

—

please provide comments/reblogs if you liked this fic. they always mean a lot 💙

#dave york #dave york smut #dave york oneshot #dave york fluff #dave york angst #dave york x you #dave york x reader #pedro pascal #dave york fanfiction #dave york x y/n

257 notes · View notes

prestogifts · 1 year ago

Text

#coffee mug printing #gift photo frames #buy gifts in india

0 notes

jolalibrary · 6 months ago

Text

14. soft periwinkle

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter fourteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: dad!frankie, luca appears. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. brief mention of frankie’s sobriety. an: thank you so much for being patient for this chapter, things are still odd at home but I've missed this pair so much <3

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Limbs stretching out, sheets rustling, your smile grows as your hand remains clasped around the phone as you bring it to your ear—

Good morning, baby.

It’s a sound that's so perfect. Just for you.

It's a sound that's so perfect. Just for you. A treat to enjoy each day—sometimes this way, sometimes in person. Still, it's almost cruel when a day starts so perfectly but doesn't end that way. You whisper your response back, even though there's no one in the house you need to be quiet for.

But it’s instinct, just like loving him is.

I love you, Frankie whispers—deep, a little gruff, voice muddled still with sleep. I love you, you repeat back, eyes staring at the photograph on your bedside table.

The one on his side of the bed. Because you have sides now.

You’d printed it the other week and chose the frame a week before that. Eyes flicking over photo-him, how his chin is raised, eyes closed, little lines in the corners from how much he’s laughing as one arm keeps you close, and he rests his other hand on the top of his abdomen.

You hadn’t taken it, Benny had. Sent it to you thirty minutes after he’d snapped it without the two of you knowing.

When will you be here? Frankie's honeyed voice asks, making you sit up from the pillows, push down the duvet. Once it’s delivered, I’ll head right to yours. I’ll be there soon, you whisper—hearing him groan as he stretches.

But soon hadn't needed to feel this long.

Busying yourself, mug in hand—warm against your palm—you lean in the doorway of the office he's built, noticing the time. How it rudely ticks on, widening the gap from the end of the call to the moment you'd hoped to be with him.

You’ve found yourself lingering in this doorway a lot lately, piecing it together, almost trying to recall what it looked like before he’d gotten his magic touch on it. The final touches are almost ready to be made, with the blinds due to be fitted soon.

And this morning, the sun has been trying to show, ready to drape the space in warm gold—little rays of light trying to break through clouds, show more than just spots of cyan between the fluffiest white.

Phone buzzing, you pull it from your back pocket, finding you’re the next stop. A thing you already knew from tracking it since you’d risen. Glancing at the little dot as it bounced around the streets as you checked your emails, showered, dressed and made coffee.

His coffee. Not able to go back now you’ve tried it.

The bubble of anxiety in your chest flares as you drain your cup. It doubles when you place it in the sink. Wiping your hands on a dishcloth, you linger close to the front window, hoping it’s perfect—knowing it needs to be.

Not that there’s any time to fix it if it isn’t.

Not even a backup plan made, a thing you half-kick yourself for as the truck pulls up outside. As your fingers flex and you dig your nails into your thighs—not wanting to open the door and wait, appear impatient; but also not wanting to spare any seconds from not being able to check it.

Not that you’d even needed to worry.

A thing that made you grin the entire drive over, keys jangling up his drive, pushing open Frankie’s front door, closing it behind you as you shout, “Luca?”

There’s a pause.

Then you hear him.

Excited bare feet slapping against the floor, thrill filling your chest, eroding all earlier worries as you move to the living room, kneel on the rug as the little boy runs to you dressed in a white onesie, various shades of dinosaurs at all angles covering it.

An outfit you remember Frankie telling you about the other week.

“Oh, well don’t you look cool?”

Grinning, spotting the smallest gap in his smile, remembering the panicked conversation Frankie had reenacted when he’d called Sam, as the man himself waves at you from the kitchen.

“You like?”

“Of course, you look so cool, Luca!”

“Cooler than Daddy?”

Flicking your eyes to Frankie, half-smirking. “Don’t tell him, but yes. Anyway, I’ve got something for you.”

Pointing at himself, he grins even wider—if that is at all possible. “For me?”

Crouching down, you slide onto your knees, before pulling open the paper bag that crinkles as you gently take out the white t-shirt inside, unfolding it, showing it to him.

And the look, as you expected, is priceless. His eyes widen, joy exploding in them as his finger gently, all but cautiously, scratches at the drawn image now ink-printed on. All you can do is watch, practically fixated on his little brown eyes tracing every element of the thing the two of you had huddled around your laptop over. How a few weeks ago, he had huddled close, dug his knees into your thigh and let you show him how he could arrange it all. His little finger guided by yours until the drawn image he’d crayoned into paper sat where he wanted on the screen, joined by the photo Frankie had found of Luca and Sam were in position. Wanna add some dinosaurs? you’d asked, aiding him in choosing cartoon dinosaurs and stars until he was happy.

“You made this! Can you believe it?”

Nodding, he continues to stare, finger-stroking at one particular photo on the t-shirt. “Mommy will like I thinks.”

“I think she’s going to love it. I bought some gift wrap—do you want to try and do it with me later?”

Nodding again, but more enthusiastically, his hands interlock in front of him. Doing a little wiggle as he stares, as he moves from the t-shirt to you.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you say. “I’m going to fold this up—just so we don’t get it dirty. And then later, we can wrap all the other things for Mommy before she picks you up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, watching him hesitate.

A beat occurs. The t-shirt slid safely back into its bag before you feel it—little arms, the familiar scent of laundry and the softness of new fleece. A warmth exploding in you that makes you almost well up, a desperation to cling a little tighter when your arms instinctively move around him, hugging him back as little breaths tickle your ear.

“Thank you, Rainy.”

Your face shifts, trying not to choke up at the nickname coming from his mouth as your eyes meet Frankie’s in the doorway—the biggest smirk on his face.

“You’re welcome, Luca,” you whisper, as the two of you release.

It’s not even a second, barely a moment to take in what has happened before Luca shouts (enthusiastically) that he has a new toy—running back off, barely aware of the size or significance of his hug.

Fingers wiping your eyes, giving Frankie a don’t start expression as he offers his hand out to you.

“Coffee?”

Laughing, letting him pull you up, you nod, “Please.”

Sliding your arm around his back, half walking and half being led to the kitchen, unsure how you could ever begin to describe the content feeling pulsing inside of you.

“You okay?”

Nodding, you wipe another tear, staring at him, before you press a kiss to his lips. “Hi.”

“Hi, baby.”

Have I told you how happy it makes me when I get the notification that you've posted and I find you looking so good?

Do I need to know how to build decking in Will's yard? No. Do I suddenly want you to dick me? Yes.

When did you start uploading hour-long videos?

Morales, I don't think you know how hot you look laying planks of wood.

Didn't know laying decking would get you so worked up.

Anything you do gets me worked up, keep up.

How worked up are you?

Worked up enough that I'm wondering if your lunch can be extended or whether I should go for an afternoon nap.

Your code for naps is broken. I know what that means now.

I trust you with my secret. Especially since you love my naps.

I do. But then I love everything about you.

Am I going for a nap alone, Morales?

No, but start without me, but do not finish.

Did you send flowers to my house?

The card saying Frankie didn’t give it away?

I got a card saying Maurice. Are you telling me your name is Maurice Francisco Morales?

Fuck. They must have misheard me when I called them at drop-off.

Well, they’re lovely, Maurice. I’m very excited to be wined and dined by you—are you sure 8pm isn’t too late for you?

Hilarious.

Do you have to be careful of what you eat? In case you’re up all night.

I’m hoping to be up all night anyway.

You mean with me right? Not with indigestion.

Have I told you how funny you are?

Not today. They are really pretty, Frankie.

I can’t wait to pick you up tonight.

I can’t wait to forget to put underwear on.

Fuck.

For the amount of time it’s taken for the two of you to get here, as soon as he holds the door for you, you can see it was worth it.

A thing you feel you should have known before now, when he’d showed up to pick you up with flowers in a nice shirt and a pair of slacks eyes widening at the sight of you—a scratchy, syllable broken fuck, you look beautiful leaving his lips as you try not to drag him into your home.

You only stop yourself from doing so because he’d insisted on treating this like a real date, and not just going out for food. Something you’d reminded him when his mouth slid over yours, when your spine met the front of your door and his knee tried to slot itself between your legs—hitching the fabric further and further up your knees. Chest heaving, already sure that the thin fabric between your legs is damp with want.

“If you do this now, you’ll ruin your surprise,” you say against his parted lips, eyes flicking up, finding pupils almost swallowing brown. “It’s a good surprise too. Lacy. New.”

You were still thinking of the groan he emitted when he told the hostess his name.

Tearing your eyes away from his, you sweep them slowly over the restaurant, the urge to tighten your fingers around his hand almost unbearable as your heart swells with a tender ache.

Because the restaurant is nice, really nice. It’s nothing short of warm, romantic—cosy. Each table is graced with a flickering candle, casting a gentle, golden glow that pirouettes on the walls. Fairy lights drape like delicate garlands over the bar area, the twinkling reflections like constellations in a night sky.

The deep red walls are decorated with local art, each piece telling a story with little tags beneath them highlighting the name and price of the creators as your gaze lingers on a particular painting. It’s a street, one a few blocks from here, Harold’s in the corner, nestled close to the edge, yet it holds its presence with quiet confidence.

By the time you’re seated, the sounds and murmurs of other diners have blended into a soft, melodic hum that mixes with the soft acoustic music. The air is tinged with rosemary with cooked dishes that flutter past on trays with swirling steam.

You can understand why it’s a place he’d wanted to bring you. Why there had been nothing but disappointment in his voice when he’d had to cancel all those months ago.

Your eyes gaze at him as he sits, dropping the stare when you brush your fingers over the leather menu—lips curling into your cheek at the sight of the candle flickering between the two of you.

“Big enough for you?”

Smirking, you bite down a laugh as you unfold your menu. “More than appropriately sized—you undersold yourself.”

Reaching across for you, your hand slides into his—finding itself home as his thumb slides over yours. Staring at the appetisers, the mains, it all sounds far too good, making it far too hard to choose. Eyes scanning over each, unsure what it is that you both want to eat or feel safe to eat—not sure if you’ve packed mints or if there’s a convenient way to brush your teeth between getting back and taking him to bed.

“I think I mentioned it, but you look good.”

“Oh, do I? I… I was not aware. Must have gotten lost in you pressing me against my front door.”

Snorting, he shakes his head, eyes lingering, something there etched and hanging.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You don’t buy it, gripping his hand a little tighter—tilting your head to ensure your eyes lock onto his. “Frankie,” you say softly. Silently letting tell me to be spoken wordlessly.

“Sometimes I can’t believe that you’re mine.”

Tightening your hold on his hand, ignoring how your neck is warm, your chest and ears, you let a smile broaden out. More so, when his palm twists, interlocking your fingers.

“Believe it, I'm not going anywhere.”

Your lips remain parted, more words wishing to fall, willing themselves to. But you stop, staring at his thumb as it circles over your knuckles.

“Not… even to the bathroom?”

Laughing softly, you squeeze his hand again, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “Well, maybe for that. But I promise to come straight back.”

Smiling, it sliding into his cheek, he swallows before whispering okay.

“Can’t believe I met you because I decided to be spontaneous and try and dabble at DIY.”

Brushing his thumb over your fingers, he grins—that one which crinkles his eyes and makes his teeth show. “Can’t believe I gave such good service you stalked me a few days later.”

“I did not.”

“I don’t blame you Rainy, I look good in an apron.”

Shaking your head, exhaling loudly you lower your gaze to your menu. “Look better in just your hat, Morales.”

“Glad I’ve got it in the truck then.”

Just finished the project, I’m done. All signed off. No more Mr Grump. So, how’s the second grump in my life?

I’m not grumpy.

It’s okay that you are, your son is on vacation.

I ate chicken nuggets and waffle fries for dinner.

Oh, baby. But was it good?

Ridiculously good. No wonder the kid is mad for them.

Do you want me to come over? I know you have work early and I can bring my laptop, work from yours tomorrow while you’re out.

I’d like that. But only if you want to.

Yeah, of course I do! I get to use my key!

You still at home?

It shouldn’t make you smile, but it does.

Blooms over your face, makes you feel ridiculous, like you want to kick your feet out from under his blanket and shriek with joy. Because it’s simple; you know it’s a slip-up as he likely rushes from thing to thing.

I am. You/we are running low on groceries? Wanna go grocery shopping with me Rainy? Only if you let me push the cart.

He’d already called you on his lunch, told you how Harold had struggled with his breathing again, that he should be done in an hour, maybe two. I’m not going anywhere. Yeah? You’d only realised you’d been nodding when he called out your name and you quickly responded with a year.

In truth, you hadn’t left his home in four days.

A thing you’re beginning to feel increasingly guilty about. Like you’d moved in without as much as asking. Your things had found themselves even more with his, and deep down—later confirmed when you’d called a friend to catch up—you realised you didn’t even really miss your own place.

A thing which should feel odder than it does; a thing you turn over when you lock his door and head out to him as he pulls up to grab you. It turns over and over, almost folding in on itself by the time he’s parked up and exiting, still telling you about how he’d helped a man who knew even less than you—a thing he hadn’t known was possible.

It isn’t until he collects a cart, and wheels it to you with ease, do you realise he’s made you. Known right under your smile and humour that you’ve been thinking something.

“Tell me.”

Smirking, you exhale, walking in with him through the automatic doors as you’re both washed over in air-conditioning. “I’m wondering whether I go back to mine tonight for just underwear and clothes or…?”

Adjusting his curls under this hat, he steps behind you to avoid shoppers leaving the store. “Do you... want to go home?”

You’re thankful his hand doesn’t move from your back, allowing you to root yourself to it, letting him lead you to the fresh produce.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome, that’s all.” You watch as he grabs a plastic bag, glancing at you. An unreadable expression gliding across his face. “What?”

“Baby, if I could have my way, I’d never let you leave.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really fuckin' not.”

Swallowing, you feel a flutter. A spread of warmth slides out across your chest and through your lungs—the same one you feel when he looks at you for a little longer than normal. When his smile catches yours when you’re talking to Benny and he’s fetching drinks with Will.

Watching him tie the bag, placing it down carefully, he straightens back up.

“Do you want to go home tonight?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head. “I’m also worried if I stay for another week, like I want to, it’ll be really hard when I do go back.”

Snorting, he ties another bag—an assortment of shades beginning to make a pile in one corner. “So, for your sake—and mine—I should tie you to my bed?”

Glancing around, mouth open and eyes wide, you smirk. “Francisco.”

Shrugging, he grins, grabbing the end of the cart, leading you to another aisle—one quieter, fewer people.

“If I had brought my croissant pajamas, you’d want me to go home.”

Holding up two items to you, you point at one as he nods in agreement, shelving the other where he found it and adding the other to the cart. “Your croissant pajamas?”

Licking your lips, you pretend to be enamoured with some dried sauces. “Well, I have my sexy ones where I aim to be naked, then my cute-but-he-could-still-make-me-naked ones, and then I have my food ones.”

“The fact you’ve not shown me these before now upsets me.”

Laughing, you feel him tug on the cart, as you reluctantly follow. “Because you want to laugh?”

“No, because I think you’ll look hot in them and then I can see how many puns I can do before my mouth is between your thighs.”

He makes sure to look over his shoulder at the last part. A thing you both like and rather loathe all at once, especially here—in a place with people. Where you can smother your little tells, but likely not hide them well enough from him and the way he knows you so well.

“I do really like your cockiness.”

“Oh, Rainy. I know you like the first four letters of that last word.”

Nudging the cart into him, his laugh makes your chest bloom. Almost explode. A sound you’ve had the chance to experience in person more lately—a treat, a thing you’re not sure if you can so easily give back up.

“You fancy something in particular for dinner?”

“Not sure—we should buy dinosaur-shaped nuggies, though.”

Adjusting his hat, he comes to a stop before some frozen doors. “I can grab those before Luca is back—”

“For us, Morales.”

Narrowing his eyes, Frankie slowly tilts his head. “You been eating dinosaur nuggies, Rainy?”

“I cannot confirm or deny. But I will say there’s not an age on dinosaur nuggies.”

“Fuck, you have! You like dinosaur nuggets.”

Shrugging, mirroring him from before, his gooey smile slides up into one cheek—making that dimple appear, making it hard not to reach out and brush it with your finger and then your lips.

“We should buy some granola—maybe fruit? Be adult-like.”

Rocking his head from side to side, he shrugs, nodding,

“Hey,” you say, passing some cakes—large ones, lots of frosting, “It’s your birthday soon, isn’t it?”

Tearing his eyes from a shelf, thinking, he slowly nods.

“And, does that mean it’ll be your sixth year too?”

Fingers sliding over the cart handle, waiting, not pushing, he slowly grabs a box, placing it down with the other things, before moving closer around the cart. “You remembered?”

“Well, I love you, Morales. What’s important to you is important to me.”

Nodding, he scratches at his arm, momentarily looking lost in the cereal aisle. Like he's shrunk, lost. The shadow of his smile having faded, almost flattening to a thin line.

“Frankie?” you ask, watching in real-time as he comes back to you.

Like the world goes from black and white to colour.

“Do you... want to do anything for it?”

“My birthday?”

Smiling, you look down briefly before meeting his gaze. “No, your six years.”

Shrugging, he picks up a box, stares at the back of it, likely pretending to read it. To be in awe of it.

“What if I said I wanted to do something for it? To celebrate you. Would that be too much?” You wait a beat, watching him re-shelve the box, and his Adam's apple bobs in his neck. “It can be small. Just us. I can even just get you a cake, but no candle, of course.”

Snorting, he runs his palm along his chin. “Of course.”

“Think about it. Let me know,” you say, pushing the cart closer, nudging him with the end of it as he flicks his eyes to you.

And then it's slow, cautious.

Begins with a gradual lift of his knuckles under your chin when he's beside you, tipping your mouth up to meet his—and you swear you taste a thank you on your lips as he kisses you. As he places another, and another. Your hand slips to his lower back, feeling yourself want to turn and momentarily forget how public the two of you are, when you feel him ghost his mouth over yours, eyes slowly opening, practically drinking you in.

“Don’t go home just yet,” he says, your lips rolling together, fingers slowly splaying out on his back. “Unless you want to go, that is.”

“I don’t.”

“Then stay.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t step back, not immediately, whispering an okay himself as his eyes flick from one of yours to the other. “Please bring your food pajamas.”

“You gonna promise me you’ll still love me?”

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, sliding your other hand from the cart as he steals it from under you, he grins. “Forever and ever.”

“I might hold you to that.”

He just grins. A knowing grin.

You find you don't hate the look one bit.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

we're almost to the end of this pair, and that hurts my soul. i'm going to miss them so much. thank you for all the support until now, and going forward. i adore each of you for coming along this ride with me, even if all i gave you was hardware frankie and some texts.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales

296 notes · View notes

prestowonders · 2 years ago

Link

#unique personalized gifts #personalized coffee mugs #customised photo frames

0 notes

literaila · 2 months ago

Note

Make a list of every single shenanigan teenage reader and Gojo have done

Doesn't have to be detailed I just want to know what these losers did to make Yaga so mad

• broke a vending machine because gojo kept trying to pull the drink reader wanted out of the machine with cursed energy instead of letting her pay for it

• accidentally bleached everyone’s clothes when it was readers turn to do laundry because gojo swore he “knew a secret”

• broke a tv remote when wrestling over it because gojo kept turning the volume up to 1000% when reader was trying to sleep

• set the oven on fire when trying to bake a cake for suguru’s birthday and then gojo “accidentally” pointed the fire extinguisher at reader instead of the oven and ruined her clothes

• picked the locks to the gym so reader could show gojo how to take the basketball hoops off of the wall

• spent a whole day scaring people by gojo teleporting them both around into peoples rooms for “practice”

• stole a car in the middle of the night just for fun

• when everyone was gone one weekend the two of them just went around everyone’s dorms and replaced the framed photos of their families with pictures of gojo

• developed a dance routine except the “dance routine” involved them tackling each other in the classroom and getting suspended from class for three days

• when reader found out that gojo was using his six eyes to cheat a look at his christmas presents and pulled his hair until he was crying from his pretty blue eyes

• sneaking away from group outings at popular districts to go and get dessert approximately 17 times

• sneaking out in the middle of night to get gas station food and inevitably getting caught each time because of the barriers around jujutsu high approximately 26 times (yaga but a deadbolt on the outside of gojo’s room to lock him in but then he learned how to teleport)

• “forgetting” to complete their chores and spend their time beating each other at video games instead

• hiding all of the food in the kitchen in suguru’s dorm and replacing it with empty bottles of suguru’s fancy hair conditioner that they’d both been collecting for up to six months

• pretending that the other died for multiple hours at least once each (everyone believed it)

• throwing everyone a surprise birthday party (so it wasn’t a surprise after the 3rd time) but timing it so that yaga would only show up after everyone was gone and the classroom was a mess

• changing the newspaper out with fake versions to mess with yaga (this is readers personal favorite. also includes more pictures of gojo)

• endless prank phone calls

• literally endless (suguru eventually stole satoru’s phone but they would just use readers instead and shoko threatened to stab them both where “no one would realize it wasn’t an accident”)

• kept messing with nanami’s coffee in the mornings until eventually he got a thermos with a lid instead of a mug

• reader picked haibaras lock and they drew on his face (he thought it was funny though ((includes chibi gojo))

• reader got geto to start collecting fly heads and he assisted the two of them in letting them go in the common room right before yaga came back from lunch

• stealing the files yaga had on the gojo clan

• using shokos medical books that she “studies” to make paper airplanes to see whose would fly the furthest

• gojo replacing readers sheets with digimon ones (she kept them)

• making six voo doo dolls of yaga and leaving them around campus (you know how he feels about stuffed animals)

• reader hiding all of gojo’s candy in the library where he would never find it (yaga sat him down the next day and accused him of using school space as his own personal pantry and got banished to the library for several sparring lessons)

• sparring so late at night that suguru would inevitably send a curse to bite satoru

#i could think of more but #geez #gojo x reader #a typical family #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo

168 notes · View notes

kinardsboy · 4 months ago

Note

I love picturing the moment Buck realizes that Tommy isn't getting bored of him or plotting to leave him behind. Not necessarily after a big traumatic situation -- I'm picturing them drinking coffee together one morning, Buck holding onto Tommy's hand, and Tommy saying something about mornings being better with Buck.

It was about seven months into their relationship, when Buck knew he was going to be with this man for the rest of his life.

Tommy had just finished brewing their coffee, neither of them had a shift today so they were going to the San Diego Zoo to look at the newborn otters.

Buck was still settling into their routines, getting used to having someone so kind and attentive to his needs- it made him happy- but at the same time it filled him with dread.

Dread because nothing good in his life ever lasted- Dread because Tommy was sure to get bored of him soon- get bored of taking these baby steps with him instead of dating someone who was already out for years prior. Evan knew Tommy would grow tired of taking care of him- Evan knew he was “so needy” and so it made it difficult to enjoy these domestic moments- because all he could think about, in the quiet, in the natural lull of the conversation- was when it was all going to end.

Tommy turned around to face Buck, holding both of their coffee mugs; when he suddenly paused.

It was.. scary. How accurately Tommy could read Buck. It left him feeling exposed- especially when Tommy was impossible to read. The man was so damn cool and suave.

“You know,” Tommy began, sitting down across from his boyfriend, getting his attention. “I used to love mornings.”

“Oh yeah?” Evan mumbled and reached out for his coffee, only half paying attention. Still worried about losing everything.

“Oh yeah.” Tommy nodded “I didn’t like the quiet of the night- so getting up and ready for work was no problem for me. Everyone always complained that I was too chipper in the morning- but hey if it gave me a reason to get up and get out of bed- then who cares right?”

“Mhm.” Evan nodded

“But then- this adorable- and dorky firefighter crawled his way into my heart and now,” Tommy sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his forehead for effect. “I hate mornings.. because morning means I have to drag myself out of bed- out of the warm embrace of my favorite person in the world.. and we have to go our separate ways.”

Evan looked up at Tommy’s words, snorting when his boyfriend was being over dramatic. “So.. what do you like now?” He asked curiously

“Now, Evan. I like nights. Didn’t used to before. Too quiet. But that same adorable, oh and dorky, firefighter that crawled his way into my heart?” Tommy hummed “well he also crawled his way into my home- my life- filling my house with laughter and his presence- and silly little trinkets to remind me of him when he can’t be there.” Tommy gestured over to the framed photo of the two of them at the aquarium, sitting on the coffee table. Then at the accompanying otter stuffed animal, lying right next to the photo.

“And nights? Nights mean reuniting with said favorite person. They mean sharing dinner and a conversation- they mean cuddling and watching a movie.. or doing something else.. while we watch a movie.” Tommy chuckled before continuing, “My point is.. you have - changed me. For the better. In such a short amount of time. Improved my life significantly.. and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Tommy placed two fingers underneath his chin and pulled him into a kiss.

“Now come on. Let’s get going.” Tommy stood up, and headed for the door, leaving Buck to have a moment to himself.

I hope you enjoyed it ! :)

#911 abc #evan buckley #bucktommy #tommy kinard #buck 911 #tevan #evan buck buckely #kinkley #ficlet #911 fic #tevan fic

212 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Note

I would actually LOVE to read about the proposal! How did it go down? Was Harris there? I think a blurb about that would be really special :)

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: A lazy Sunday morning turns into something much more special, thanks to your two favorite guys.

Warnings: pretty much none, just proposal fluff and a smidge of suggestive language at the end

WC: 1.3k

A/N: The proposal/Harris calling Ms. Sweetheart "mommy" was also requested by @hippiefairy02, @cheesewritings, @enam3l, @peachysink, and a handful of anons!

March 1998

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

Harris’s soft voice doesn’t carry over the sounds of running water and the sponge squelching soap bubbles along the lip of a coffee mug, the remnants of a lazy Sunday morning breakfast. He clears his throat and tries again, tugging on the back of your bathrobe as he shouts.

“Ms. Sweetheart?!”

You jump, pulled from your own thoughts, nearly dropping the cup among the sea of dishes cluttering the sink. Eddie had made scrambled eggs and toast for the three of you; a gesture you’d thoroughly enjoyed until you realized that the clean-up fell on your shoulders.

“Jeez, Har. What’s the emergency?” You catch your breath, allowing your heart rate to settle back to a normal rhythm, and shut off the faucet.

Harris wrinkles his nose, the bridge creasing in confusion. “There’s no ‘mergency,” he says, releasing his grasp and motioning for you to follow him. “I gotta show you something.”

You oblige with a soft laugh, haphazardly grabbing a dish towel to wipe the suds from your hands and wrists, and let him lead you to the kitchen table. Crayons are strewn across it, blues and purples and reds intermingled around his artwork.

“Whatcha drawing?” you ask, hands bracing the back of the chair he’s plopped down on. You peer over his shoulder and smile. It’s a picture of you, Eddie, and him. A full-fledged kindergartener, he’s been adding more details to his stick-figure family portraits: a vase of wildflowers sits atop a sienna oval table, black squares and rectangles above it represent the various photo frames hanging on the kitchen wall. This picture looks different than Harris’s usual set-up; he typically draws himself in the middle of you and Eddie, each of his hands overlapping yours and his dad’s. Today, he’s drawn you, then Eddie, then him. And your hands aren’t linked; instead, he’s used a silver crayon to place something in Eddie’s cartoon palm.

You furrow your brows and gesture towards the mystery object. “What’s that, Har?” It’s better not to guess, lest you say the wrong thing and inadvertently offend him. Just last week, you’d asked him if a small blue object in the sky was a bird, and he was on the verge of tears trying to explain that it was a UFO.

“Can’t you see the alien?” he’d wailed, pointing to a little green dot you’d assumed was a rogue eye.

Now, Harris grins. “It’s a proposing ring!” he announces. “That’s why you’re smiling so big!” Sure enough, the curved line of sketch-you’s mouth extends to both cheeks.

Real-you can’t help but mimic the beaming expression. Just the idea of Eddie proposing to you has you feeling giddy. You’d marry him tomorrow if you could; all he has to do is ask. Though your pulse quickens at the thought, you don’t want to build up Harris’s hopes for something that may not happen for a while. Pressing a kiss to his scalp with a soft giggle, you remark, “A proposing ring? That’s so silly!”

“Is it?”

The unexpected sound of Eddie’s voice has you whirling around, startled for the second time this morning. He’s still wearing his pajamas, flannel pants perfectly complementing your own cozy attire. He bites the inside of his lip, and when he takes your hand in his, you can feel it tremble slightly.

“Sweetheart, I…” he starts, trying to remember the speech he had rehearsed an absurd amount of times. He clears his throat before speaking again. “Sweetheart, I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night grateful for you. Never in my life did I think I would find someone who loved me the way you do; someone who loves my son like he’s their own.” He chokes up at the last part, blinking back the tears so he can press on. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe I landed such an incredible, thoughtful, beautiful woman.”

You offer a small laugh, slightly easing his nerves, and he manages to smile. “You…you’re the love of my life, and my world is infinitely better with you in it,” he continues, pulling a small velvet-covered box from his pocket and sinking onto one knee. With shaky fingers, he opens the box to reveal a princess-cut diamond on a thin silver band. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh, my god.” Elation and disbelief simultaneously surge through you, eyes going misty as the realization hits you. Eddie’s actually proposing. He wants you to be his wife, and he wants to be your husband. “Yes, Eddie. Yes, of course I’ll marry you!” You’re laughing and crying, tears streaming down your cheeks; you sloppily wipe them away with the back of your hand.

Eddie stands up, the ring still in its case. You expect him to slide it onto your fourth finger; instead, he turns to Harris with a knowing expression. “Your turn, Har.”

Before you can question it further, Harris takes your hand in his, just like Eddie had. “Ms. Sweetheart,” he looks up at you with wide, exuberant eyes, “will you be my mommy?”

You scoop him up into your arms; he’s almost too tall for you to do it comfortably, and it pangs at your heart. “Yes, I will be your mommy, Harris!” You kiss his cheek with an exaggerated mwah, placing him back on the ground as he excitedly kicks his feet.

With that, Eddie puts the engagement ring on your finger triumphantly, pulling you in for a hug that squeezes the breath out of your lungs. His lips find yours without hesitation, kissing you as long as Harris will allow before the kid becomes impatient.

“Mommy?” The title rolls off of his tongue so easily, bringing with it fresh batches of tears for both you and Eddie. Mommy. You’re Harris’s mommy. The close bond you’ve already developed strengthens in that moment, and you vow to wear your badge of Chosen Mom with pride.

“Yeah, Har?”

“Can we celebrate with ice cream?”

“It’s, like, 9:30 in the morning,” Eddie laughs, scrunching his nose. “I don’t even think Scoops Ahoy is open yet.”

Harris pouts but ultimately relents, on one condition. “Then…can we go when it opens?”

You look at Eddie, who delivers his seal of approval with a quick nod. “I think that can be arranged.”

As Harris cheers, you sneak a glimpse of the new jewelry adorning your finger. It daintily sparkles even under the kitchen lighting, a perfect depiction of your love for one another.

Eddie’s hands snake around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “How’d I do?” he asks with a goofy, lopsided grin. “Is my future wife happy with her ring?”

You turn around, draping your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his, desperate for a moment of intimacy. “I love it. And I love you, Eddie Munson.”

“And me?” pipes up a little voice.

“Both of you,” you amend with a giggle. Pleased with your answer, Harris returns to his crayons and construction paper.

Eddie’s voice is a melodic whisper in your ear. “After our family ice cream date, maybe you and I can celebrate a bit more privately?” You can practically hear his teasing smirk at the raunchy implication.

“We can pick up champagne on the way home,” you murmur back, heat blossoming in your belly. You’re no longer just a girlfriend, but a fiancée, a future wife, and there is nothing else you crave more than the touch of your future husband.

And while you and Eddie finish washing the dishes with a plethora of stolen kisses, Harris picks up a green crayon and titles his drawing, just like he’d learned in art class:

Mommy, Daddy, and Harris.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

540 notes · View notes

cyber-dump-171 · 4 months ago

Text

Prologue: Missing

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

Masterlist | Chapter 1 →

Word count: 3.2 k.

WARNING: N/A

Note: thank you for stopping by and reading! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Excuse me, coming through".

You walk down the dim corridor, the sound of telephones and mundane conversations muffled by the large window that separates the common office from the rest of the rooms. You take a quick glance inside and notice that it is emptier than usual, with only a couple of agents sitting at their desks filling out forms, watching the television broadcasting the evening news, or chatting with their cubicle neighbors.

You continue, carefully hugging the old box tighter as you slip past some of your father's co-workers, who greet you quietly before resuming their conversation, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cigarette smoke clinging to their shirts wafting through the air. You're thankful it's not a stupidly strong cologne like the one James Blanc, one of the junior officers, wears. He puts on too much and it always makes you sneeze.

It reminds you of your male classmates who shower themselves in body spray after gym class, the smell making you dizzy as you sit inside the suffocating classroom.

After a few minutes of walking down the dull, gray hallway, you finally reach your destination, stopping in front of a worn wooden door with a silver plaque that reads a familiar name in faded letters: "Det. Pembroke”. Behind the doorway, you can hear a male and female voice, the latter sounding distressed, though you can't discern what they're talking about. Balancing the cardboard box on one arm, you lift your free hand and rack your knuckles against the solid material.

"Come in, door's open", replies a gruff voice after a couple of seconds of silence. Grunting and mentally begging yourself not to drop the heavy package, your hand quickly finds the handle and turns it urgently, the old wood creaking loudly as the door swings open, giving way to a simple yet messy office.

Tall rectangular metal cabinets and bookcases line the dark green walls, with various certificates and diplomas filling the empty spaces. On the right side of the room is a large display cabinet with various comic book figurines, knick-knacks, trophies and photo frames, displaying some of your family's memorabilia and achievements. On the opposite side of the office, under a rectangular window, is a wooden table with small drawers containing a small coffee pot and water dispenser.

Your eyes sweep around the room and settle on your father, who sits behind a metal desk, with piles of documents, dirty mugs, a cup full of pens and pencils, and an old laptop taking up space on the surface. Behind it is a large map detailing the geography of your city, Kotohira. You take notice of several colored thumbtacks mark certain areas, though you can't see exactly where they point to.

He lifts his head to acknowledge your presence and his slender finger points to a table hidden in the corner of the room. “Put it there, kid. Careful with that, it's important,” you nod quickly at your father's words and head for the cabinet, pushing aside the manila folders to make room for the box.

You place the package down with a quiet sigh, using your now free hands to wipe the dust from your button-up shirt, your legs burning as a reminder that it's been hours since you've sat down, too busy running errands and fetching documents around the station.

Your father's eyes focus again on the woman sitting across from him, and he clears his throat as he continues. “Mrs. Enma, please don't worry, my men are working full-time to solve this case,” he reassures the woman, who nods silently at his affirmation.

Your gaze is drawn to the figure, an old woman you recognize as your upstairs neighbor who lives in apartment 305, Saeki Enma. You have bumped into her and her husband several times, either in the building's elevator or the nearby supermarket. It's strange to see her like this, with her usual warm smile and cheerful laughter replaced by a chagrined expression and puffy red eyes.

However, her reaction is understandable, as her only grandson is now the ninth person to go missing in the last month in Kotohira.

Saeki shakily reaches for her small black leather purse sitting on her lap, her small hands pulling out a beautiful baby-blue silk handkerchief, dabbing the corner of her wrinkled eyes to wipe away the rest of her salty tears. Her lips quiver as she looks down.

"Thank you, Detective Pembroke. My little Yuuken means the world to me, he's a kind and responsible boy. Oh my God... he must be so scared," she breaks down after glancing at the file in front of her, the picture of her grandson quietly staring back at her.

Her hands cover her eyes as her body shakes, the sound of her sobs echoing off the walls of the quiet office. Your father immediately gets up from his swivel chair and places a comforting hand on the old woman's back, while you run to the water dispenser, fill a glass, and hand it to her with a comforting smile.

Saeki accepts it with a sniffle, her trembling hands wrapping around the transparent glass as she sips in silence, her crying ceasing. A few minutes later, she calms down and sighs, gently patting your father's hand as a sign of gratitude. And suddenly, her eyes widen as her attention turns to you.

"Oh my, (Y/N)! It's good to see you, what are you doing here? I apologize that you have to see me in this state," she laughs weakly, and you can still hear a hint of sadness in her voice. You suspect she's trying to distract herself from the grief of losing her grandson.

In return, you offer a small smile and a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Please don't worry, Mrs. Enma. It's good to see you, too." Your father suddenly slaps a hand on your shoulder with a toothy smile, causing you to jump in surprise as you turn to look at him in confusion.

“Kiddo over here had no plans for the summer, so I dragged them to the station to help out” - bullshit, you did have plans! You were going to spend every day inside, locked in your room with the air conditioning on, sprawled on your bed, and enjoying your free time. Hell, you'd even bought so many books and comics to read during the break! Now they're just going to sit there, gathering dust.

As Saeki finishes her glass of water, she lifts her head to look at the clock, whose hands point to the current time, 8:43 p.m. “My God! I apologize for taking up so much of your time, Detective Pembroke. My husband will be worried, I should be getting home,” she gasps in surprise. As you help Mrs. Enma out of her chair and pick up her cane, your father heads down the hallway, shouting for a nearby officer to help escort Saeki home.

In a matter of seconds, you hear a pair of footsteps running toward the office, and suddenly a young blond policeman stands in the doorway, nervously greeting your father. You remember that his name is Renart, a French cop freshly graduated from the police academy near Chichibugahama beach. The officers at the station call him "Croissant Surfer.”

Renart escorts Mrs. Enma out of the office, but not before she thanks your father again and gives you a warm smile as she bids you farewell. Your father promptly closes the door, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nine people... nine people just gone," he whispers.

As you walk to the desk, your eyes scan the missing person's report. Yuuken Enma, a second-year student of Hibari Municipal High School disappeared this afternoon after leaving the Ishimoto gymnasium at around 2:30 p.m. He was reported missing by his grandparents who explained that Yuuken failed to pick up his phone and had never arrived home at an agreed hour.

According to witness reports, he was last seen by his fellow kendo club member and first-year student, Koito Saya. The two of them were training for an upcoming kendo match which would take place after summer break ended.

Koito explains that Yuuken left practice early because "he was feeling unwell and he had to help his grandmother prepare some things for the Tanabata Festival.” The first-year student stayed in the gym for another hour of training, and when he left the facility around 4:00 p.m., he found a keychain from an action figure that belonged to Yuuken on the floor. Minutes later, the Enma's called the police station.

Your fingers grab the corner of the paper and turn the page to read some additional details about the case. This Yuuken boy... the two of you stood together at the bus station, but you never really spoke. You went to different schools, and his appearance and aura communicated that he didn't want to be bothered, so you left him alone. Besides, you're not the most outgoing person, so you never really made a move to befriend him. You only knew of his personality from the comments of neighbors and even your parents; a "charismatic and determined young man.”

Your eyes land on an evidence report detailing the footage from the gym's surveillance camera. Your eyes widened as you remembered the conversation you overheard in the records room about two days ago about the recent missing persons cases.

According to the officer, all of the nine disappearances have been caught on CCTV, but you can never see who is taking them or where they are going because the recording always glitches.

He described in detail the disappearance of Fígaro Koskela, the young heir to a Finnish jewelry empire, who was walking home from a party organized by his classmates. He's alone, it's the middle of the night, he's strolling down an alley near some residential houses, when all of a sudden his head whips around as he hears a strange noise, the policeman describes the sound as that of a loud roar followed by a cry similar to that of horses.

Figaro's expression morphed into one of shock and bewilderment, paralyzed on the spot as his blue eyes did not look away from where the sound came. At that moment, the camera stops and the footage goes black. Suspiciously, the camera reactivated itself hours later as police arrived on the scene and neighbors peered out their windows and doors to see what was going on.

The officer explained that all the victims disappeared in the same way: they were alone in Kotohira, they heard something, and the camera footage went black, adding that the people who were near where the victims disappeared never heard anything strange. But he also points out that none of the victims have anything in common. Age, appearance, socioeconomic status, even where they live, nothing.

You're jolted out of your trance as your father clears his throat and walks past you, taking a seat in his chair, before turning to face you, the lack of sleep and stress evident due to the dark circles under his eyes. "From the looks of things, I don't think I'll be leaving the office anytime soon. Do you think your mom can pick you up?"

Normally, you would walk home, since the police station is not that far from the apartment building. That, and the night air feels good on your skin, plus, it gives you some time alone to think and take some pictures of the sky and wildlife.

However, because of the recent disappearances, everyone in Kotohira is on edge, including you and especially your parents. This morning, you even received some messages from a few of your school friends who were outraged because their parents wouldn't let them go on their annual trip to the beach for fear that their children would be the next victims.

You nodded at your dad’s request before taking the seat that Mrs. Enma had previously occupied and wasted no time dialing your mother's phone number. Frankly, you were tired and hungry, having accidentally skipped lunch to help the Chief's secretary organize a mountain of paperwork that needed to be archived. Seriously, these guys are a mess.

After a few dials, you hear the sound of the phone picking up and your mother's cheery voice answering from the other end. "Hello, honey! How's my baby doing?" you see out of the corner of your eye as your father chuckles, having heard your mother's cooing over the loud volume of the phone. "I'm fine, Mom. How was your case?"

You can hear your mother gasp in surprise before she giddily recounts the details of the latest case she took on. "Oh, you bet your ass I won it! You should have seen the look on that idiot Howard's face when they declared my client innocent. That asshole always takes the side of dirty money," you laugh lightly at your mom’s colorful words; she has had a fierce rivalry with Vanguard Legal Services’ best attorney, Howard Waltz, ever since college. They even work at competing firms.

Your mother spends a few minutes telling you more details about the case before asking you why you called her. You tell her about Yuuken Enma's recent disappearance and that your father won't be able to take you home due to the heavy workload.

"Yuuken has disappeared!? Oh, poor thing, I hope they find him soon. Don't worry, darling, I just left the office, I'll be there in about half an hour," after exchanging a few more words, you hang up the call.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You hold your head in your hands, it feels like someone is violently sticking a sharp needle into the left side of your brain and your eyes won't stop throbbing. 'What the actual hell happened? I was doing fine a minute ago.’

Your father had left after the Chief knocked on the door and told him that they were going to have a brief meeting to organize a search party for Yuuken and share some updates on the case. Seconds after they departed and your dad bid you goodbye in case you were gone before he returned, your terrible headache suddenly appeared, and now you feel like you're going to throw up.

“O, thou who were guided by the dark mirror”.

"What was that!? Hello!?" you yell, the chair legs squeaking loudly against the floor as you quickly stand up, your eyes scanning the room trying to find the deep voice that just spoke. Your heart is beating fast, your breathing labored as your hands immediately find a fountain pen sitting on top of some papers, grab it, and point the tip outward to use it as a makeshift weapon.

‘Are the rookies pulling a prank? Or am I hallucinating? Damn it! This fucking headache is driving me insane!’ You lower your head to look at the gap between the door and the floor, but you don’t see anyone standing outside or hear any movement from the hallway. Before you can continue to examine the room any further, your phone vibrates and the screen turns on, displaying a recent message from your mother alongside other notifications: "I'm outside."

You waste no time getting your things, slinging the messenger bag over your shoulder, grabbing your sweater off the back of the chair, and throwing the pen away, landing behind your father’s chair. You're tired, you're hungry, you don’t want to deal with whatever prank somebody’s pulling on you, and you want to take care of this headache before it turns into an excruciating migraine.

You make your way over the door, making sure you stomp your feet as hard as you can to warn whoever is hiding and pulling your hair, to start running before you catch them and kill them. You twist the doorknob and open the door quickly, only to find... the hallway completely desolated and eerily quiet.

This is strange... even if everyone was working, you would hear the noise coming from the offices, but, there is no sound at all. You can’t even hear the wind blowing outside or the droning songs from the cicadas. Your stomach twists into knots, a feeling in your gut screaming at you that something is wrong. You need to get out of there now.

“Let thy heart’s desire reflected in the mirror take thee by the hand”.

Yeah, no, this is no prank. Whatever's going on here is some paranormal shit.

You don't waste a second as you bolt from your father's office, running down the hallway as fast as you can, never looking back for fear of something coming after you. You groan as your headache begins to worsen, your head now throbbing and your ears ringing loudly as you begin to hear a chorus of unintelligible voices inside your brain.

“In me. In them. In you.”

You pant as you run past the common office, your eyes widening as you find the entire room empty, all the equipment turned off and the chairs scattered around the room as if everyone had suddenly gotten up and gone home. The deep voice rings louder in your head again, its words feeling like mockery. ‘What the hell is going on? Where did everyone go? Dad, please be okay!’

“We all have very little time left.”

"AGH, JUST SHUT UP!" you shout, hoping the voices will go away, but they only get louder by the second. Thankfully, you reach the entrance of the police station, your eyes widening in relief as you find your mother's gray car parked right outside. Swinging the glass door open, you dash towards the vehicle, panic running through your veins.

"MOM! PLEASE! IT'S ME! OPEN THE DOOR!" you slam your right hand against the window as you yank hard at the handle of the locked car door. But as you duck your head to look inside the car, your breath is cut short and you feel your heart come to a screeching halt. The driver's side is empty, not a trace of your mother inside.

You slowly back away from the vehicle in utter disbelief, the voices having stopped, but you don't even notice, too preoccupied with the sudden disappearance of everyone around you. Your attention, however, is drawn to a hellish sound coming from your right. A loud roar, creaking wood, heavy wheels rolling on the pavement, and the whole cacophony accompanied by the cries of horses.

You feel frozen in place as your head turns to the side and your eyes widen at the sudden appearance of a funeral carriage drawn by two elegant horses coming at you at full speed.

You want to run, to escape from this hellish scene as quickly as possible, to run into your parents' arms. ‘This has to be a nightmare. This isn’t real!’ Every single muscle and nerve in your body is screaming for you to move, and yet something is holding you back. You close your eyes in fear as the sound of hooves comes closer and closer.

You feel nothing as the carriage crashes into you.

“Welcome to Night Raven College, young soul”.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tag list:

@rotknox

149 notes · View notes