#i still don't trust the old lady

[blueteller]

Cale meets Balance

God of Death: Cale, God of Balance wants to meet you Cale: How about no God of Balance:

[clover-the-awesomest]

Oh...

OH.

Kay great thanks for hurting me-

when big mama and donnie talked off-screen during the egg saga, this is what happened.

[ part two ] [ gemini au ]

[dearhargrove]

summary Seeing him that first time, you never could have imagined what life had in store for you.

(short fluffy one shot of their first meeting and then the night after he took her virginity while they're dating, based on a request)

word count 1309

You don't think you'll ever forget meeting him for the first time. How could you, with the impression he left?

—

You're at a fancy restaurant for a work celebration. The ambiance is dark and rich, the people sitting at the tables have that same vibe. Except one group of guys. The one you had noticed as soon as you stepped into this place.

They're sitting in the far back in one of the more private booths, however still in the middle and with a good overview of the whole area.

If you had to guess, the eldest of the three is the father and the twenty something year old guys are his sons. However your attention is drawn to the one sitting on the far right, looking almost on edge as he quietly listens to the other two talk. His muscles are visible through his suit, coffee brown curls tucked behind his ears and there's a necklace that shouldn't fit but just does.

There's something wilder, more strong to him than his two companions. His eyes are strikingly blue, eyebrows pulled into an annoyed frown as he sips his wine. Among that you also note that while the other two have ordered big steaks with barely any sides, he has a salad.

You distractedly continue picking at your dish, stabbing the fork into one of the ingredients for long enough that your colleague looks at you in concern, making you fluster and smile awkwardly.

She grins in amusement and turns to follow your line of sight, looking back to you with an expression that clearly translates into what you've been thinking too ever since first noticing the man; wow.

He's just so – manly. And yet there's still an elegance to him.

You let a strategic few minutes tick by before you look back at the mouthwatering man, only to look right into blue eyes.

You almost flinch, getting flustered immediately and smiling tightly – apologetically? – before hurriedly taking a bite of your dinner to pretend to be minding your own business.

Luckily, no one seems to have noticed your mishap and with a few well timed deep breaths your heartbeat returns to normal and your palms stop sweating.

Nevertheless, you excuse yourself to the ladies room and grab your clutch, not even pretending to know where the hell the toilet even is. You worm your way through the tables to where you guess the restrooms should be, only to almost run into a server coming out of that door who shoots you a confused but kind smile.

“Restrooms are on the other side, dove.”

You tense up, slowly turn around and — oh. It's him. And, dammit, he's even more beautiful up close. He carries a nice scent to him, but not a typical perfume, more of a natural breeze. It's nice, you note. “I noticed... I've never been here before, so–”

He smiles gently and you relax, reciprocating a light but bashful smile. “Don't worry about it. Come on, I'll show you?” he offers. "Oh, I wouldn't want to keep you from your dinner…”

He shakes his head, gives you a calculating look and then softens up a tiny bit, “Trust me, I'm grateful for any excuse to step back from there.” That surprises you a bit but it's none of your business, so you ignore it. You step closer to him and he starts leading the way, obviously walking slower so you could keep up in your heels.

And there's another thing you notice; instead of having to squeeze by the people and servers they part before him like the red sea. The people scoot closer to their tables, the servers bow their heads the tiniest bit and the other customers just smile tightly.

Just who is he? you wonder.

You're more intrigued than before now, momentarily pushing the thoughts aside when you stop in front of two doors; the men's and the ladies room.

“I suppose you'll find your way back to your table?” he kindly but slightly playfully comments. You grin in a mix of embarrassment and amusement, “Sure I will. Thank you, though.”

He shrugs in dismissal, then after a short awkward moment shoots you another smile and leaves.

You take a moment in the – luxurious – bathroom to freshen up, reapply perfume and deodorant, check your phone and do your business. You feel better when you walk back out, already expecting the onslaught of questions from your colleague who had noticed your staring and the man just to then see him lead you through the restaurant.

After paying for your meal (which legitimately made you wince when seeing the actual price because the menu did not have the prices listed) and dodging the questions of your curious coworker, you leave with a small group from your office, engaging in small talk.

You don't even see him when you walk out the door, focused on the story your coworker was telling, but you definitely hear him.

“That's a nice perfume.” His voice is soft but steady, slightly raspy too. You wouldn't mind hearing it more often, you decide.

You halt in your steps and turn around, surprised when you see his cheeky grin. He stops holding the door open, his own jacket slung over his arm and steps the last step down to stand right next to you.

“Thank you–?”

“Sergei.” He introduces himself, nodding his head. “–Sergei.” You repeat with a small smile. He stills for a moment and then blinks, swallowing and nodding. “May I ask the name of this lovely lady?”

You chuckle, slowly continuing your ascend of the stairway, “You may.” And while he asks and you answer with your name he holds out his arm, letting you loop your hand to hold onto his arm for balance.

—

And that's how you ended up here. In his bed, naked except some panties and his way too big t-shirt with his arm snug around your waist and his nose in your hair as he sleeps.

The sun is just rising, the orange and pink hues lighting up the place, forming beautiful shadows and tricks of light.

You turn your head to look at him and take in his beautiful face, bathed in the sunlight. His eyes are still closed, his breathing even and for once his face is relaxed instead of scrunched up from another fight with his father or an upcoming hunt.

However, he also seems to have gotten an extra sense tuned in to you ever since you started dating, so at your stare his eyes open and the blue irises focus on you. It makes you snort a bit and flick the tip of his nose, then turn back to keep watching the sunrise.

His hand moves under the shirt you're wearing to spread out along your skin, calloused hands gentle. “Been awake for long, baby?” The question is soft with a hint of concern and his voice is still husky from sleep.

“Just woke up,” you yawn and stretch a little, he uses the chance and puts his palm in the middle of your torso, tugging you back into his chest. He doesn't say anything further as he tucks into the crook of your neck and grumbles appreciatively when he smells nothing but your natural scent.

Since he told you about his powers you had started to wear less perfume around him (at least when it's just the two of you), as his sensitive sense of smell easily got irritated by the artificial cologne.

It's not long before his nosing turns into nibbling and you can already feel the next few bite marks form, probably meticulously placed to not cover the hickeys he'd left last night.

“Sergei—” he interrupts your upcoming complaint with a grunt and swiftly rolls on top of you, leaned on his forearms as he looks at you like you're his prey. You feel dwarfed under him, his huge biceps and broad shoulders covering you entirely.

At your perplexed expression he chuckles and softly kisses your forehead, “Can't hold back when I remember you're all mine.”

[ilydeku]

izuku loves to talk about you during interviews

- anything and every topic it will ALWAYS be about you

- the question won't even be remotely related to you and still izukus answer will revolve around "y/n, my wife!!" <3

- oh, the glint in his eyes, the peaking smile when he speaks about you, lover boyyy

- the media knows he LOVE LOVES you, they think it's funny for this big, confident, mighty hero to be reduced to sap when it comes to you

- it's like his whole personality is HIS WIFE

- the journalists lowkey get so SICK of him for this, they don't want to invite him anymore 😭

- but they kinda have to, due to to his status as #1

"Good evening everyone and welcome Hero Talk! Tonight we'll be staring someone you all know and love, single handedly the greatest hero of all time, Deku! Alright, Deku how are you tonight?"

"Feeling pretty good! This is one of my wife's favorite shows, so I'm even more grateful to be here. And how are you?"

"Oh, same old. Really, just living. Now, we wanted to ask you some fun questions. Let's start with this one. Why did you want to become a hero?"

"Wow, haha! That really brings be back to my youth. When I was kid, my biggest influence was All Might, and he miraculously became my mentor. He was a good hero, and a good man. I wanted to be just like him: fearless, persevering, saving people with I smile. I would beg my mom everyday to watch this video on the computer of him saving a bunch a people. I was really swayed by All Might. I wanted to become a hero to make an impact in the world. I wanted to save people with a smile too."

"That sounds really endearing, Deku. I remember All Might's reign. He wasn't number one on the top charts all those years for nothing. So, did you ever think you'd be standing as Japan's top hero?"

"Well, it was never really my goal to become number one. That was Kacchan's- Dynamight's. My dream was, like I said, to become a hero and save others. But I have to say, it really is a blessing. I'd like to thank my Mom, All Might, my friends, and especially my wife for who I've become. My Mom has really done a lot for me growing up: protecting, encourage, and just always caring for me. All Might has kinda been that father figure for me when my Dad was away. My friends have shown me what it's like to work together and really be part of a heart. And my wife? Haha...I can't thank her enough for all the times she's been right by my side, even before we were together. Nothing I can say or do will ever be enough to express how much she means to me."

"Mm. Quite the supportive group. Your wife sounds like quite the lady!"

"She is. She's wonderful."

"Moving on to the next question, do you use social media often?"

"Occasionally, yes?? My wife uses it regularly, posting about us when we go out and stuff. It's mostly for her family to see how she's doing. She handles most of my official accounts. She says it's to be more appealing to the public, and I guess to show that there's more to heroes on the inside?? I'm not really sure, but I trust her process. Although, I'd rather be appealing to her alone."

"The public will always interested in a hero's private life! Now, Deku, what is your ideal setting of relaxation?"

"My wife doesn't like places that are too crowded or noisy, so maybe a cozy day at the beach?- but early in the morning or in the evening when the crowds calm down. Maybe a movie theatre, but days after the movie is released so it's just us together. Actually, a lazy day at home together is great too! Cooking meals and watching a movie on the couch? Really, any place is relaxing if my wife is with me."

(am i questioning Deku's wife or Deku!?) "How scenic! Those sound very fitting for you!! How about any restaurants?"

"Not really. My wife really knows how to cook, it's amazing! I love her home-cooked meals, so there's no way I'd go out of my way to a restaurant. But if my wife is feeling it, I'll be sure to make reservations."

"(sigh)"

"(smiling warmly)"

[notlongtolove]

to be an accountant of the heart

because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. to look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst-ish, fight and makeup

content: established relationship fight and makeup woof woof rookie bau reader feels insecure about how much she loves spencer, worries she's too clingy, spencer reid best bf ever

word count: 5k

note: this was haunting me in my drafts for the longest time... please be nice my heart can't take it (psa guys don't ever tell ur partners that they love you more than you love them bc 5 years down the road they'll cope by writing deranged spencer reid fics like this)

a line: You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus, trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart. - tony hoagland

The English language draws a neat line between many and much. It divides the countable from the uncountable.

The word many is meant for things you can count. How many cups of coffee have you had? How many days will you be gone for? 

The word much belongs to what cannot be counted, what cannot be numbered. How much longer do we have in bed? How much did you miss me? How much do you love me? 

How much?

It’s an innately impossible question. Love, after all, is supposed to be infinite, unbound, unquantifiable. Any attempt to measure it—to reduce something so sacred to a number, a unit—is to taint it. And why would you want to do that? Why would anyone? There shouldn't be any need to measure something so inherently immeasurable. 

Deep down, you know there's no actual way to count love. You suppose this instinct to measure has always been there, to wonder if the love you received can be tallied like time. It’s buried deep, old as the child you once were. 

Still, the question begs itself. How much? How much more? How much less? If comparison is the thief of joy it’s only because it leaves you with the revelations nobody asked for, the truths nobody ever wants to see. 

Put love on a scale, wait and see—Will it balance or won’t it? 

“Glaring at the clock isn’t going to make time pass any faster,” Elle teases from two desks away, her eyes locked on the report she’s skimming.

You don’t bother hiding your sigh as you glance up from where your chin rests heavily in your palm, elbow propped against the desk. The pencil in your other hand twirls idly, betraying your impatience. “He said they landed an hour ago,” you grumble. Only the faintest trace of a pout slips through.

“Working hard or hardly working, ladies?” 

Your head perks up at that. Trust Derek Morgan to know how to make an entrance, arriving right on cue, grin wide and swagger intact. 

JJ, seated beside you and noticeably more amused by your restlessness than concerned, spins her chair around as she asks, “How was the convention boys?”

“It was great—more than great actually,” Spencer says, appearing from behind Morgan. He’s lugging a bag that seems twice as heavy as when you’d helped him pack it five days ago. “All the speakers were incredible. I got to talk with Lonnie Athens himself. He gave me a signed copy of his latest book.” His grin widens tenfold. “It’s not even out in stores yet.”

You’re halfway out of your seat, ready to pounce on Spencer the moment he sets his bag down. But instead, he offers a halfhug and a light squeeze to your shoulder. It’s understated, but it’s Spencer. Public displays of affection aren’t his thing, and you know better than to expect more. Still, five days without him makes you ache for just a little more.

“It was alright,” Morgan interjects with a casual shrug as he takes a seat at the edge of your table, narrowly missing your nth mug of coffee. “Great sandwiches though.”

“Yeah, you sure seemed interested in the sandwiches,” Spencer says dryly, the kind of tone that suggests sandwiches were not the main attraction.

Morgan smirks, unbothered. “New York, man,” he says with a grin. “New York.”

You turn your attention back to Spencer. “How’d you sleep?” you ask, your question aimed entirely at him.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Spencer replies, “Despite the snoring.”

Morgan’s response is immediate—a light thwack to the back of Spencer’s head. “How’d he sleep? More like, how’d I sleep. Lover girl over here had him on the phone half the night.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. But then your gaze drifts to Spencer, searching for confirmation. “Was I?”

Spencer hesitates, his lips pressing into a faintly sheepish line. “I did wake up late for one of the panels,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, you think you had it bad? I’ve never seen someone go through so much coffee in a week,” JJ says, nodding in your direction, “She wiped out the entire stock.”

“Almost bashed her over the head with a cup of coffee myself when I had to settle for the instant stuff,” Elle chimes in. A collective shudder goes through the group. “No offence, Reid,” she adds.

“None taken,” Spencer replies smoothly, just in time to earn another smack on his arm, this time from you.

You’ve endured more than your fair share of teasing—it comes with the territory when you’re part of a team like this. You, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, three years his junior. Him, more comfortable rambling about the number of kernels on an average cob of corn than talking to any girl, let alone one with a smile like yours that could make his knees buckle. What had been an odd match to some, made perfect sense to others—Though Spencer would argue that Garcia just liked seeing him with any girl who could make him laugh the way you could, especially within three days of meeting him. It’s a feat nobody else has yet to achieve in the year you’ve been on the team. 

“Missed you,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Spencer flushes as his lips part, maybe to respond, but Elle cuts in before he gets the chance. “Save it for later, lover girl. Some of us want to hear about those sandwiches.” 

“Oh, they really were better than last year’s,” Spencer begins, now distracted, completely oblivious to Elle’s sarcasm, “Probably because the annual reports showed an increased budget for the global initiatives.”

JJ raises an eyebrow in amused disbelief. “You read the FBI’s annual budget breakdown?”

Spencer looks genuinely surprised by the question. “You don’t?”

Chuckles echo throughout the group and though you smile faintly, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You just can’t help it as the tally marks start to stack up in your mind. One for the way his attention is just a little too distant, his excitement seemingly aimed at everyone but you. Another for every time you wait for his gaze and it doesn’t come. He’s too absorbed in recounting a discussion about deterministic causality he’d had with a keynote speaker. 

Compared to Spencer, who was often so reserved, it was easy to feel like your emotions were too big, too eager. Dragging him, wide-eyed and stammering, up the stairs to Hotch’s office six months ago had been nothing short of a test of strength and sheer determination. You’d been the one to silence him with a gentle kiss to his knuckles, promising him that everything would be okay. You were a live wire compared to him, everyone knew that. Lover girl, they teased, though never cruelly. In the field and out of it—Clingy to a fault, always wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

Lover girl through and through, you wait patiently for Spencer to look your way. 

He doesn’t. 

“Yours or mine?” Spencer asks as you stand side by side on the curb, bags in tow. 

“Think I’ll go to mine,” you reply curtly. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else right now.

“That’s fine. I’ve got an extra day’s worth of clothes with me.”

“You can go home,” you say, cutting him off. It comes off sharper than you intended. Then, softer, as if trying to backtrack, you add, “If you want.”

He looks at you, baffled. “Why would I do that?” 

It’s not a rhetorical question, he genuinely doesn’t understand. Weekends apart have never really been your thing. 

“Because—” You cut yourself off mid-sentence. What could you even say? Because you seem so perfectly fine after 120 hours apart. Because the tally marks said so. Because the scale said so. Instead, you huff an exhale and settle for, “No reason. You look tired. Thought you’d want to go home or something.”

“Again sweetheart. Why would I do that?” he repeats, incredulous. 

You fight off a resigned sigh, though you’re sure he catches it, and pull out your phone. “I’m calling a cab,” you mumble, thumbing at the screen. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he says, still calm but clearly confused.

“Fine.”

The ride home is quiet, save for the driver’s rambling complaints about freeway traffic at this hour. Normally, you’d be the one to humour any conversations with strangers, chiming in with polite nods and oh, reallys while Spencer watched, bemused by your ability to make small talk with anyone. But today, you’re just not in the mood, leaving poor Spencer to fend for himself.  

Which to his credit, he does—By turning the conversation into a tangent about how traffic patterns correlate with certain hours and commuter behaviour, and delving into a detailed explanation of the queueing theory. He does this till eventually, even the driver goes silent, though whether it’s out of confusion or exhaustion, you’re not quite sure. 

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you in the silence, flicking toward you every now and then. The concern in his attention does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it only fans the flames of your irritation. When the car finally rolls to a stop outside your building, you hand the driver a $20 bill, wave off the change, and stride toward your door without another word. You’re out before Spencer can even pull his door open.

Inside, you drop your things on the couch resignedly and kick off your shoes without so much as a care. They land in a scattered heap that you don’t bother to fix. Spencer lingers behind you, ever patient.

“What do you want for dinner?” His voice is soft, tentative, as he bends down to pick up your discarded shoes, lining them neatly by the door. “We could order something. Chinese, maybe?”

Spencer knows you well—knows how your mood sours when you’re running on fumes. Particularly on days like this, when your only sustenance has been cups of crappy coffee and a few stale crackers he’d coaxed you into eating earlier just before you left, bribing you with a quick kiss on the cheek—After checking that nobody else was in the break room, of course. 

Sullen as you are, you can recognise the offer for what it is. It’s sweet. A thoughtful acknowledgement of how well he knows you, how much he cares. He’s offering you a lifeline, a quiet invitation to let the storm pass without forcing you to name it, something you’re evidently trying not to do. 

But tonight, it feels almost patronising. It’s a spotlight on the hurt you can’t quite temper, like he’s trying to fix something you’re not yet ready to admit needs fixing.

“I can run down to the—”

“I’m not hungry.” 

You walk straight into your bedroom without another word, leaving him standing there in the doorway. You hear him exhale quietly, not quite a sigh but close. Probably one of resignation. Another tally mark falls on the scale. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts. You know he’s testing the waters, trying to find an opening. But you don’t look at him, don’t give him anything to work with. “Can we talk?” he asks, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a seat at the edge of your bed.

“Talk about what?” You’ve always been good at feigning ignorance, but the way you pull your hand away from his is anything but subtle. Spencer sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes briefly. He’s clearly exhausted. This is exhausting. You’re clearly exhausting. You can’t help but wonder why you always do this. 

“Was it Elle? Morgan?” he ventures cautiously. “The teasing?”

“They always tease me,” you say with a shrug, your voice dismissive. “I don’t care.”

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it.

Spencer nods slowly as he tries to piece this together. He knows you’re not usually one to let things fester. You’re never angry for long, and even when you are, you laugh it off, always quick to join in on the joke. He knows better than to profile you—it's an unspoken rule within the team and, more importantly, within your relationship. But Spencer’s anything if not desperate to understand.

He watches you slip into the bathroom with a sigh, shoulders dipping. The light flickers on, but you don’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not angry. That would be easier. There’s something quieter in your eyes. Defeat, maybe. 

“I missed you,” he offers, stepping into the doorway. His tone is softer now, pleading.

“Did you?” It’s almost sarcastic, but not quite. Irritable but undercut by something raw, as though you don’t really believe he did.

Spencer swallows. “You don’t think I missed you?”

“A little hard to tell between the fawning over Lonnie Athens,” you say, wiping mascara from under your lashes. “Or was it the in-depth analysis of sandwich platters?”

It’s a snap, all sharp edges and fire, and for a second, he forgets the minefield he’s meant to be tiptoeing through. Has to bite back a smile. You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

“Is that what this is about?” The words slip out before he can stop them, and the second they do, he knows. Rookie mistake. Your spine straightens, your jaw sets, and he wants to take it back, rewind, try again.

“This,” you echo, turning to face him. “What exactly do you mean by this?”

Spencer reminds himself that fire is never snuffed out with ice. You douse a flame gently, carefully. So, he steps forward, quieter now, fingers grazing yours before he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the bed. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, just leads you toward the bed with the same patience he knows you need when you’re fragile and burning.

Regardless, you try to resist, to hold yourself upright. You’re fighting the urge to sink into it—His touch, the bed, all of it. 

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmurs, taking a seat beside you. “I know you’re not angry. You’re sad. And I’d really like to know why. Tell me, please?”

Deep inside, you know you’re just clinging on to the last embers of your frustration. But it’s hard—impossible, really, when you’re a fire with no kindle left to burn, and Spencer is all soft whispers and gentle hands, featherlight and soothing. 

You hesitate, twisting the fabric of the duvet between your fingers. “I just—I—You were being mean.”

Spencer lets out a slow, quiet breath. Relief, almost. Not because he agrees—He knows himself well enough to be sure that ‘mean’ isn’t the right word. But he knows you well enough to understand what it means when you say it.

Mean is what you say when you’ve been hurt and don’t know how else to put it. 

So he follows your lead. Doesn’t fight it.

“M��sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles stroking your hand with his thumb. His touch is warm as it is gentle. 

Because it’s not about whether he was mean or not. Spencer knows that. Knows you. Knows that kindness has never been a given for you, knows that you wouldn’t recognise patience if it came knocking. And he knows you well enough to know that you think in some twisted way, that you’ve brought this hurt upon yourself, that you deserve it. 

What matters is that you were hurt. And that’s the one thing he never, ever wants to do.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Can you tell me how I did?”

“You just kept going on and on about the stupid conference. You didn’t even hug me or—And then you—” 

You don’t continue. You can’t. You feel ridiculous. Stupid, even. Mopey and small over something that shouldn’t matter this much. Over the realisation that he doesn’t need you. And why should he? It’s not Spencer’s fault. Not at all. 

His indifference is what it is and what it was. Indifference. It sits like a weight on your bones—Cold, sharp-edged, piercing. He can go 5 days without you. You can’t. The tally marks accumulate, unbidden.

“And then I…?” Spencer prompts gently, prying your fingers from the duvet and replacing the tension with his thumb, tracing slow, soothing circles into your palm instead.

“You ignored me, and I just—” Your voice wavers, frustration bubbling over. "I just felt so—so ignored!"

Wonderful vocabulary. Of course, your words would fail you now.

“And the teasing—I know, I know, I can be impossible sometimes, but I just—I just really missed you! And I get it okay? I’m clingy and you’re not and god forbid anybody else is but it’s because I love you!” You inhale sharply, your hands slipping from his to curl into fists in your lap. “And you didn’t react at all, you didn’t even care! You made me feel like—I thought that you—” 

You cut yourself off before the flurry of tears take over and drown you out. 

Spencer waits a beat, choosing his next words carefully. 

“You thought… that I don’t love you?” His voice isn’t laced with sarcasm, nor does it carry incredulity. It’s a genuine question, as though he’s retracing the moments between you, trying to understand how you could possibly come to such a conclusion.

“No, it’s not that—” you’re quick to say, desperate to correct him. You know Spencer loves you. Of course, you know that. How could you not? It’s Spencer. He loves you like it’s his life mission to show you just how much he loves you. “I know you love—I know that. I just—” 

You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into the hollows beneath your eyes—A feeble attempt at hiding.

Because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

To want to shout: Love me. Please love me, and please feel it with every fibre of your being as I do with mine. The kind of love that makes you want to scream from rooftops, to etch it into the sky, to burn the world down just to prove its enormity. 

Because then the question comes: Which would be worse?

To shout into the vast, open air and hear nothing in response? No echo of the same intensity. Or to stand amidst the smouldering ashes only to look into their eyes and find they don’t recognise you anymore? To see confusion or pity where love used to live.

You blink your watery eyes open, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you settle on the knobs of your knees, tracing their shape with your gaze. 

Anything but Spencer. Not right now. 

You take a sharp breath, steadying yourself before continuing.

“Sometimes, I feel like you don’t need me as much as I need you and that scares me. And I know it’s stupid, even I feel stupid thinking about it. I don’t even want to be codependent or whatever but I—I just can’t help but think that sometimes—” 

Your breath shudders out of you, long and uneven, “I love you more than you love me.”

To say Spencer feels his heart break would be an understatement. It’s not a clean break, not a single, shattering moment—it’s a slow, relentless unraveling. It’s a gut punch, pain and duress packed tight, failure laced in every syllable. His heart shatters, splintering into pieces so sharp they lodge in his throat, in his lungs, in every part of him that has ever loved you. 

Silently, he’s always known the teasing would hit a breaking point. You’ve worn that insecurity for as long as he’s known you—too young, too green, too desperate to prove yourself. He just didn’t think it would carve its way between you the two of you like this. He’s watched you lean into it, let the jokes land, let them chip away at you. Newbie. Rookie. Lover girl. As if laughing along might soften the edges of it all. 

You flop onto your back on the bed, boneless, the confession stealing the last of your fight. There’s a splotch of blue paint on the ceiling from last month, when you both tried to repaint the room and got distracted halfway through. It doesn’t make you smile, not even  a little.

“That’s not true.” The mattress dips under Spencer’s weight as he settles beside you, thumb tracing your hairline. His arm moves, coaxing you to toward him, gentle in the way only he knows how to be with you.

“You’re not impossible, sweetheart, you never are. And I know they tease,” he murmurs, fingers of his other hand grazing over your knuckles, “but I also know for a fact that you don’t fall apart without me when I’m gone. That would be co-dependency. And I know that’s not you. You passed your requalifications with flying colors while I was away,” he says. “Garcia sent me the records. You know you even beat Morgan’s old score?” 

You sniffle, startled. That had been your surprise. You’d wanted to tell him yourself. 

“She told you?” 

He shakes his head. “I asked. I always ask for updates on you when I can’t be there.”

A small “Oh,” is all you can get out. 

With every other guy you dated, you’d attempted to play it cool, dialling down your enthusiasm, biting back your texts, and pretending to care less than you did. But every relationship seemed to end the same way: you were “a lot” and they weren’t equipped to handle it. It never quite stuck though, and thank god for that. 

Because then you met Spencer.

Sweet, steady Spencer, who didn’t just tolerate your spark but cherished it. Spencer, who had let you cling to his hand during every takeoff and landing on the jet the first week on the job. He never flinched, never teased—Even when everyone else casted him sympathetic looks, the kind that silently acknowledged how your grip was probably cutting off his circulation. Spencer who has kept every scrawled doodle and note you’ve ever given for him, even the ones scribbled haphazardly on napkins or receipts. He knows carbon prints fade within months so he stores them in a shoebox tucked away in his cupboard—Just so they can last that much longer. 

Spencer didn’t just accept the parts of you others found overwhelming. He singlehandedly brought them back to life. Every bit of your spark that had been dimmed or snuffed out by someone else had found new light in his presence.

Spencer’s fingers tighten around yours, a quiet kind of reassurance that draws you back to the present. 

“Being clingy is not the same as being codependent. I know you know that. There’s a clear psychological difference in brain chemistry.” His lips twitch, the smallest hint of a smile slipping through. “You’re clingy, yes. But I love that about you. I love coming home with you. I love coming home to you. I love how hard you love me, how proudly you love me. I know I haven’t been the best at reciprocating that around the team, and I’m sorry. I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t love you, or miss you.”

He shifts closer, eyes searching yours, open and earnest. “Because I did miss you. So much. I nearly blew a month’s paycheck in the gift shop. Spent half of it stocking up on those jelly crackers you told me about.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe himself. “Morgan said I was whipped when I paid thirty bucks for a pair of souvenir socks.”

With a raise of your eyebrow you ask tearily, “and exactly how many pairs did you buy?” 

“Got you three pairs.” A sheepish little laugh escapes him as he ducks his head. 

And just like that, you’re smiling too. Albeit a small one, but that’s progress nonetheless. “And I don’t think you quite understand how much I love you when you say you love me more.” He leans in, his voice dropping, teasing. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m very competitive.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard Doctor Reid,” you quip, eyes rolling. Spencer’s lips curve, just slightly. You don’t even notice the way you press closer to him, but Spencer does. He takes the opportunity to go on.

“In a way, you’re right. I don’t need you,” Spencer says. Whiplash doesn’t even begin to describe the way your head snaps toward him. Flame and lighting, no doubt. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his expression already twisting in regret. “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

“I don’t see what other way you could possibly phrase something like that,” you snap pettily, already pushing yourself up to stand. 

“Hey, hey.” His hand reaches out, not quite grabbing yours but close enough to make you pause. “Lie back down, honey. Please.” 

Against your better judgment, you relent, sinking back into the bed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need you,” he repeats, slower this time, deliberate.

You scoff, a bitter laugh slipping through your lips as you swipe harshly at your damp lashes. “I get it, Spencer. Clearly you don’t.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he says, his voice unwavering. “Biologically speaking, I wouldn’t cease to exist without you. My heart would continue to beat, my lungs would continue to expand and contract, my brain would maintain its synaptic functions. I would survive.” He pauses then, eyes searching yours, “And can I tell you something?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t pull away either. He takes that as permission to go on. “You don’t need me either.” 

Your lips part, the beginnings of a protest forming, but he cuts you off gently.

“I know you said you do, but your autonomic nervous system would still regulate your breathing, your neurons would still fire, your body would persist.” He swallows, voice dipping lower. “But that’s not the point, is it? Love isn’t about biological necessity. It’s not about survival. It’s about choice.” 

The word “choice” feels almost ironic when it comes from Spencer Reid. You knew that the moment you met him. It was never really a choice, not for you. It was him, or nothing. Desperately, you'd like to think it was the same for him, too.

Your answer comes in the form of his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He’s patient, always, even when you aren’t. Kind in a way that sinks deep—Like you deserve it. You’re all sharp edges, brittle and worn, and he’s five days off a lumpy hotel mattress, yet the only thing he cares about is brushing away the tears from your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t love you because I need you. I don’t think that would be love at all. That’s survival. I love you because I choose to,” he continues. “Because you are the strongest person I know. Because you are kind, even when the world hasn’t been kind to you. Because you give so much of yourself without hesitation, without ever expecting anything in return.” 

Spencer smiles, shaking his head. “Because you’re the only person I know who will spend thirty minutes on a call recounting every little thing everyone did in the office that you think I’d like to hear about—before you even think to tell me about your own day.”

“It was funny! Since when has Hotch ever tripped on the stairs?”

It’s unfair really, how easily his laugh breathes life back into you. Your heart stumbles over itself as his hand brushes tenderly along your jaw. 

“I’ve spent every day in awe of you since the moment I met you. And I fall more and more in love with you with each one. Even on the days I’m not with you. Even on the days I’m miles away. Even then.” Spencer presses his lips against the back of your hand as he adds, “Especially then.” 

“Really?”

You can’t help it, the quiet little thing in you that wants to hear it again. 

Your tears have dried, but their traces still shimmer faintly on your skin. Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’d say it again. A hundred times. He’d make that speech a thousand times over, if you needed him to. If it meant you’d never doubt it again.

“Really, my love.”

And just like that, a million tally marks fall at your feet.

A million for the way he presses another kiss to your lips, unrushed. A million more for the way his nose bumps against yours, lingering, breathing you in. Another million for the spark that creeps back into your eyes. 

It’s infinite, unbound, unquantifiable—The way he loves you, the sheer depth of it. You feel foolish for ever having questioned it. You thank your lucky stars—all of them—for Spencer Reid. For the way he’s looking at you like you strung the constellations together yourself. For the way he chooses you, again and again, even when you don’t choose him, when you shut down, when you go quiet. 

Because love to Spencer isn’t desperation, isn’t need—it’s choice. The deliberate, unwavering act of reaching out, of staying, and of saying over and over: I choose you. 

Not because he has to, but because he wants to. To be the one to put you back together again when you’re all embers and ash, to cradle you back onto earth when stare past him into the ceiling, to remind you that there’s still warmth in you left to hold.

To breathe the spark back into your eyes—It’s a choice he made the very moment he met you. It’s a spark Spencer swears he’d spend his whole life keeping alight.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: daylight by taylor swift intrapersonal by turnover

[luveline]

Hi honey, how are you? I really want one with Hotch, I don't have a very solid idea , but something like the team joking about the age difference between the two and the reader is like "he may be old, but he's my old man"

((don't mind the teasing Honey, you're so sweet💛)

“Alright,” Aaron says, almost to himself as he holds your face. He has two thumb tips pressed to your jaw, his fingers slipped behind your neck. “I think you’re okay.” 

“Yeah?” 

He has black smudges all over his fingertips and a little on the lapel of his coat from your wayward mascara. “You look beautiful,” he says without affect, “and like you’re trying something new today.” 

You snort, his hands falling down but not away as he begins unbuttoning your coat. “You don’t have to baby me,” you say quietly, for his ears alone. 

“What, by helping you out of your coat? This isn’t babying, honey, it’s just help.” He’s gentle under your chin, freeing you from your coat and hanging it over the back of your chair. “The mascara was my fault. You’re owed an apology.” 

“How have you worked that one out?” 

“You told me what one to get and I still got the wrong one. I’m sorry, but they all look the same, I can’t understand why they put all of those makeups together like that. Couldn’t the waterproof ones have been a different colour?” he asks, smiling in his way, so you know he’s kidding about being annoyed. 

“Sometimes they are,” you say. “Just my brand isn’t with the times.” 

“Well, neither am I,” he says. 

“What’s the rub?” Emily asks, tipping back in her chair curiously. Aaron doesn’t usually linger with you for this long. 

“Got mascara everywhere ‘cos it was warm in the car.” 

“I meant about Hotch being with the times,” she says, sending you one of her dazzled (and dazzling) smiles, all amusement. “Are you often?” she asks him. 

“Insubordination is a serious offense,” he says. 

“It’s not insubordination, sir,” Emily says. You’re just old goes unsaid and yet heavily implied. 

“So he’s a little old-fashioned,” you defend. 

Morgan laughs from his desk chair. After a moment he must feel your eyes on him, turning swiftly, a hand covering his mouth but not the shape of his grin, “What?” he asks. 

“Alright, I get it, I’m old,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes. “This is hardly new information.” 

“You might be old, honey, but you’re my old man,” you say, leaning your weight against his arms to look up at him with tenderness. His being older than you hasn’t once made him a lesser man, hasn’t ever affected the way you are with one another. “Did you ever hear that song by Joni Mitchell?” you ask softly, momentarily forgetting your audience as he holds your gaze. You relax against him despite yourself. “‘He’s my sunshine in the morning?’” you quote. 

“I’ve heard every song by Joni Mitchell,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek nicely, “that’s one of the perks of being old. ‘Play and stay, baby.’” 

Warmest chord I ever heard, play that warm chord, play and stay, baby. 

“This is borderline offensive,” Morgan teases. 

You can hardly pull yourself away, but you do, righting yourself and trusting Aaron to neaten the ruffled curl of your dress’ short sleeve. He does it without comment. He holds you by the small of your back as he goes. 

“Think I’ll ever be his old lady?” you ask Emily with a grin. 

“Nope. You’re just not that old, babe.” 

[rhaenyra-storms]

STOPP your drabble of cregan was adorable, we need more stories of him!! i would like to request something for cregan, where the reader is his lady wife and is introduced to jacaerys for the first time!! it’s up to you whether they have children of their own or it’s just rickon (cregan’s child from his first marriage), i like to think lady stark!reader would become eager to talk to jacaerys and his dragon!!

thank you so much!! i literally love writing for him omg. and i would definitely freak out too if i was able to see a dragon!! :,)

it got a lot longer than expected, but i hope you enjoy!!

pairing: cregan stark x wife!reader warnings: cregan is a little overprotective, that's it, just fluff words: 1.7k

You didn't want to believe it at first.

Cregan was sitting in the Great Hall of Winterfell when the news arrived. A few scouts had spotted a dragon flying north at a rapid pace and tensions were high in the castle.

Winterfell was far away from King's Landing, as was the coronation of the new King Aegon, but the Starks and the North were still sworn to the Targaryens. You and your husband had already suspected that sooner or later, you would be dragged into their mess as well.

Judging from the little time you had spent at court in the South, you knew the Targaryen family was a horrible mess. When King Viserys made the decision to name Rhaenyra heir to the Iron Throne, you knew it would be catastrophic as soon as the old King would pass.

"Do we know who the dragon belongs to?" Your husband's deep voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Cregan always asked the right questions, to the right people, but this time... everyone seemed a little clueless.

You placed a hand on your husband's arm, giving it a little squeeze. "They will not attack alone and without an army. They don't have reason to," you said in a quiet voice, just for him to hear. Cregan gave you a soft smile as he looked over at you, but his eyes were filled with concern.

While an attack was highly unlikely, he couldn't really exclude it entirely and that was already enough reason for him to worry. He wanted to keep you safe and all the people in Winterfell.

"We should still proceed with caution," your husband answered, his hand finding yours and giving it a small squeeze in return. He then pushed himself out of the chair, towering next to you, before he addressed the rest of the people in the room. "We will welcome the dragon rider into our home. With caution. I do not want to start a war with the crown, not when we have more important things to worry about."

Cregan knew the next winter would not be far and he needed to make sure his people were well-prepared and his men were strong. You had always admired your husband for his composure and his natural talent for ruling.

Two hours later, you welcomed the oldest son of Rhaenyra Targaryen into your home. Your husband had talked to him alone at first, using the Godswood as a sight of common ground and when a servant informed you that he wished for you to join them for dinner, you knew their conversation had probably been a positive one.

"Lady Stark," Jacaerys nodded his head at you as soon as you entered the Great Hall. He was a pretty man, his black curls a mesmerising sight. However, you couldn't deny that all the rumours you had heard about his father might be true then. He didn't have the signature Targaryen white hair and from the few times you had met Lord Harwin Strong, he seemed to resemble him quite clearly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my Prince," you greeted him with a smile. Jace gently placed a kiss upon your knuckles.

"The pleasure is all mine, m'lady."

Cregan watched Jace closely as you two introduced yourselves to each other, but after their short conversation he felt like he could trust Jacaerys. He had been kind enough not to threaten him with his dragon. Said creature was now waiting outside the Winterfell gates and he was sure the people of the castle couldn't take their eyes off it. The Lord of Winterfell himself could only describe the creature as mesmerising and a sight to behold. And he knew that his wife would probably love to meet a dragon.

The dinner went by quite fast and the conversations were lighthearted despite the general situation of the realm. Jacaerys didn't mean to only talk about the conflict between his mother and Aegon, but he knew that he had a chance to win Cregan Stark over for their cause. And winning over his wife as well in a way would be beneficial too.

"Have you ever seen a dragon, my lady?" Jace asked you after he placed his cup of wine back on the table. You could feel your husband smile next to you. He was very aware of the fact that you had always been fascinated by those creatures. Their freedom to fly, their strength and their sheer power. Dragons were pure magic in your eyes.

"Unfortunately not, my Prince," you answered, leaning back in your chair a little. Jace had mentioned "Vermax" throughout the conversation and you knew the dragon was waiting outside the gates. Its roars were hard to miss throughout the day.

"But I would love to. One day."

"Then today might be the day. If you wish to, of course," Jace gave you another polite nod and an inviting smile. The prospect of meeting a dragon had you ecstatic in seconds, but you knew your husband would suspect danger in this situation. He was more than right for that.

"I would love to accompany you two then." Cregan sounded determined, but still polite. A subtle sign for Jace to understand that he was good-willed, but still cautious.

The support of the North was vital to Rhaenyra's cause, so Jacaerys really didn't intend to mess it up.

"Vermax is a kind dragon. As long as you mean no harm." Jace waited for your husband to push his chair back and stand up first. You followed right after, hooking your arm with Cregan's as you made your way outside.

The sight before you was stunning.

It was already dark outside, but the dragon could hardly be missed. His olive green scales appeared almost black in the dark and your husband grabbed a torch from a guard as you approached.

"Relax, Vermax", Jacaerys spoke in Valyrian, making you raise your eyebrows for a moment. You wished you would have paid more when your family's maester had tried to teach you a few simple words in Valyrian.

"They're our friends."

Vermax' eyes turned into slits for a moment, studying both you and Cregan. The dragon was probably evaluating if you were a threat despite his rider's kind words.

"I've seen more outgoing dragons than Vermax, but he's a gentle one at heart," Jace explained.

It was fascinating to hear about dragons having different personalities and being a little more like humans in a way. Some were impulsive, others were shy. As a child, you had always wished for a dragon as a pet.

"It's... He's wonderful," you whispered, feeling your husband's arm wrap protectively around your waist. Cregan would rather throw himself in front of the dragon's teeth than watch anything happen to you.

"I know. Do you want to touch him?" Jace asked, his voice soft and inviting. "Only if you want to, of course. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable in any way."

Excitement bubbled in your stomach. You could feel the heat rush to your face. All your childhood dreams seemed so close now – meeting a dragon, touching a dragon and pretending for just a moment that you could be a dragonrider too.

Cregan's grip around you tightened, a small reminder of how all of this could backfire. A cold wind blew by and you took a deep breath.

"I will be fine," you assured your husband, taking the time to plant a kiss to his cheek. A small attempt to calm him, but you knew that he would always be worried for your safety. The Lord of Winterfell only knew you were safe when you were in his arms, sleeping safe and sound.

Slowly, you made your way over to the dragon. It seemed to smell your anxiety and retreated for a moment. Jace put up his hand, a sign for Vermax to calm down – to relax. There was nothing bad that would happen.

You gave the dragon time, your heart beating wildly in your chest as you couldn't take your eyes off the creature in front of you. It still seemed wary, but after a few short moments, the dragon eventually bowed down a little, lowering itself to the ground. It was a silent invitation for you to come closer.

But you still wanted to get reassurance from Prince Jacaerys who quickly gave you a nod and beckoned you closer.

It felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest when the dragon sniffed your hand.

Your husband was on the edge of his nerves behind you. His hand was already positioned at his sword, as if he would stand a chance against a dragon. "Careful, my love," he mumbled. He was feeling increasingly uneasy as he watched you and he let out a small gasp when you eventually laid your hand on the dragon's head.

Vermax closed his eyes slowly after he had eyed you enough. You weren't a threat. Not to him and not to Jace.

The dragon's skin was warm and hard, rough against the soft palm of your hand. "Seven hells..." you mumbled, watching in fascination as Vermax continued to relax.

Jace placed his hand on the dragon's wing for a moment, stroking it softly. "I told you he is a kind one. I would offer you a ride, but I think your husband might fall over dead if I do." It was a small jest, but it made you laugh softly.

You turned your head a little, spotting the Lord of Winterfell as he was tensing up more and more behind you. He forced a smile to his lips, trying to look more relaxed than he was. Cregan wanted you to fulfil your dreams, but he needed to keep you safe as well.

However, seeing you as happy as this, as your hand laid upon the dragon's nose, he couldn't help himself but smile a little more genuinely. His hand remained at his sword, but his shoulders relaxed nonetheless.

Seeing the joy in your eyes as Jace told you more about Vermax and the dragon seemed to be content with your presence, Cregan couldn't help but think about how many more days he wanted to spend like this. Seeing you happy was the biggest light in his world.

He'd do anything to see that beautiful smile. Over and over.

[pholla-jm]

Heir

IMAGINE: HEIR ~ SUKUNA X WIFE!READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: sukuna is a bit ooc. fem!reader. not proof read. set in the heian era. true form sukuna. ***************

If someone were to tell Sukuna that in some years that he would have a wife, he would laugh at them… and then kill them. 

But here he was, thinking about how his beautiful wife looked with a small bump on her tummy. It’s all he could think about really. Ever since he found out his wife is pregnant, his view of the world changed. 

Sure, he still thinks that humans were lowly disgusting vile, but the world seemed like a better place with you and his future child in it. 

His every day activities seemed a little less fun now, and all he thought about was getting back home to his wife. 

After a day full of people worshiping him and some killing, he made his way back to his castle. Where his wife should be patiently waiting for him. 

******** 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You hear the deep voice of your husband call out causing you to jump a little. 

He had found you in a different room. It was bare at first, but you were starting to add things to the room. 

You were working on a traditional crib for the baby, having different silks laid out in front of you to choose. 

It was a bit early to start getting ready for the baby, but you were too excited.

You turn to look at him. He towered over you, with his four arms crossed as he looked at you with a disappointed look. 

“I just want to make sure that the baby’s room is going to be perfect.” You say turning back to the silks. 

Sukuna hums, sitting down next to you while observing the objects in front of you. 

“How long have you been doing this?” You shrug, “not that long.” 

“You could always have the servants do this, you know? You shouldn’t be working so hard.” 

“Yeah, I know. I just feel like if I do this myself, it feels more special.” 

Sukuna breathes out a happy breath, leaning his chin on one of his fists. He knew that you would make a great mother. Someone that is nurturing, and he knows that his future son will be loved and taken care of. 

“Still, you should be taking care of yourself. It’s important that you and our son are completely healthy.” 

You perk up hearing the word ‘son’. “Son? It’s a bit too early to know the gender.” 

Sukuna just smirks, eyeing you up and down. “Trust me, I know it’s going to be a boy.” You laugh, “oh yeah? How so?”

He points at your belly, “It’s lower. A low stomach means it’s going to be a boy.” 

Your eyes widen and you look away from him in disbelief. “Where did you even hear that? I didn’t know you believed in old wives tales anyway.” 

“It’s not an old wives tale if it’s the current talk.” “The current talk? What, are you gossiping with the local ladies now?” You laugh at the idea of Sukuna gossiping causing him to frown. “Whatever woman. What they say is true.” “Okay, we’ll see.” 

"I don't want you working on this room by yourself anymore. I have to be here to help you, okay?" You nod your head, a bit happy that Sukuna came up with a quick compromise. "Sound good to me. You can do all the heavy lifting."

Sukuna nods, then points at one of the silks that are laid out in front of you. It was a darker colored one, something that you knew he would like. “This one. It’ll be great for our son.” 

You decide not to comment on the son thing again. With a smile, you pick it out and put it to the side.

Pushing your hands on the ground, you start to get up from the ground. “What are you doing?” “I have to use the bathroom.” You say. However, Sukuna gets up faster than you. He gently picks you up, carrying you bridal style. “I can walk by myself.” You tell him with a small smile. 

You appreciate that Sukuna doted on you like this, but you don’t know how long you would be able to babied like this. 

“When I’m around, you’re not doing a single thing. You understand?” 

With a content sigh, you relax in his arms. Head resting on his shoulder, hearing the faint sound of his heartbeat.

“Yes, my beloved, I understand.”

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

hi!! I had an idea for a funny/ prank type fic for frat boy jaehyun!! It’s that one trend where the girl talks about getting a wax appointment (or some other appointment) after a really long time and plays it off as a guy waxes her which usually gets the significant other really confused thinking “a guy waxes you..?” I HOPE U KNOW WHAT I MEAN 😭😭 have a good day💞💞

anoooooon!!! THANK YOU FOR THIS IDEA!!!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ what do you mean, he? ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, TikTok trend, profanity sugestive, Jaehyun is such a fucking loser (affectionate) in this)

"Oh baby!" You sing as you push that door open to Fratboy!Jaehyun's room.

It's a handful of days before his birthday now and all week you've been doing the prep you need for a very romantic and heated night with your own Valentine Boy. You'd gotten your nails done, been doing face masks, done a few hair masks, gotten your eyebrows done, and finally today, "guess who got her coochie waxed!"

Your exclamation is met with a "hell yeah!" from down the hall and a flushed Jaehyun scrambling away from his desk to shut the door behind you.

"Ok, love the news, love the mental image, but what did we say about announcing things like that around here?" Jaehyun asks with rosy cheeks.

"But you guys talk about your dicks and balls all the time, why can't you hear about my coochie?"

"Trust me Sweets, I want to hear about her day and night, but I don't want everyone else to hear about her," Jaehyun chuckles while pressing a kiss on your cheek.

You throw yourself onto his bed, turning to watch him settle back into his chair. He rubs your calf softly, "how was it?"

"Hurt like a bitch, but I'm getting used to it. Ash is pretty good about soothing the pain and has good tips for aftercare and all that," you explain.

"Ash? Didn't you used to go to a Jane or something?"

You smile at him, finding it endearing that he listens to what others would consider to be useless details, "yeah, but Jane is on maternity leave, so now I'm seeing Ash. He's good too—"

"He?!" Jaehyun exclaims with his eyes wide with shock.

"Um, yes, he. Is that a problem?" You ask with a confused tilt of your head.

"A guy waxes you, Sweetheart?"

"What is so confusing about this? Yes, my waxer, Ash, is a guy." You state, still not understanding what his incessant questioning is about.

"Sweetheart, another guy is looking at your... lady bits. Like all up and intimate up there while you're probably like spread eagle and showing yourself to him. Shouldn't you only be like that for me?" He asks, speaking slowly and softly in the hopes that you'll understand his point of view better now.

You roll your eyes and push his hand off your leg, "Ash is a 50 something year old gay man who is married and talks about the recipes he most recently made while he's ripping hair out of my 'lady bits'. Can I make it any more clear that he's not interested and more importantly, I'm not either!"

You stand from the bed, throwing your hands up as you continue, "I mean, hello! I got waxed for you! For your birthday! Duh!"

"You know I don't need you to do anything like that. I'm sorry Sweetheart," Jaehyun apologizes, grabbing your hips and tugging you closer to him until he can nuzzle his head against your stomach, "I just went a little crazy thinking about another guy looking at my girl..."

"Your girl? Jae, guys look at me all the time—" you say with a look of confusion until you're interrupted by a single finger against your lips.

"Not you, my girl," Jaehyun mumbles, dragging his finger down from your lips to the waistband of your pants, "her my girl."

You push his head away with a scoff, "oh fuck off, Jaehyun. Coochie privileges revoked until your birthday."

"Damn..."

[teddybeartoji]

neighbor!toji finds you sitting in front of your apartment door late at night as he's coming home and at first, he's really not planning on saying anything. he still doesn't know you, he hasn't talked to you – the most you've gotten is a look and a nod whenever you happen to take the elevator with him or when you just bump into him on your way out. and he really isn't the type to make small talk but with your knees pulled to your chest and your head rested on top of your hands, you look miserable and toji finds it very hard to ignore you.

he keeps stealing glances at your curled up figure as he searches for the keys in his pocket and it's only when he's got the door open, he swallows the weird lump in his throat.

"y'wanna come inside?" his voice is raspy, tired, but it does the job of luring you out of your little bubble.

there's a moment of silence.

toji isn't stupid, he knows the dangers of the world and it doesn't take him long to realize how strange his offer might sound. his eye twitches out of sheer embarrassment as he averts his gaze, rough fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand.

"that would be really nice actually, yeah."

there's no suspicion in your tone, nothing that would indicate that you're thinking what he's thinking. toji's mossy green eyes meet yours and he's met with a look he knows all too well.

exhausted.

"just so i can charge my phone?" you're already trying to apologize for yourself. to tell him that you'll only stay for as long as you need, afraid that you're bothering him.

but he just gives you a hum, patiently waiting for you to push yourself off the ground. for a moment, you stand next to him in front of the door, waiting for him to step inside first but when he gestures to go in before him, you don't argue with him. your hushed 'thank you' doesn't go unheard.

his apartment is tidy. probably even more so than your own. it looks surprisingly cozy – the light isn't a big, bright one but a dimmed down one instead and the sight of his big couch makes you let out a soft sigh. from the corner of his eye, toji observes you. he hasn't had anybody over in a long time and now here you are.

he tells you to take off your shoes and to take a seat while he goes to look for a charger, giving you the perfect opportunity to take a better look around the place – dvd's, old magazines and newspapers, a few movie posters and one singular plant. it's not a lot but it still feels like a good home.

at the sound of his voice, you snap out of your thoughts. your fingers brush against one another as you take the charger from him with another 'thank you'. a

"you're not going to kill me or anything though, right?"

...

for a man his size and his age, he feels a bit small under your gaze. you're blunt more than anything and he's just a little caught off-guard by your question.

"no."

"that's good."

you break the eye-contact to look for a place to plug in the charger and he feels relieved. "you feel safe."

you say it like it's nothing.

"i wouldn't've accepted the offer from anyone else, i think. well, maybe from the lady across the hall but then again, she'd just scold me for being up so late and i'm way too tired for that."

the words slip from your lips as if they're light as air while toji needs a second to really hear you, to know that he isn't making you uncomfortable. that in your eyes, he isn't scary or threatening in any shape or form. perhaps you're just naive for putting your trust into a stranger like this but toji still can't help but feel a little warm inside.

he doesn't say anything and you don't mind his silence. you do thank him a third time and let your lips curl into a proper smile when he almost unintentionally raises his brow at you – like it's weird that you're doing that.

he ends up bringing you a glass of water before joining you on the couch, both of your eyes set on the tv screen and the show that plays on it as you eakt for your phone to come alive again.

it doesn't feel wrong to just be with him like this.

it's right enough for you to let your exhaustion sneak up on you. your eyelids grow heavy without you even realizing it and then you're already dozing off on your neighbor's couch.

your quiet snores are so unfamiliar, the mere idea of somebody being able to fall asleep in his presence so surreal that he's left sitting there dumbfoundedly. regardless, he reaches for a blanket before throwing it over your body ever so carefully and turns down the volume of the tv as to not disturb you.

a stranger, a neighbor. somebody, who makes him feel a bit more alive. a silly comment, a blunt reply. a smile and a thank you.

a push to keep on going.

[nymphea0]

Kurkans Mate.

The Beast And The Bunny.

Yan! Ishakan x Reader

Part 2.

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Manhwa :약탈혼 / predatory marriage

/ 약탈혼 (완전판)

: Adult Manhwa (18+)

Author/Illustrations : Saha / Hera(Art)

Word Count : 2.34K Word.

Hello.. Neva again here, I hope you are well and happy and have a nice days

might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story,love much.- Neva🦋🦋.

- Kurkans Mate Pt.1

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It's been about 3 months since you lived with Esmera, you helped Esmera not only because she saved you, Esmera was also willing to take you in.

Your activities are very ordinary, not much different from how you spend your days in Antra village, looking for herbs and mushrooms and planting vegetables, and collecting firewood.

It's been 3 months since you last met an exotic-skinned man who was injured in this forest.

You sometimes think is this a good choice to save this man? Indirectly you also reveal your identity to the foreign man through your blood healing.

And from the bottom of your heart, you feel a very bad feeling, but you don't know what causes that worry.

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Ishakan, a man from the Kurkans tribe, has an extraordinarily handsome appearance and abilities that are above average humans.

The Kurkans have no shame and are openly hostile to anyone they don't like, the Kurkans will kidnap those they consider to be their partners. Either by force or not.

The Kurkans tribe, is a tribe with the blood of the beast. Animal blood. For some of the continent's inhabitants, the Kurkans are barbarians.

However, on some continents, the Kurkans are also used as slaves, either sexually or just as guards. But slaves are still slaves.

Ishakan is one of the slaves of the nobles, freed by a princess from the kingdom of Estia, Princess Leah Von Estia.

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At night in a brothel, Leah walks in wearing a robe and wig to cover her real hair, which is white as the moon.

Walking slowly towards a man with an athletic body covered in a black robe.

"So you are my bed partner?" The voice that sounded quite rough, it can be seen that this is the voice of a noble lady.

Ishakan who saw the princess, could only grin and guide the princess into the room that had been prepared.

Closing the door, then with one push Ishakan pushed Leah against the wall, causing her wig to fall off, her face flushed red when she saw how handsome Ishakan was.

"Why would a princess go to this dirty side of town?" Grinning slightly at Leah, with a voice that sounded seductive, Ishakan asked.

Leah gave explanation after explanation to Ishakan. Leah had no hope of living anymore, with the fact that her family sold her to a nobleman who was as old as her father, Leah could not accept her virginity being given to that nobleman!

Chastity is the highest honor in the kingdom of Estia, because it concerns the dignity and self-esteem of the family, especially a royal family, so Leah has a mission before she gets married, she will embarrass her family by removing her chastity.

Ishakan looked at Leah with a difficult look, on the one hand he didn't want to take Leah's chastity, and on the other hand he also couldn't let his savior suffer, even though Ishakan was sure Leah didn't remember him, because the incident was so long ago.

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. .

Morning finally, the experts took Leah's purity, Ishakan negotiated with Leah, he would help Leah, although at first Leah really didn't trust Ishakan especially when she found out Ishakan was a kukrans!, a barbarian with animal blood.

A delegation took place between the Estia kingdom and the Kurkan kingdom, where this delegation included peace and an end to war as well as looting and slavery.

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It has been about 3 months since Ishakan has worked as a Kurkan king, the case of the gyipsey that sold drug and sorcery and the case of the attempted release of the Estia queen who turned out to be a dark witch or as the sorceress

And it has been 3 months since he last saw his wild rabbit, you.

Ishakan still remembers the taste and smell of you and your blood. So much that Ishakan is looking for and exploring about your blood, a blood that can heal wounds!

The Antrabeth tribe, Ishakan only knows as a mythical tribe that is said to be a tribe that fights nature because their blood can heal every kind of wound and disease, as well as long life, a tribe that is loved by nature.

However, all of his efforts to find traces of the Antrabeth tribe were in vain, once the world was shocked by the appearance of soldiers carrying blood and a head with blue hair, the Antrabeth tribe became extinct.

The witches, kings and nobles, tried to drink the blood of the Antrabeth tribe, instead of getting long life and healing from the illnesses they experienced, they actually experienced very terrible conditions!

Their skin blistered with bumps all over their bodies that moved, until a nature witch discovered that the blood of the Antrabeth tribe would not work.

if the owner of the blood does not give consent to the blood that is drunk. Those who drink, take and kill the Antabeth tribe, the child of nature by force, they will experience the curse of 1001 nights, a curse where they will not die but also not live.

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Closing the book entitled History of the Child of Nature, Antrabeth.

Ishakan sighed, grinning slightly, something inside him screamed very loudly since he met you, his animal instinct, the kurkans instinct.

If the Antrabeth tribe is extinct, then you are the only one left, Ishakan can't help but claim you, make you his mate!

'Tok'

'Tok'

'Tok'

Genin, Ishakan's aide who doubles as his right hand, entered the room while carrying several rolls of old parchment.

"Your Majesty, here are some carefully selected candidates for the kurkans queen."

Genin handed the scroll to Ishakan.

Ishakan just nodded and opened the scroll, several names of princesses and noble ladies were visible, one of them was Princess Leah Von Estia.

"Take it away, I have found my mate" with his deep voice Ishakan said while grinning.

Ishakan stood up slowly then looked at the genin and said.

"Prepare my horse, I will pick up my wild rabbit" laughed softly as he left his king's room.

Leaving the Genin who stared at Ishakan with goosebumps, every time Ishakan laughed there were only 2 conditions, 1 Ishakan was in a bad mood where usually Ishakan would return to the palace in a state of blood from his victims, and the second condition Ishakan was in a good mood, where every object of his pleasure would definitely end between happiness or... death.

Genin, who never believed in the god of the kurkans in her entire life, prayed to the old gods for the poor creature who managed to catch the attention of Ishakan, the strongest king of the kurkans in the history of the previous kings of the kurkans.

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Ishakan with his stallion as dark as night moved almost more than 5 hours to the place where his wild rabbits were. Normally if he rode a horse he would need 12 days to get here, but because of his animal instincts which also led to his horse, what was originally 12 days, became 5 hours, strange but it's the kurkans we're talking about.

Ishakan with his sharp memory and navigation from your scent, of course he could easily find the forest where you live.

The same forest where Ishakan was injured and resting.

Looking around the forest, Ishakan with his golden eyes like an animal shone brightly as soon as he found the forest he was looking for in front of his eyes, Ishakan could feel the circulation of illusion magic around this forest.

Smirking softly, Ishakan then got off his horse, walking slowly but full of unstoppable enthusiasm, Ishakan entered the dark forest, as soon as Ishakan entered a thick fog covered the forest.

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You, are helping Esmera make gingerbread cookies, and various other cookies.

You are currently not in the disguise of the 1 drop potion for your hair and eyes.

Esmera saw you who was right across the kitchen table could only stare in awe. Your bright blue hair shone brightly at night caused by the reflection of the moonlight, which was as bright and blue as the sky or aquamarine crystal.

But it wasn't just your hair that fascinated her, but your eyes were also very enchanting, as if your eyes were sky stars, a mixture of purple, blue, yellow and gray and there were small white spots around your eyes, like beautiful sky stars.

Sighing softly, Esmera continued to mold gingerbread cookies, while asking you who looked so enthusiastic about decorating gingerbread cookies.

"So excited, huh? Have you never baked before?"

You who were so excited decorating the gingerbread that now looked like a person but in a small and bald version, looked at Esmera and shook your head slowly.

"My family doesn't have much money, so every week we can only bake bread that lasts for at least 1 week.".

In Esmera's eyes you are like a very small, cute and weak kitten! A kitten that needs to be protected and kept safe from the cruelty of this world.

Before Esmera could speak again, the door of the hut was forcibly broken down by someone who broke in!

Esmera was as fast as lightning even though Esmera was old, Esmera was still a nature witch. Esmera placed you behind her, with a silver dagger in her hand.

Esmera's heart screamed in panic!, how could she not feel the ringing of her illusion magic when someone entered the forest?!. There were only 2 answers, one could be that this person had a low life force so that her illusion magic considered something harmless, and the second was a kurkans, kurkans are strong, more stronger the kurkans, more useless a magic is!, but how could kurkans be here? The desert oasis of the kurkans tribe takes at least 12 days to get here

Both you and Esmera look in horror at the entrance to the kitchen.

The sound of heavy footsteps can be heard getting closer to the kitchen.

You of course hold a kitchen knife in your hand.

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Ishakan walks through each forest carefully, until he stops and sits sweetly on a tree trunk, looking towards the hut, Ishakan can see an open window, looking around the room, it must be the kitchen.

Grinning softly until he sees you taking a tray of cookies, your hair that he thought was brown, turns out to be as blue as the sky?!, oh by the old gods of the kurkans, Ishakan wants to come to you, claim you as his!.

You are so beautiful, so fragile and weak, so perfect for him!, his life partner!, his mate!.

With one kick, Ishakan came down from the towering tree, walking towards the door of his wild rabbit hut.

With one kick, Ishakan entered the house whose door had now been destroyed and fell to the floor miserably due to his powerful kick.

Walking slowly until he entered the kitchen, looking towards the corner of the room, where Ishakan was sure the old woman in front of you was a natural witch, because only natural witches used bone necklaces.

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Esmera stared in horror at the figure not far in front of her, tall, with a black leather robe, and a long-handled sword, and a smell that reflected an animal, kurkans!

With a sharp voice full of alert Esmera asked.

"Who are you?!, what do you want from our little hut?!"

Instead of an answer, a laugh! That deep and rich voice was what laughed at them.

You who were behind Esmera were increasingly panicking in your heart, afraid and thinking that this person was an enemy soldier who was still looking for you!!

"Calm down woman, I'm only here to take what is mine, my mate"

That deep voice that sounded very arrogant... have you heard it before! That exotic skinned foreign man with golden eyes like an animal?!.

"You?!"

Loudly and pointing a knife at the figure you pointed at him with full courage.

Esmera looked at you confused, wondering if you knew this figure.

Ishakan he laughed, seeing you in the corner of the room, very small like a rabbit or kitten that was growling at him, oh.. his partner was so cute and fragile. So soft and weak, really in need of protection.

Ishakan gently opened the hood of his robe, revealing his handsome face, decorated with a wide grin showing a row of neat and clean teeth and some of his fangs.

"You remember me right? I came here to take what is mine"

Esmera, she immediately knew what this figure meant!

"Listen Kurkans! You can't take her as your mate! This child is mine, I found her first!"

Emsera ran while carrying a silver dagger in her hand towards this stranger.

But what Esmera fought was a kurkans, of course Emsera was immediately defeated with just one flick of the sword handle that Ishakan didn't even open!

Esmera fell unconscious on the floor.

You who saw Esmera, the figure of the witch and your savior was already on the floor, in a state of fainting caused by the stranger you saved.

You froze stiffly, not realizing that the stranger you saved was already in front of you!

Your chin was raised, your galaxy eyes met the eyes with the golden irises of the animal.

The stranger spoke in his deep voice.

"Don't we know each other, my wild rabbit?"

Chuckling softly while stroking your face and your bright blue hair, a stark contrast to his brown hair, so smooth like silk.

The man brought his mouth close to your ear, whispering in his deep voice.

"I am Ishakan, Ishakan Kurkans, Your life partner. Your mate."

You stared at this man named Ishakan in horror as he stared at you with eyes full of love, passion and animalism.

His grin was the last thing you saw before darkness descended upon you.

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*Source Image : Pinterest

©️Nymphea0 2024 ,OG story, Project Dark Manhwa Character Series.

Tag list; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions, Always be good people Dear. Much love, Neva🦋🦋.

[jweekgoji]

Hello. Can a Resquest, TFO! Yandere Sentinel prime x Femme cybertronian reader who is his conjux

Yandere!Sentinel Prime/Femme!Reader. (hcs. NSFW!)

haven't done requests for a long time so better do it now until my inspiration is gone haha

tw: spoilers for Transformers One; yandere Sentinel Prime, mentions of punishment, stalking, manipulation, controlling behavior, hints on grooming; NSFW at the end.

Yan!Sentinel has no interest in someone who is bold, bossy or demanding like him. At first, it might amuse him when you put up a fight and show your disrespect to him but it quickly gets boring. Even if, somehow, he chose a darling who liked to fight him, his patience would run thin. He literally killed so many bots just to feel like he's in power. Plus, he's looking for his conjunx, not another bodyguard or a troublemaker. He already had enough of them in Iacon.

Yan!Sentinel has a type. imo his perfect type would be someone young, inexperienced and naive. Sentinel is careful and he wants everything to go the way HE wants...and yandere Sentinel just ×100 this need of being in control. He might pick his conjunx from the low rankings, of course, after looking through thousands of bots' profiles until he finds you, a hardworking little femme who was created not so long ago, probably a big fan of him too! Isn't it perfect?

Yan!Sentinel can go even further and be the one you first see in this world. This way, he could teach you everything you should and should not know. You just can't not to trust him, considering how charming and sweet he is to you.

Yan!Sentinel might have trouble with choosing. Should he let his conjunx keep their t-cog? Should he keep it away? Sentinel really wants his darling to be betterthan other bots because you're his conjunx endura, but at the same time he never thinks of you as his equal. 

It might sound cruel at first, but he does love you, in his own way, of course. He adores you, he takes care of you, and he even makes sure you won't get in trouble, but if you think about it, is it genuine love you get or are you just some sort of pet?

Yan!Sentinel is controlling. When he's busy or not around, leaving you all alone, I believe that he will probably have Airachnid looking after his conjunx. He at least considers her good enough to keep her optics on his personal things, so the big, scary spider lady is 24/7 around you if he tells her to do that.

↑ You might try to talk to her once, when it's only you two alone in Sentinel's berthroom since it's well...a little awkward being in silence, only for her multiple optics to track your every move. What Airachnid knows = what Sentinel knows, so don't try to hide anything from her.

Yan!Sentinel has an ego as big as his TFA variant. don't think he would ever beg for something, but... please send him your pictures or videos! when he's busy on some important, serious mission, still searching for Matrix of Leadership, he really, really needs something to cool off his systems after a one particular stressful meeting! His joints are aching for some reason...

Yan!Sentinel loves giving you punishments. Though, he always keeps them “light”. The old-fashioned spanking, where you're bent over his lap or your chassis against his desk, is his favorite. That's the best way for him to teach you a lesson, though he never finishes up to the number he gives you. At first, he would be “That's just 20 spanks! Come on, don't you want to prove what a good girl you are for me?”and after a minute or two of your sobs and whines, he just pauses in the middle of it, only to pull you on his lap and force you down on his spike. He's not very patient himself. ( ͡°з ͡°)

Yan!Sentinel who just loves keeping his servos around you. Whether it's just around your waist, keeping you next to him, while he talks with some bot, or holding your behind, tightening his hold just so you won't try to pull away from him. Touching is everything for him, mainly because he just has to deal with a lot of stress. You're just cute enough to make him not snap at someone, despite how hard he tries to keep his persona.

Yan!Sentinel doesn't like to beg, but when he needs something, he will find a way for you to do this. It is hard to tell him no. I mean, why would you? You're either stupid or have no spark at all! He might say the most ridiculous things to thousands of bots in front of him, and no one would dare criticize Sentinel because they all love him. That's why you should too.

“What—what is it, love? You don't love me anymore, hm? I didn't do enough for you?” Sentinel muses, his optics focused on your face, feigning innocence. “Well, that's a shame. I guess I'm not worthy of you.”

Guilt keeps eating you from the inside. Guilty, guilty, guilty bot you are. So ungrateful. But you can't help but think how ridiculous it sounds. Guilty of what? For having your own boundaries? For telling him no for once? You don't really want that, but still...he works so hard for you, for both of you and all of Iacon. What he wants from you is easy, isn't it? That's not so hard. If you just lean back against his chassis, optics lowered to the ground, you eventually might feel less shame for trying to tell him no at first. A satisfied smile plastered on his face, that works so well every single time it's getting funny.

You sigh softly, letting his servo wander between your thighs. It's difficult not to writhe and whine on top of his lap when he finally pushes his fingers inside you, stretching you with just two digits. Your optics flickering up at him in hopes of meeting his blue ones, just to ask a little more, more attention, please—sssh! Not when he's busy with a big bot job. Just keep your voice down, you don't want to interrupt him, right? If you keep staying like this, he might finish faster with all his plans to give you what you need. 🤫

Yan!Sentinel enjoys it when you depend on him. He basically changed your entire life and is the only one who's protecting you from big bad quintessons, while you can rest in your shared berthroom, not a single thought in your innocent processor! That's why he knows that you might get a little lonely without him. After all, why wouldn't you? When he pleases you so, so well, you just can't help but want more. Greedy you! Can't wait a day without him? Sigh. Your conjunx is kind enough to soothe your needs. He definitely left some “toys” for you, made in blue-and-golden colors...what a coincidence!

↑ With how much of an icon he is in the city, there's a big variety of merch made of him.

[azrielbrainrot]

Such a Perfect Place To Start

Pairing: Azriel x Healer!Reader

Description: Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3911

Notes: When I started writing this I didn't think it was going to lead to that. Hope you like it!

Healer!Reader Masterlist

When you were called to the House of Wind so urgently by the High Lady herself you were expecting a more pressing matter, a life or death situation like you're used to, not exactly a library full of books. You don't know how long you've been sitting in this chair but you couldn't feel your butt anymore, no matter how many different positions you tried to sit in. You were used to doing some research while studying new healing techniques or herbs but these millenia old books on magical symbols were a little different.

There had been some attacks across the Night Court, including in the mountains surrounding Velaris, with some pretty disturbing details. After being killed, the victims' eyes had been removed and a symbol had been carved into their chests. All the symbols were different and, at this time, their meaning was still unknown. Unfortunately, none of the victims had survived either so there weren't any witnesses and, even after Azriel's thorough investigations, there was no evidence left behind by the culprits. It was as if no one had even been there.

You had heard some rumors about this before getting called in. Gossip spread around fast in Velaris and, even with the Inner Circle's efforts to keep panic to a minimum, people had found out about some of the details. The area around Velaris is relatively safe so to have multiple killings in a short time and in such gruesome ways was causing a bit of a fearful atmosphere to fall upon the city of dreamers. The increase in security wasn't easily missed either.

After being summoned to the River House, Feyre and Rhysand had briefed you on everything they knew and asked you for your help, seeing as they could only trust a few select people. Since there were no other clues left behind besides the symbols, the High Lord decided that, for now, everyone should focus on finding their meaning, so he sent his most trusted people to his private library to look through every book that might help.

You had obviously felt incredibly honored and happy that they trusted you this much. You've been getting closer to the inner circle after your talk with Azriel a few months ago, and sometimes still feared your friendships were a bit one sided.

As honored as you felt that they trusted you, though, you had spent days searching through old books just to come up empty. It was more tiring than a week at a war healing tent. Not to mention having to do so by Amren's side. You had no personal problems with the newly turned high fae but she still scared you profusely. Your power gave you a sense of people's aura and hers had always felt unsettling at best, even after getting turned.

At least, you weren't alone with her, everyone in the Inner Circle and some of the Valkyries had shown up at the library to help at some point. There was no way of knowing who could be behind these attacks and, from what you gathered, these fae had been moving across the court too easily, meaning they could be from the night court or even Velaris, so you couldn't involve the priestesses in the library.

The sky was already completely dark outside, making way for the millions of stars to shine in the sky. The atmosphere was a little too quiet for this time of night, usually there would still be fae walking around the city, in and out of bars and theaters. Amren had already left. The ancient one had tucked a book under her arm and walked out without much of a goodbye, leaving you with Feyre and Azriel in the library.

“I think it's time to stop for the day,” your High Lady's voice cut through the silence suddenly, “Rhys just finished at the office too.” Sometimes you envied how convenient the daematis abilities were. As her eyes glaze over and a smirk threatens to play at her lips, you know her mate is giving her a good reason to go home.

“I'll stay a bit longer,” you hold your finger over the passage you were reading, these old books had tiny fonts and you'd already lost yourself in enough of them to know better now, “I have to go to the clinic tomorrow so I wanted to at least finish this book.” There were only about half a dozen pages left of it so, even if your body was screaming at you to go to bed, you wanted to get this done first.

“Alright,” the High Lady adds her last book to the pile and looks at you one more time, “Don't stay too long. We need you to be focused at the clinic.” Her eyes shift to the shadowsinger and narrow slightly, her tone a little sterner, “You too, Az. Get some sleep.”

The spymaster nods dutifully at his friend's warning and she seems content enough with the response or in enough hurry to meet her mate, as she gives you both one last smile and turns to the door, saying one last goodbye over her shoulder.

Azriel stayed with you, even though his book had just started and there was no way he would finish it tonight. You were torn between thinking it was because he didn't trust you in the House by yourself, as the ever protective spymaster, and just writing it off as his willingness to help his court even at the risk of his own health and comfort, you don't even wanna think how many sleepless nights the spymaster has spent working lately.

You shake off your thoughts and keep reading the boring book. The sooner you finish the sooner you can go to sleep. Even your healing abilities can't do much to fight the headache you were feeling after spending the whole day reading symbols and their uses in dark magic, some of the rituals described were also making your stomach queasy.

Just as you're about to finish the last page, you hear a soft groan coming from Azriel and can't help but look up at him. His head was thrown back, showing off the column of his neck. His eyes were closed tight like he was fighting the same headache as you. With his wings stretched as far as they could go, it looked like they were taking up most of the private library, not that it was a small room by any means.

The spymaster looked exhausted. He's been spending his days meeting up with his spies and informants all around Prythian, trying to find any information on the attackers and investigating any strange movement in the court. At night, he comes home and joins you in the library to help with research, sometimes even staying up later than everyone else. You know he will do the same thing tomorrow and the day after, until you find any relevant clues and catch the killers.

Azriel takes these things more personally than maybe even the High Lord and Lady. His job as spymaster is finding any threats to the court after all, preferably before they happen. You know he must feel like he's failing his court and you wish you could show him that he's doing more than enough, that it's not his fault. Under the tough exterior and immense power, Azriel has an extremely kind soul, you've felt it. He'd make the impossible happen if it meant he could protect his court, his family, even if it cost him his own life.

“You should go to sleep,” you can't help but worry for him, “You were out all day before you came here. You must be really tired.”

You wonder how long it's been since he's had a good night of sleep. Even before this situation, it was no secret that the shadowsinger was a bit of an insomniac. You had given him a few sleeping tonics before in hopes of helping him have at least a few moments of peace.

“I'll wait for you,” he tells you, meeting your eyes. You can see the fatigue swirling around in his unguarded gaze, it seems you had been right to assume he hasn't been sleeping. “You're almost done.”

You look back down at your book and wonder how he's been keeping track of what you've been doing while reading his own book. Still, if finishing this means Azriel can go to sleep, you'll do it as fast as you can. Reading through the last page intently to make sure nothing escapes you.

Just as you're about to finish you make a silent request to the House, and two steaming cups of tea appear in front of each of you. Passionflower tea to lessen his stress and help with sleep, you've given it to him before and he told you it helped so you hope it does the trick once again.

Since you're focused on the book, you miss the way his eyes finally stray from your form to look down at the tea now sitting in front of him. You also miss the smile on his face when he reaches for it and the way his shadows let him know you were the one who asked for it, gushing about how you took care of their master.

“Do you still not trust me, Spymaster?” You close the book and put it into the ever growing pile. Stretching a bit before taking your tea into your hands and blowing on it gently.

“I trust you with my life, sweetheart.” The seriousness in his statement makes you pause with the cup halfway to your lips for a moment. You didn't need the Morrigan's gift to know he was telling the truth. The nickname takes a little longer to register but as soon as it does color rushes to your cheeks.

“Then why wait for me?” You hadn't actually thought he didn't trust you in the library but you still weren't sure why he had stayed behind after Feyre left.

“Wanted to keep you company until you finished,” he shrugged. His voice is a little gravely with sleep which is a big problem for the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. “We've been spending a lot of time together but we've barely talked.”

He wants to talk to you. You can't help the smile or the giddy feeling washing over you. He's tired but he chose to stay up a little longer to do something as trivial as talking to you.

“What did you want to talk about then?” The way he's picking at the painted decorations in his teacup makes you think he might be feeling a little nervous but you're not sure why.

“Anything you want,” he answered a little too fast. Maybe it's the low lights in the room but you swear there's some color dusting his cheeks.

“It's hard to pick a topic like that,” you say before biting your lip slightly. For some reason you suddenly feel a little pressure to come up with a good topic, not wanting to disappoint or bore him. “Lately, all I can think about is this,” you run your finger over one of the books' spines, “It's hard to focus on anything else after spending hours in here.”

“If you feel like this is too much you can tell me. I'll talk to Rhys and he'll send you back to the clinic,” he frowns. His shadows reach a little towards you, as if wanting to comfort you. You didn't mean to worry him.

“That's not what I meant,” you start, “I want to help. I've just never dealt with anything like this. I've been to war but this… killing innocent fae in such a disturbing way is different.”

“I understand,” he nods, “If you need anything you can tell me. Even if you just want to talk.”

“Alright.” Azriel has a way of talking that leaves you not knowing how to respond sometimes. He's so sincere in what he says that you almost feel like any response would fall short. “You too. If you need help with anything I'm always here for you.”

He gives you a single nod before hiding what looked like a bashful smile behind his tea. You finish your teas like this, enjoying each other's company in the quiet of the night.

You can't hold back a yawn when you set your teacup down. As much as you'd love to stay up talking to Azriel all night, your body is about ready to crash on you.

“We should go to sleep,” he says as he stands up, making the teacups disappear. “You have to be at the clinic early.”

“You're right,” you agree with a sigh, standing up to follow him to the door. You've only been going to the clinic twice a week ever since Feyre asked for your help with this case so you know you'll have a long day ahead of you. “Will you fly me down tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he tells you as he opens the door for you, “What kind of male would I be if I let our favorite healer walk down the thousands of steps by herself?”

“Favorite? I'll tell Madja you said that,” you point your finger at him playfully.

“Second favorite then,” he takes it back with a wink, making you laugh. The smile lingers on your face all the way to the guest room you're staying in and it only deepens when you realize he walked you all the way to your door.

You turn and look up at him expectantly. It looks like he wants to tell you something with the way he's searching your face and his shadows pool at both of your feet. If you didn't know any better you'd think they wanted to crawl up your legs. You've found that they can give some of Azriel's emotions away sometimes, when he doesn't have a grip on them at least.

Your body doesn't react when he bends down slowly, pausing for a brief moment before kissing your cheek softly, murmuring a good night against your skin. It doesn't react after either, when he pulls back to watch your reaction. In fact, it's not until he walks over to his door and lets out a small chuckle, that you finally move and almost crash into the room, fumbling with the doorknob and slamming the door behind you.

As you lean your back against the door, you put your hand over your chest and stare wide eyed at the window across the room. You almost thought you were imagining things. He can probably hear your heart beating all the way in his room across the hall, you wouldn't be surprised if everyone in Velaris could hear with how loud it's beating. You let yourself slide against the door until you're crouching.

You hadn't expected him to kiss you. You know Azriel isn't one for a lot of physical touch. You've only gotten a hug out of him once, during the war after an attack on the healer's tent. He had thought you were dead then, after watching so many die he'd just been glad to see someone he knows still breathing. Actually, you might have been the one to hug him first. You had never been so close to death and were scared out of your mind. It was your first war after all.

You and Azriel had been getting closer over the months, closer than you were with the rest of Inner Circle. Even before your talk that night, he's always been friendly to you, but the shadowsinger was kind to all the healers - to everyone that wasn't his enemy really - so you never thought much of it. But this felt different. Tonight felt different.

You hadn't fully admitted it to yourself yet but the more time you spent with the shadowsinger the more your crush evolved. What had once been a silly crush based on appearance and his kind nature had quickly turned into palpable feelings. You liked him. A lot.

However, acknowledging this could destroy the friendship you had built with him for the past few months, maybe with the rest of his family as well. That's what you thought before at least. You assumed Azriel would never have feelings for you. The idea seemed so preposterous it never even crossed your mind, but now you're not so sure.

Maybe it seemed like you were exaggerating to think this after a little kiss, on the cheek no less, but this kiss made you think back on the last months you've spent with Azriel. He's been insisting on flying you up and down the stairs every time he's around, usually this task would be left to Cassian, who loved showing off his wings to you.

He's been going to the clinic more often too, stocking up on anything he can think of when he's never done that in the century you've been working in Velaris. Azriel was always one to not think much of his own health, it bothered you to no end. He also came to you with every injury. Usually when a member of the Inner Circle was hurt, Madja was the one who was called. You'd only accompany her if she needed assistance or go in her place if she wasn't able to go herself. Of course over the years they'd come to use you more and more, which is why you didn't even think of it, but looking back now… You don't know what to think anymore.

Getting up with a sigh, you make your way to your closet to change. Your thoughts consume you while you get ready for bed but your tiring day catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow. However, this doesn't spare you from dreaming of a certain shadowsinger.

You take longer to wake up than usual, making you hurry through your morning routine. Your body isn't used to the schedule you've been putting it through lately, and it's starting to show. But because of this, it isn't until you go to open the door to the guest room that you remember Azriel is going to fly you down to the clinic. And the incident that had you spiraling before going to sleep.

Deciding walking down the steps by yourself isn't a viable option, you go to find him and pray to the Mother things aren't too awkward between you. It had just been a little kiss on the cheek and your lack of reaction could totally be blamed on the long day, your brain was just having trouble catching up, that's all. It had been a completely normal exchange between friends, not that you're blushing just thinking about it or anything. You could just pretend it didn't happen.

As you make your way to the front door, the shadows dancing around in the hallway catch your eye instantly. You've seen them do this before, when Azriel doesn't need them and they don't want to brave the light, they just linger around the room in curious little wisps. You can't help the smile as they gravitate slowly towards you.

Right after they notice you, their master appears through the door. One of them must have warned him of your arrival, they're so cute sometimes you forget they're spies. Of course they'd tell on you.

“Good morning,” he greets. Azriel may be a shadowsinger but he looks breathtaking in the morning light. His skin glows beautifully and his eyes look a little lighter, it makes him look younger. Gods, how can he be so beautiful?

He looks a little relieved to see you. Maybe he thought you'd escape by yourself or ask someone else to fly you to the clinic to avoid him. It makes you feel a little bad that you had him worried but it's his own fault for playing with your heart like that.

“Good morning,” you smile, walking up to him. “Are you ready?”

“I was just waiting for you,” he says as he extends a hand for you to take. This has the nerves already lingering inside your body make themselves more noticeable. You almost forgot flying you down means he'll have to carry you. It had taken a while for you to get used to not only the flying but also the way he had to hold you - funny how you never had this problem with Cassian.

You take his hand and try not to move too much or gasp as he picks you up off the floor like you weigh nothing. He immediately starts walking to the edge of the stairs, holding you close to his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he breathes into your ear, extending his wings and getting ready to take flight. You do as he says and wrap your arms tighter around his neck, praying he can't feel your heart beat inside your chest.

You'll never get over how stunning Velaris looks from above or how the wind passes around you as you soar through the clouds. It's a real shame that you weren't born with wings. You understand why Illyrians are so protective of them, after knowing what this feels like, it's hard to imagine never being able to do it again.

“You know I won't drop you.” You look away from the landscape and meet his gaze. He can probably feel how tense you are but you can't tell him it has nothing to do with the height or any fear of him letting you fall.

“I know,” you assure. “What would you do without your favorite healer?” He lets out a small laugh in response and your body finally relaxes.

The flight doesn't take long, and, before you know it, he's landing right outside your clinic. He helps you get down and even holds onto you a little longer, giving you a once over to make sure you're steady on your feet.

An idea passes through your mind and you bite your lip, wondering if you'd truly lost it. You take a quick look around before you lose your nerve. It was still early enough that the streets were almost deserted, no one should see you.

Turning back to the shadowsinger, you hesitate again when you notice him watching you, probably wondering what you were up to. If you read the situation wrong this could make things very awkward for the two of you.

Deciding not to let your anxiety reign your life, you grab his shoulder gently so you can pull him a little closer to your height. Standing on your tiptoes to clear the rest of your height difference. You hold onto his cheek and place a soft kiss on the other side of his face, murmuring a “thank you”.

You step back again and look up at him, still slightly bent from where you pulled him to you and looking at your face with wide eyes. You're not sure if you've ever seen the feared spymaster so caught off guard before. There was a small smile playing at his lips though, so you assume you hadn't completely misread the situation. You can't help but form a grin of your own and turn around to go inside the clinic, leaving him behind just as he did to you last night. Your heart soaring higher than you had just been.

[fakeplasticlovers]

on a dark desert highway | j.m.

part i. of hotel california

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

wc: 3.4k

warnings: no outbreak!AU. age gap (reader is in her late twenties, joel early forties). sarah is still alive and in college. alcohol consumption and smoking. joel thinks he's a dirty old man. dad rock. sexual tension. reader's a shameless flirt. reader has the nickname polly, but no name or use of y/n (explained in chapter). reader also gets flirty w an old lady (maybe she has a type?). slow burn.

hotel california masterlist · hotel california tag

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, the yellow markers on the highway blurring into each other. He reached over to the carafe of coffee in the cup holder, staving off his body's cries for sleep. He takes a swig, large palm coming up to swipe over his features that have began to slacken under the threat of slumber.

1,237 miles. Eighteen hours. That's how long he had driven. Any other time, he would have flown in to visit the city of angels, but he and his truck were needed to satisfy his only child's list of demands.

"Come on, dad. I need your help! I don't trust anyone else," Sarah's voice rang through the receiver, disturbing the otherwise quiet Sunday morning he had been enjoying to himself.

"Don't understand why you need me to bring the damn bed. The hell are you gonna sleep on when you come visit here?" Joel grunted, taking a swig of the black liquid swirling in his mug.

"I'll figure it out! I just need my bed. Miss it so much... besides, you've seen the one in my dorm. It's, like, a piece of plastic. I deserve a good night's rest, don't you agree?"

"Damn expensive piece of plastic." He grumbles, setting his mug down, catching a glimpse of the 'WORLD'S #1 DAD' embossed on the face. He complies nonetheless.

Two weeks pass, and Joel is driving halfway across the country with his daughter's plush mattress and lavender bed frame strapped to the bed of his truck. He had half a mind to bring his brother with him to help with the grueling process of moving Sarah into her first apartment, but he decided that lifting boxes up two flights of stairs and assembling furniture by himself was more alluring than spending twenty hours in a car with Tommy.

His glazed over eyes drift to the clock on his dash. 10:17pm. The long stretch of highway that wound from the outskirts of Phoenix to the edge of Joshua Tree begins to approach civilization. Joel's made this trip before — it's quiet. He's grown to appreciate quiet in recent years. The dark sky is freckled by a thousand stars that would soon be overcasted by the bleeding city lights, and Joel thinks he'll miss them when they're gone.

A ring from his dashboard pulls him out of the quiet he's began to tend to, alerting him that he has twenty-five miles until his tank is empty. A sharp huff of air leaves his nose, fingers curling around the leather of the steering wheel. He surveys his surroundings, and determines that he's still about thirty minutes out from Palm Springs.

There's a haze of blue light that flickers not too far in the distance. His headlights illuminate a green sign that reads LODGING AHEAD — ONE MILE.

Despite his feeble attempts to keep his eyes from rolling back into his skull; now that fumes have began burning off the truck's tailpipe, he decides to stop for the night. He fumbles for the phone that graces the cloth of his passenger seat.

Outside Palm Springs. See you in the morning.

He shoots the message off the Sarah, pulling into the hotel lot. Red dirt kicks up under his tires as the car slows with a jolt. He reaches for the key in the ignition, his head rolling back onto the rest. Too old for this shit, he thinks to himself. He hops out of truck, knees cracking as they reach the gravel beneath him. Definitely too old for this shit.

Joel's surrounded by the now eerie sound of quiet, save for the rustle of tumbleweeds and hot breeze wrapping around his stiffening frame. The hotel is adequate, by the looks of it. The spanish style terracotta adorned by cracks, the blue lighting fixtures in the building's arches are shorting, along with the neon nameplate on the front.

HOTEL CALIFORNIA, except with the flickering letters, it only fully reads H O E FOR A. Below the unfortunate sign, the word 'vacancy' cuts through the darkness.

It'll do for the night.

A small wooden fixture with directions acts as a fork in the road, with one arrow pointing towards the path to check-in and the other pointing towards the hotel bar. Fuck it, Joel thinks. He's spent eighteen hours on the road, the least he deserves is a whiskey.

So Joel chooses to find his fate in the bottom of a glass, boots crunching up a palm tree lined path to the bar. The lighting could be better, but the stars he has began to become acquainted with help enough to irradiate his way. A splintering wooden door comes into view, and when his fist pushes the cool metal handle open, the deafening silence of the desert night is immediately snuffed out.

The bar is electric, with dozens of patrons embellishing every dark and hazy corner, each nursing their own summertime cocktails while guffawing amongst themselves.

Joel blinks, finding himself racking his brain for the lack of cars he'd witnessed in the lot, expecting nothing short of a dead crowd. The crowd wouldn't shock him if this were Austin on Friday night, but it's the last thing he expected in the desert suburbs of Palm Springs.

He takes a seat on one of the pink leather barstools, the squeaky cover somehow welcomed after sitting on a truck bench for over ten hours. He's not one to feel out of place, but as his eyes scan amongst the partygoers, he can't help but feel like he's infringing on something.

An elderly couple, the woman sporting magenta hair, sways to the Mamas and Papas song floating from the jukebox in the corner. Besides them, a gang of bikers are enthralled in a painstaking game of snake eyes at a high table. A group of young kids around Sarah's age are still clad in their swimsuits, drunkenly strewn across a pool table as they fail to sink the solids and stripes.

Despite the vast differences between each of them, everyone seems to exist on the same peculiar plane of existence; one Joel's not sure if he'd like to be a part of just yet.

"What can I get you, looky loo?" A voice snatches him from his observations, a pair of raised eyebrows meeting his gaze.

Joel can't gauge the expression on your face. Despite the inquisitiveness on your brow, he knows it's not curiosity. Despite the turn of your lips, it's not amusement.

You cock your head in a way to repeat the question at hand.

"Whiskey neat.... Please." Joel manages to sputter out, turning his body fully towards you, ribcage pressing against the polished wood of the bar top.

You snort to yourself, retrieving a rocks glass that's stowed out of sight. Joel studies your features under the ambient light of the bar. You're fuzzy to him, even though no alcohol has reached his bloodstream.

"Not from around here, are you?" You prompt, slapping a Coors coaster on the wood before him, before placing the Johnnie Walker on top. Before he gets an answer out,

"Open or closed?"

His gaze flicks between you and his glass. Must not work for tips. You lean against the bar, both hands curling around the edge.

He assumes this is your way of marking your territory. Letting him know not to start shit in your place.

"That obvious, 'uh?" He huffs, eyes narrowing slightly as you crane your neck in response, "Leave it open, 'm good for it."

"Not a lot of people come through here wearing flannels in the middle of July." You tut with a small shrug of your shoulders.

The observation of his apparel has him taking the time to note yours — a pair of cut off Levi's and a faded Blondie tank.

He internally grimaces at the thought that you'd probably consider a band from his time nothing but a piece for your vintage collection.

"That, and your accent sticks out like a sore thumb. If you ignore the people who come through faking ones."

"Accent, huh?" A tiny smirk threatens to cross his features, but it's easily masked by the glass he brings up to his lips.

"Far as 'm concerned, only one here with an accent is you."

That gets a small chuckle out of you. A sense of pride creeps into his chest, one he quickly stomps out with another pull from the whiskey tumbler. Don't be a creepy old man.

"Where you visiting from, man with no name?" You push up off the ledge, reaching behind you to grab a highball glass filled with a fizzy red drink.

Joel scoffs at the nickname.

"Drinking on the job?" He ignores your question, brow quirking as he gestures towards your hand.

"It's a Shirley temple!" You gasp incredulously at his accusation, free palm coming up to clutch your proverbial pearls.

Your chest bounces slightly with the movement, causing the air to get caught in Joel's throat. He throws his palms up in mock defense, trying to hide the fact that he was just staring at your tits.

"C'mon, humor me. Where are you from?" You prod, bitten lips wrapping around the pink straw bobbing in the virgin cocktail. Joel takes the time to observe the chipping red polish on your nails. Maybe you should start working for tips. "I gotta hour left to kill."

Joel traces the rim of his glass, about a finger of Walker left in it. He clicks his tongue, gesturing to the ever lively crowd around him.

"Looks like you got plenty of people to entertain you 'round here."

"Oh, come on, man. I see these guys every weekend. Don't tell anybody, but I'm gettin' sick of 'em." You lean closer, your hushed tone existing somewhere in the ether between the boisterous bar goers and Steely Dan crooning.

"Sounds like they're loyal." Joel remarks, intentionally dodging your question once again. He's beginning to sense the fact that you're impatient. "'S matter with that?"

"The matter is that I'm bored, Butch Cassidy." The ice begins to rattle in your glass as you continue to swig at it. An offensively bright red cherry is twisted between the cubes. "'nother whiskey?"

"Jesus. If I tell you, would you stop with the nicknames?" He grunts, pushing the empty glass off the coaster across the bar top, leaving a trail in its wake.

Your eyes narrow, quick to snap up a rag to clean up his mess.

"Austin. It's in Texas."

"I know where Austin is." You bite back, refilling his glass before stepping away to help another customer.

It's the pink lady back for another glass of Chablis. She fawns over you as you pour the wine; long, magenta manicured nails that match her locks come out to pinch your cheeks, before tucking a ten dollar bill in the strap of your tank.

You make quick work of fixing yourself another shirley temple, perching yourself back in the emptiness in front of him. He didn't even realize he was waiting for you to return.

"So, Tex, what brings you to the Buttfuck Middle of Nowhere, California?" You quiz, your curious brow returning to its spot arched high on your forehead.

"Thought I said to stop with the nicknames." Another question avoided.

"Never said I do what I'm told." You singsonged, shirley stained lips twitching up under the muddy lighting.

"Wouldn't need to use a nickname if I knew your real name, Tex."

Trouble, Joel thinks.

You're nothing but trouble and he's nothing but stranded in the middle of the fuckin' desert.

He pauses for a few beats, taking the newfound silence between you to rake across the parts of your figure that aren't hidden by the bar.

"Joel." He breathes, giving in to your barrage of questioning for the second time this night.

It's your turn to pause, eyes shifting back and forth, finally pinning him with your gaze.

"Joel..." You repeat, voice so quiet his name is nearly lost within the bumbling conversations nearby.

His heart skips like a fucking teenager.

"I believe you." You declare, raising the bottle of Johnnie Walker to fill his glass once again.

Joel chuckles under his breath. Two things he thinks he knows about you now — impatient and untrusting.

"Didn't answer my other question, though, Joel. What are you doing here?" You prop your head on your hand, arms crossing on the sticky counter in front of you, as if you're telling him there's nothing more important in this moment than the answer to your question.

Joel cocks his head to the side, wondering what your endgame is. There's no way a good looking young woman like you cares what he's doing by himself on a Friday night a thousand miles from home.

Surely you can't be that bored; you have dozens of regulars here that, judging by the pink lady's treatment, adore you. He wonders if he should tell you the truth, since he'll never see you again. Tell you he's driving his daughter's childhood bed up to her crappy off-campus apartment in Westwood. Tell you that he's so fucking old he nearly fell asleep at the wheel and ran out of gas in the process. Tell you that his life back in Austin is so boring that he hasn't had weekend plans since Tommy's birthday a couple months back.

"Got some business up in Los Angeles I gotta tend to." He answers coolly, with a small shrug of his shoulders like it's no big deal. Despite the fact that he'll never see you again, something burrowed deep in Joel's chest doesn't want you to see him for what he is — boring dad to a college student with no social or sex life.

He chalks it up the fact that he thinks this is the longest conversation he's had with a woman that wasn't a client or the mother of another player on Sarah's varsity soccer team in years.

"Some business." You mock him. Ice rattles in the glass again. "What? You a hitman or somethin'?"

"No, smartass." His turn to narrow his eyes. Empty glass taps the bar top. "Contractor."

"Contractor, huh?" You wag your eyebrows as you pour his third whiskey of the night. "Must be good with your hands if they need you all the way out here from Austin."

If his glass weren't empty, he would have choked on its contents. He feels heat rise above the collar of his flannel, fever crawling up neck. He can't remember the last time he blushed.

"Guess so, trouble." He mutters just above a whisper, fingers brushing against yours as he tugs the now full glass out of your grasp.

"Never got your name."

"Polly!" A gruff voice sounds throughout the bar, an older gentleman poking his head out from a fluorescent bathed room tucked around a clay-colored corner. "How you doin' on ice?"

Your gaze shifts away from Joel at the interruption. Below the counter top, chipped fingers fiddle with an ice chest lid.

"'M good, Cliff! I'll fill it up before I leave." You shout back, the thud of the ice box falling shut punctuating your announcement.

The older man grunts, waving his hand at you dismissively as he stalks back into his beaming foxhole. You divert your attention back to Joel with an almost apologetic look gracing your features.

"That your name?" He prompts, a little too eagerly, "Polly?"

"Pol-?" You leer at him in confusion, the realization taking a moment to reach you.

"Oh, ha!" You bark out, snapping the rag that was resting over your shoulder against bar top. "No way. 'S just a nickname."

"Polly's your nickname, huh?" Joel squints.

Polly. Polly. Polly.

"What — you always want a cracker or somethin'?"

For the second time that night, Joel Miller makes you genuinely laugh. Your head rolls back, eyes squeezing shut as your upper body shakes with tremors of humor. Suddenly, he has never felt less tired in his life.

"No, you ass." You roll your eyes, "'ts short for Pollyanna. That was Cliff, my boss. He calls me that to fuck with me."

"I see." Joel tuts, "Can't say I pegged you as a Pollyanna."

"'Cause I'm not, Joel the Contractor." You deadpan, staring at him straight in the eyes with an empty expression.

Joel can't tell if he's pissed you off or not, so he finishes the swig of whiskey left in his glass.

"Hm. Joel the Contractor... doesn't quite flow like Bob the Builder." You snicker, defusing the tension that Joel had feared he had created.

"So, you're not gonna tell me your real name?" Joel pushes, finding it only fair that he know yours now that you know his.

You purse your lips, bringing one of those red nails up to tap your chin in mock thought.

"Guess I'll show you mine, since you showed me yours."

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

You introduce yourself, nothing short of respectful, reaching the hand that was on your chin out to grasp his in a proper handshake.

Joel thinks your name suits you so well that he can't help but give you yet another once over, feeling like a little kid who just snapped the final piece into a jigsaw puzzle.

For the remainder of your shift, you and Joel fall into a consistent rhythm of what you'd like to think is banter, but you're pretty sure he just thinks you're a pain in the ass.

You're also pretty sure he likes it.

He catches the hands of his watch burning on his wrist, and decides that now is probably the right time for him to get out of the haze before he finds himself in real trouble.

Real trouble meaning he steps out of line with Sarah's polished moving itinerary she had emailed him earlier in the week.

"Nice meetin' you, Polly. Should be gettin' on my way." Joel sighs, reaching into denim to fish out his wallet. He slaps a few twenties on the polished wood beside the now damp Coors coaster.

He considers asking you if you accept all payment in your tank strap, but figures that right is only reserved for little old ladies with neon hair.

"Keep the change."

He thinks you deserved a tip after all.

"Nice meetin' you too, Joel the Contractor." You beam as you begin to erase all the evidence of his presence in the elusive bar, "See ya around?"

Joel rises from the squeaky barstool, eyes lingering on you for a few beats. There's a twinge of hopefulness on your features that tells him that you're actually asking if you'd see him again, not just making small talk out of boredom with a vagabond passing through.

Before he answers, he takes in his surroundings once more.

He notices the small waves and smiles thrown in your direction, each pleasantry fished from a different genre of bargoer. Joel decides he was right to feel like he was intruding before.

The bar mimicked an oasis, an escape for a myriad of souls who all wandered different walks of life; all paths leading to you, where you were waiting to pour them their first glass of water after a long trek in the desert.

"Maybe." He nods in your direction, turning on his heel to make his way out of the bar.

He doesn't look back, but he can feel your gaze on him until he crosses out of the oasis and back into the hot air of the July night.

He can't shake the smile on his lips as he drifts down the dust path to the hotel lobby. There was something freeing about being a stranger, something intoxicating about meeting a stranger, and something fulfilling about being somewhere strange. Although he prides himself on being put together — he's had to be every day for the past nineteen years — part of him is relieved he almost ran out of gas, relieved he didn't get a chance to make good on his plans.

He's relieved that even though he'll never see you or that Blondie shirt again, he met the bartender with a shitty nickname in a shitty bar.

But maybe, he's just relieved cause you got him drunk, as evidenced in the sway of his step.

So, Joel treks into the lobby, and pays the fifty nine dollars cash for a one night stay at the Hotel California.

He twirls the key around his ring finger as he heads out to his truck, the sound of the blush colored diamond keychain smacking against his palm the only sound within a twenty mile radius.

He reaches into the back seat to grab his duffle, heading down the breezeway to the row of rooms stowed around the corner, situated on the opposite side of the pink building that housed bar. His footsteps slow when he reaches his room — 101.

"Joel the Contractor!" Although he'd only heard that voice the first time an hour ago, he thinks he might be able to pick it out in a crowd.

There you were, smoke curling from your lips, worn leather jacket that was two sizes too big slouching around your frame as you ashed the burning cherry of your cigarette.

For the first time tonight, he saw you entirely — bright, full eyes beaming under weathered fluorescents.

You wore the same devilish smirk on your Shirley temple stained lips, but this time they were framed by your unruly hair shifting in the hot breeze.

Smooth legs littered with small, yellowing bruises and tiny scars led to scuffed up converse tapping on the concrete as you leaned against the door of room 100.

"Guess I will be seeing you around, neighbor."

a/n: welcome to the hotel california :~) this is the first fic i've written in a while so bare w me! i hope you guys are excited to meet joel and polly. feel free to come yell at me in my inbox.... EEK!

[mistymisfit]

it's my birthday today so here's a short Jason x Reader drabble!

warnings: just pure fluff ! + A bit suggestive at the end, but nothing happens (rare no angst)

wc: 1k

Jason's broken into your apartment again, it's pretty much a routine at this point. Though he wouldn't call it breaking in if he was your boyfriend who had keys to your place but couldn't walk through the door like a normal human being. He disarmed and set up again every security measure he installed himself to keep you safe. Took his time to check that you locked everything too, all while you slept peacefully in your room. And just when he was sure everything was up and running and you'd be safe he made his way to the bedroom.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw you. You looked so cute sleeping on your side, taking all the covers and your hair a mess. He just felt an overwhelming need to kiss you senseles, so he left the bouquet of flowers on your nightstand. He rapidly removed his mask to leave it on his bedside table, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He made quick work of unlacing his boots and kicking them off so he could hop on the bed with you.

"Baby," He whispered, pulling down the sheets and lifting your shirt so he could kiss your hips. His kisses trailed up on your side until you hummed and shifted in your sleep, now lying on your back, unaware of the presence of your boyfriend.

He whispered your name before he started kissing your stomach. By the time his kisses had gone up to your neck, he started to wonder just how deep you were sleeping.

"Jay?" You finally wake up, barely aware of anything but the figure above you.

"What if it was an intruder?" He teases."You're a pretty deep sleeper, ma"

"Who else would it be? you got me living in the bat cave with how tight the security is. " Even half asleep, you had a quick wit. It made him chuckle and kiss your cheek.

"Happy Birthday, baby"

It made you check the time on your phone, 5 am. Only him would come back from his vigilante activities and wake you up at 5 am on your birthday. Lucky you had the day off so you could sleep in a little more. In the process of grabbing your phone to check the time you noticed the flowers, your favorite ones, and impossible to get this time of the year.

"Those are for me?"

"Not really, some old lady gave them to me so I could ask her niece out," He joked, gaining a swift slap from the back of your hand to his bicep. It did nothing but make him laugh, and you realized just then that he still was in his red hood gear. Even when you've told him a million times not to get in the bed wearing it. "'Course they are, the best for my favorite birthday girl "

"Take your clothes off," You demanded, the sleep still in your mind made you not realize how that sounded. He opened his mouth to make some snarky comment, so you cut him off before he begins "You know what I mean"

He chuckled again, kissing the tip of your nose before getting up to undress. You rubbed your eyes as you sat on the bed, then took the flowers to get a closer look. It was a beautiful bouquet, a mix of colors and flowers that matched your favorites, so unlike your basic red roses. It showed how much he knew you, how sweet of a boyfriend he could be.

"Where did you even get these?" You asked, smelling them. You noticed how fresh they were, how bright the colors were. They didn't look like a usual purchase from a Gotham flower shop, much less this late-or early.

"Ah,I was hoping you wouldn't ask that." He sighed as you watched him toss his shirt somewhere on the floor. He tried crawling back on the bed and kissing you to distract you, but you knew better than that.

"I don't trust the pockets of that," You complained, talking about his cargo pants, moving your head to the side so his lips fall on your cheek. "and careful with the flowers "

"Yes ma'am," He replied in a solemn tone, just to mock you. Then, as you watched him strip to his underwear, holding the huge bouquet like a baby, it hit you.

"Jason Peter Todd, did you get these from Poison Ivy?"

Jason freezed, of course he did. His reaction gave you all the answers you needed. You were ready to hit him with the very same flowers. How could he put himself in so much danger for such a ridiculous thing?

"In my defense,"He began, and you were already having none of it. He was lucky he made it out in one piece. "She said you're the best hostage she ever had, and she's a romantic deep down"

"Jason," You sighed. The way you said his name had him smiling again, knowing all too well, he was about to be forgiven.

"And before you kill me, " He sat down next to you, a hand resting on your thigh. "I've got the whole day planned for ya', ma"

You left the flowers on your nightstand again, and turned your face to see him before asking;"Did she make the bouquet?"

"I'm appalled, 'course not." He gasped offended, "I had a vision"

"Really?" You smiled, straddling him.

He nodded, smirking and putting his hands on a familiar place on your waist. His lips and your finally met in a kiss that's more smiles than actual kissing. He knew he was lucky to have you and that he had to treat you right, there was no other option for him. If you asked for the moon and stars he'd find the way to give them to you. Jason was sure he could face whatever fate threw his way as long as he had you on his side. But he couldn't find the words to tell you that and settled for the next best thing; kissing you desperately.

"Shouldn't we put those on water?" He questioned, out of breath.

"Later, I've gotta fuck my handsome boyfriend " And with that you had him melting under your hands, the mighty and scary Red Hood reduced to a blushing mess by his favorite birthday girl.

a/n: If I feel inspired, I'll write about how reader knows Poison Ivy, but until then, happy birthday to me 🥳. Btw if this has any mistakes, ignore them. My sister is holding my laptop hostage and I'm back in my hometown.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Hi! i really love your writing about wukong and reader and i always waiting what's new from you 😄

can i request?,

am i the only one who put interest to the broken sage shell?

can you write about reader who in the past she was wukong's most beloved person, and she join Bajie (who also know the reader very close) to accompany destine one till the final fight with wukong's stone monkey. however the stone monkey or in broken sage shell mode, even as broken shell he still can sense her presence, and miss the reader so much even for just a touch, when he knock down the destine one so badly, he take his time to walk closer to the reader who watching the scene from a small boat behind transparant wall 🥺

Thank you!

Sorry for my english 🙈

As the story said, the Lady Bone demon was a mere spectacle, a monster that wanted nothing but to devour the Tang Monk. The story said that she was merely a cause of the first exile of Sun Wukong and that she had done nothing special per se.

But no one ever said the other side of the story. That the demon once was a servant for the Celestial Court, then the bride of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, and only then became the monster that she was.

When the Destined One First Met you, what he saw was a mysterious ally to his quest, a Yaoguai that could manipulate ICE and had some strange abilities. What he didn't know was that you were an old acquaintance of old Bajie...and maybe something more.

When he saw you hug each other like friends that haven't seen each other for decades, he knew that he could trust you.

"Ah! Pesky Witch! Were you hiding yourself for so long?!" The old pig laughed, giving you some strong pats on your back.

"Hiding from that snout of your, old pig!"

Bajie explained then everything—or at least what Wukong wanted him to know. He did understand the surprise in the Destined One's eyes, knowing that the Great Sage did in fact have a wife that turned into a demon for grief. Well, it was a lot, but he was used to learning more about the old king that he was supposed to.

"I didn't know...no one knows...why?" 

Your gentile gaze was veiled by a sadness, old like the legend itself.

"Oh young one, if I knew the reason for it, I would have certainly found piece by piece."

And so, you helped him. 

Maybe it was that gloom that still unted your eyes when you were talking about your deceased husband; maybe it was Hope or just some silly fantasy of yours, but you did trust the destined one. You wanted to trust him and the idea that your beloved husband could be back together once more.

So you helped him, you followed him, and you assisted him, just like Bajie. Both of you became the nearest thing to a parent that the young monkey ever had, and this thing never bothered you.

And so, when the relics were reunited, you Hope still stood, only to be crushed by the painful truth.

Sun Wukong was long gone. Your husband was gone.

You didn't cry; maybe you knew that it was just a silly hope, or maybe you had already consumed all of your tears in the last centuries.

Or so you thought, because rivers of tears were falling when that stone creature, only a shell of what once was Sun Wukong, was slowly approaching the wall in his mind.

Even as a fragment, he was strong; he was able to outstrip your young protege in one strike.

"PLEASE DON'T HURT HIM! MY LOVE, DON'T DO THAT TO THE BOY!"

He stopped, and the staff stopped on his finale strike. Those burning flames that he had as eyes searched for the origin of the voice, and they met you.

A long past memory, regrets, hope, and love.

While the younger monkey was getting back on his feet, the shell slowly approached the wall where you were watching the fight, refusing to move forward there. Despite the heaviness of this aura, you didn't flinched. How could you? He was never a threat for you, and Brother was now.

He was there, only the thing Wall of his Mind separated the both of you, just like the thing line of life and death. Like Always...

His hand reached the wall, now resting where your own was. You could swear that you could sense that warmth that it was always meant just for you—the warmth of the sun and the kind fire of the house that you wanted to share with him.

Your cry stopped, realizing the most agonizing reality that your poor heart could feel: despite the time, the distance, and death itself, he had never forgotten you. As a mall portion of you was still alive in that shell.

Even now, he was trying to console your cry and tell you that it hurt him more than anything seeing you like that.

He loved you. After all that time, he still loved you.

You wanted to hold his hand; even though it was made of stone, you wished to hold him once again. Instead, your tears fell on the boat, Bajie watching this heartbreaking scene, uncapable to say anything that could help.

"I wished nothing more than to hold you again in my arms, my love." You said between hiccups and sighs. Your forehead touched the wall; he mimicked that action, trying everything to just feel you.

"But before me... I want your own happiness... it's just like you always said, I'm too nice."

The destined one was once again on his feet, the weapon of your husband in his hand. He approached the scene, his hurt grieving for you now.

"I love you...more than everything. Be free, my love."

And while two lovers shared an untouchable kiss, the final strike settled the fight.

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