#it just gets old. gets tiring. but what choice do we have

[usuallydeepalpaca-blog]

Okay. My problem isn’t with the whole timeline, but the timeline of Armand’s involvement. So this is more or less why I think Armand got involved when Madeleine was turned. Also, forgive me for the length, disorganization, and poor grammar; I wrote it while tired.

The show obvs. wants us to assume that Armand made Louis hallucinate Sam guarding him in the theatre box (thus painting Armand as a "captive" along with Louis & Claudeleine). 

I don’t think this is what the show wants us to assume. Sam, the writer of the play, and Armand, its director, were seated in the best position in the house to watch their hard work come to life. Sam wasn’t guarding Armand, that’s just what Louis assumed/preferred to think he was doing so he wouldn’t suspect the person he’d spent 70+ years with of having a much bigger role in the events that murdered his daughter.

Even if Armand didn't use the Mind Gift on Louis, he lied at least twice: lies by omission: letting Louis think a hallucination of Sam was real

Not a hallucination. Louis remembering Sam being in two places at once served to show us holes in his story that he probably wouldn’t catch because maybe it’s been too long or he wants to believe a particular version of events, e.g. Lestat telepathically telling him to stop staring at the tractor salesman despite the fledgling-maker relationship making this type of communication impossible. 

When Daniel points out the inconsistency of the memory of Sam’s role in the trial, Louis experiences cognitive dissonance, because Armand has told him and most likely wants to believe that his companion of 77 years was also a victim. To resolve this dissonance, Louis ends up blaming himself by saying he’s the one remembering things wrong. 

lies to Louis' (& Daniel's) face: going along with the premise that he was Sam's "captive" & Armand sat there the whole time thinking of a way to rescue Louis

No argument from me here.

HOW can Lestat have showed Louis ANY memories during the Trial (inc. the Ep4 revisit), when Makers/Fledglings CANNOT read each other's minds???????

Did Lestat do this literally, or did he recount the events out loud from his point of view, and Louis remembered? Because Claudia saw/heard the same things: it’s why she told him that Lestat was doing the retelling to hurt him further and what made her get on her feet to mock the audience for believing him.

Armand has used Louis' obvious confusion to his advantage, just going along with whatever will make him look better & more sympathetic. Which ofc, is the exact same thing he does with the "Banishment" lie. "They gave me a choice...I could not prevent it" is the truth and a lie all rolled into one incredibly manipulative cocktail, cuz if it was just a simple matter of Armand selling Claudia out to save Louis, that would be one thing--but Armand KNEW the script planned LOUIS' death the whole time. The "seismic lie" about "Banishment" effs up Armand's whole defense. 

No argument from me here either. I have thoughts about it, but from what the show has shown us, this is true.

Cuz Sam already wrote the script in April 1949 (and I said this is confusing, cuz if it's the WHOLE script, then this implies Lestat's half was written by then, too, and NOT in September after the Eiffel Tower crime--which means he was ALREADY in Paris & working with the coven; inc. Armand (which would also explain WHY Armand took Louis to the library so much--perhaps anticipating that Loustat would feel e/o's presence if Louis was around the theatre too much? But that doesn't explain Claudia)--omfg I'm confused). Wtvr--we KNOW that at some point b/t April & September 1949, Armand made his edits & directed the entire production--from Santiago to Lestat to Tuan's projections--ALL of it. And we know Tuan's projections started being made in June/July 1949. Armand KNEW Daniel had been given the OLD script from the archives, WITHOUT Armand's edits & directions, and LET Daniel AND Louis think that was the truth--

From the show, Santiago went to Louis’ apartment to find evidence they could nail him on. Before that, they didn’t really have anything to put Louis on trial: the maitre had given him dispensation from joining the coven; he’s not the one who turned a child. They could kill Claudia based on her being ‘deformed’ alone, and I think until Santiago knew about their killing of Lestat, that was the plan. So can we assume that Sam started writing the play in April 1949, but it was a meatless play, which is why Santiago went looking for something and ended up finding Claudia’s diaries in June/July, a time when Armand was heavily distracted because Louis had committed to a companionship with him. 

SN: the importance of the companionship to Armand - Armand says he went along with the coven because he couldn’t count on Louis’ love lasting. This would track with the assumption that he was involved from the very start, before Louis committed himself to a companionship with him. It’s honestly better than what he says, that he got involved the night of Claudia’s turning, which I think isn’t supported by anything we saw on the show. 

But, we’ve seen Armand distracted and unable to use his powers in Dubai, like when Rashid and Daniel lie to him about what went on in the restaurant, or when Rashid brought Daniel a fat-ass newspaper, or when Daniel was plotting to reveal everything at the table. The only person who used mind reading often in Dubai was Louis, not Armand. Now, maybe it was the show not knowing what to do with Armand since they’d made him too powerful and if he was a Master Plotter, there’s no reason why he wouldn’t be able to see the plotting around him in Dubai. But let’s go with what the show has told us: when in love, Armand fails to see what’s happening around him. 

Let’s say he was so in love with Louis, that he not only lost interest in the coven and broke the rules he’d enforced for centuries, but he also deluded himself into believing that other coven members wouldn’t rebel against his selective tyranny. And the reason why I agree with what he said re: when he got involved was because of the conversation between Celeste and Estelle & Louis and Santiago in ep. 8. When running away, the female vampires tell each other the fire was from a rival coven that sensed weakness when they overthrew Armand. Santiago insists that Louis not credit the trial’s success to Armand because the whole thing was his idea as the Maître, not Armand.

Maybe what we saw of Celeste and Estelle's conversation on the bridge was one of those times the audience got a rare objective reconstruction of events. But since Louis is the one doing the retelling at this point of the story, let's assume he was privy to their conversation, and that Santiago’s insistence that he was Maître probably convinced him that Armand was telling the truth about his involvement. (I think the show was doing that thing where they’re trying to tell us Armand wasn’t the mastermind behind the whole thing, but it was done so clumsily that it feels out of tune with the tone of the show).

--and the same way he lied about Nicki (& Gabrielle) in 2x3.

Did Armand lie to Louis about Gabrielle and Nicki, or was he lying/not telling stuff to Daniel? Same thing with the pages he removed from the diary. Louis knew what was in those pages, he’d had access to them for a while, he was okay with them being shown/not shown to Daniel. He also knew that Armand had made the unilateral decision to remove some of the diary pages because he didn’t want Daniel to know certain things about him.

Which in retrospect make Armand look even more insidious, esp. when we wonder to what extend Louis' been "driven to form new conclusions about myself" when he doesn't even KNOW himself; let alone WHAT memories he has that are real or false.

I can see this angle, that Armand was changing Louis’ memories throughout their time together. However, in 1973, when Armand acts as a conduit between Loustat, Daniel says they’d been in that apartment for 4 days. But, in episode 6, we learn that they kept Daniel there for two more days, rewiring his memories. Daniel was weak, drained almost to the point of death, malnourished, tortured, etc. But it took two days between Armand starting to rewire his memory re: what went down and them releasing him in a drug den. Then in Dubai, Daniel starts getting flashbacks after being in Armand’s presence for about a week, maybe less. Which makes me think Armand can’t just snap his fingers and rewire a memory. It’s probably easier when someone is ‘half in love with easeful forgetting’, but even then, a vampire who’s feeding human every other day, as Louis is in Paris, isn’t so easy to memory wipe to the extent of never remembering anything despite interacting with the memory wiper every day compared to a drugged up, drained human who manages to retrieve important memories while dying of a neurodegenerative disease. I guess this is me coming out as the person who believes that Louis asked Armand to erase the memory of him going into the sun (Armand took advantage, of course, and painted himself as a saviour, but I’m convinced the initial decision to erase those memories was Louis’).

Another thing that bugs me about the extent of Armand’s memory wiping powers is, if he’s time and time again used this power to paint Lestat in a negative light:

What purpose does softening Louis’ perception of himself serve? From what we’ve seen, Louis’ belief that he’s unable to control his temper and often causes grave damage to himself or others is crucial to the control Armand has over him. Making him believe he was helpless to stop Lestat’s turning of Claudia or unable to go through with burning Lestat because of Claudia doesn’t serve Armand in any way because then Louis would think he’s incapable of causing harm when he’s not under the power of stronger forces (older vampires, a child he loves unconditionally, etc). Having Louis believe he has self-control wouldn’t do Armand de I Need to be Needed any favours.

Why would he leave his involvement with planning the trial in there? If he can basically snap a finger and rewire a memory forever (or drone on and on about a version of events until the victim fully believes him), he could remove himself from knowing about the planning altogether. If he can even make his victim hallucinate something (like Sam being next to him during the trial), he could’ve made Louis hallucinate him next to them on the stage during the trial. Why doesn’t he? Why leave the memory of his culpability in there despite knowing it’s the one thing Louis wouldn’t forgive Lestat for, let alone him?

Like, Louis HATES himself, and is quick to blame himself for things beyond his control (a la Paul, a la the Ordinances; "Can we be forgiven if we do not forgive others ourselves?")

I don’t think is entirely true. I think Louis blames himself for minor things or stuff he knows he didn’t do. But not about the things that would make his worldview take a 180-degree turn. 

Louis’ One Thing, Only Thing, has been Claudia’s death. As we saw in 1973, he cannot live with the memory of what happened to Claudia. In episode 5, when they start to talk about the events that directly lead to the trial, Daniel calls Louis out for using language that distances him from the narration, because it’s a difficult memory and one he’s never actually had himself recount, ever.  Raglan said 3 or 4 other journalists had tried to get the full story out of him and ended up dead or undead. Even in 1973 we see Louis and Armand use ‘Her’ instead of Claudia’s name when talking about Paris.

In Season 1’s finale, we see him remember that it’s not Claudia who stopped them from burning Lestat; he was the one who used violence to stop her from finishing the act. Armand tells Daniel that he’d be ashamed of calling Louis a liar for his faulty memories after learning the full extent of the repercussions for not burning Lestat. I say this also applies to Louis. He is ashamed/cannot live with the fact that what he failed to do in NOLA is what led to the events in Paris (I’m speaking purely about the character’s mindset. I don’t think burning Lestat would’ve changed anything; it might have made things worse). 

Cognitive dissonance again, and this time he resolved it by blaming Claudia. He’s believed the kinder version of events because he can’t face the fact that his refusal to burn Lestat is the reason why he could come to Paris and testify in the trial that ends up killing his daughter. To know himself as the man who picked Lestat and ended up condemning Claudia? That would send him to the sun 10 times over.

And it’s easy to blame Armand for this again, say that he messed with the memory of Lestat’s killing and that’s why Louis blamed Claudia for the failure to burn him (which okay, if it kept Louis from the sun, is almost a sympathetic and loving edit, as messed up as that is lmao). But, Louis has read the diaries and knows Claudia hated him for 5 years while they were going through Europe. Daniel also mentions this in Season 1 iirc. So it’s not like Louis doesn’t know it wasn’t all roses between them after leaving NOLA. However, I think Louis prefers to believe a version of events that paint him in a kinder light, and so he wouldn’t willingly upset his worldview by reading an account that challenged it (“I knew who I was without those pieces.”) I don’t know whether he does this deliberately or by not fighting against Armand’s (supposed) control of the archives.

I say deliberately because, once he gets the memory of Lestat’s non-burning right, he needs very little prodding to remember what happened next. The memories come flooding back, including and especially the more correct version of NOLA events that Lestat showed him during the trial re: Claudia’s turning, the fight, etc. If Armand had maliciously edited these memories, then he’d stop Louis from recovering them (kill Daniel and make Louis forget he even thought of doing an interview). But he doesn’t. He’s right there as these memories come back and, aside from suggesting Louis stops during emotionally charged moments, doesn’t prevent the remembering, despite this making it more likely that the extent of his betrayal would be uncovered. Why? I refuse the idea that Armand is some passive “I couldn’t prevent it” character. If he’s been editing Louis’ memories at will, then he’s a very actively malicious creature (even if he doesn’t think so). Moreover, the renewed memories paint Lestat in a much kinder picture, which doesn’t serve Armand de Possessive. 

That’s why I think it’s Louis who decides what memories he carries and which ones he forgets or edits to maintain his self-perception. He doesn’t do this maliciously. I think everyone believes they’re better than they actually are. Not many people are willing to look in the mirror and truly see themselves, flaws and all. Louis “I didn’t put those there - You sure about that” de Pointe du Lac has gone through life refusing to look in the mirror. What likely happens is similar to what happened with Claudia’s turning: he made the story gentler for a child’s mind, like how mothers do with their kids’ birth stories, and likely retold it to her enough times that it became the full truth to him too. 

Armand’s hold over Louis isn’t because of some insidious memory edit, it’s the ‘prison of empathy’. He doesn’t challenge Louis’ version of events, mostly because it puts his position as companion at risk. And Louis stays in this prison of empathy even as it suffocates him because he doesn’t want to face memory, the monster.

TL;DR: My problem with blaming Armand for everything/most things Louis remembers wrong is that 1. It removes Louis’ agency and flattens his personality, and 2. Turns Armand into this Big Bad who plans and executes shit meticulously but somehow doesn’t do anything to stop people who’re 1000X weaker than him from unraveling these plans.

I think most of these problems are because the show fucked with Louis’ and Armand’s characters in favour of Lestat’s, but that’s a story for another day.

IWTV S2 Tentative Timeline (Pt2c) - Unreliable Narrators, Armand & the Trial

Thanks for the response to Pt2b, @usuallydeepalpaca-blog! I really want people to talk to me about the IWTV timelines, cuz this show is SO confusing! 😩😭

"I think if you create the timeline with info the show doesn't provide, i.e. Armand was involved from the start, then you're bound to get it wrong."

Absolutely. I fully expect that I got some stuff wrong, which is why I said it's a TENTATIVE Timeline.

I've in no way said it's THEE CORRECT™ timeline, cuz chile IDKWTF is going on. 😅 I openly say what confuses me, questions I have, and how I come to the conclusions that I draw. I'm being as transparent as possible to let y'all know that I DON'T know. 🤷 The show doesn't provide EVERYthing, so I'm just piecing things together in a way that makes an iota of sense to me, following the logic of what the show HAS provided. The only solid details we have are diehard IRL dates, that gave us a time range when certain events can/can't happen. AFAIK I'm working with the same set of details everyone else has, until AMC gives us more info in S3+. And unfortunately, the 2 biggest unknown variables are Lestat & Armand, and to what extent they were/weren't involved in the Trial that got Claudia killed & Louis buried alive.

"saying Armand messed with Louis' memories re: the trial is also something not supported by the show."

The show obvs. wants us to assume that Armand made Louis hallucinate Sam guarding him in the theatre box (thus painting Armand as a "captive" along with Louis & Claudeleine).

Even if Armand didn't use the Mind Gift on Louis, he lied at least twice:

lies by omission: letting Louis think a hallucination of Sam was real

lies to Louis' (& Daniel's) face: going along with the premise that he was Sam's "captive" & Armand sat there the whole time thinking of a way to rescue Louis

And we KNOW this is a lie, cuz Daniel calls it out explicitly, asking how Sam can be "in two places at once," allegedly "guarding" Armand, but ALSO helping to torture Louis in the Wet Room.

Armand never denied or contradicted Louis saying Sam was in either place. Maybe Louis really did misremember Sam being in the wet room--the ONLY one who can corroborate all this is SAM--whom Armand ALSO lies on, throwing Sam, Daniel & the Talamasca all under the bus by saying the script with his handwriting all over it was forged! No honor amongst thieves I guess! 🤣

(Eff Lestat's POV in S3--when is SAM gonna give HIS POV of the Trial?!)

So I'm operating on patterns of behavior, and the logic that if he's deliberately lying about one thing (a VERY BIG THING, actually), then what else is he lying about? How are you "atoning" for anything, when you're just heaping lies on top of gaslighting on top of manipulation?

Armand has used Louis' obvious confusion to his advantage, just going along with whatever will make him look better & more sympathetic. Which ofc, is the exact same thing he does with the "Banishment" lie. "They gave me a choice...I could not prevent it" is the truth and a lie all rolled into one incredibly manipulative cocktail, cuz if it was just a simple matter of Armand selling Claudia out to save Louis, that would be one thing--but Armand KNEW the script planned LOUIS' death the whole time. The "seismic lie" about "Banishment" effs up Armand's whole defense.

Cuz Sam already wrote the script in April 1949 (and I said this is confusing, cuz if it's the WHOLE script, then this implies Lestat's half was written by then, too, and NOT in September after the Eiffel Tower crime--which means he was ALREADY in Paris & working with the coven; inc. Armand (which would also explain WHY Armand took Louis to the library so much--perhaps anticipating that Loustat would feel e/o's presence if Louis was around the theatre too much? But that doesn't explain Claudia)--omfg I'm confused). Wtvr--we KNOW that at some point b/t April & September 1949, Armand made his edits & directed the entire production--from Santiago to Lestat to Tuan's projections--ALL of it. And we know Tuan's projections started being made in June/July 1949.

Armand KNEW Daniel had been given the OLD script from the archives, WITHOUT Armand's edits & directions, and LET Daniel AND Louis think that was the truth--

--same way he went behind Louis' back and removed extra pages from Claudia's diaries that would reveal MORE of his shenanigans--

--and the same way he lied about Nicki (& Gabrielle) in 2x3.

The show ALSO provides us with quotes like this:

And this:

And this:

Which in retrospect make Armand look even more insidious, esp. when we wonder to what extend Louis' been "driven to form new conclusions about myself" when he doesn't even KNOW himself; let alone WHAT memories he has that are real or false.

It's so effed up, and it makes me side-eye all the insistence that LOUIS is the one mostly at fault, when he's got literal double-hypnosis Brain Scramblies from WWDITS. 😭🤦

Ofc there are unknown-unknowns when dealing with unreliable narration. But there are also known-unknowns, too, that also make Armand sus.

Sure, Loumand was away at the library in July (IF that memory's even real, Mr. "I Had A Hunch")--but how on earth would Armand have NOT known that the coven was working on the Trial right under his nose for MONTHS prior & after July--Luchenbaum sewing new barrister costumes & wigs; Tuan painting projections & testing new lens/film tech; and Sam writing a new script (when we already KNOW Sam can't multitask when his "head's in a hat")?

July is only ONE month in over HALF A YEAR of Trial prep. Louis was never around the coven to know what was going on--but ARMAND was; it's where HE lives.

Whose POV was it that showed the whole coven passing around Claudia's diaries? Whose POV was it that revealed Santiago being called Maitre in every scene that ARMAND was also in?

Armand was in the park with Tuan when Tuan called Santiago Maitre; and Armand was in the theatre with Sam when Sam called Santiago Maitre--so this is clearly either Armand's POV telling on himself; or it's AMC screwing with us.

It's TRUE that Turning Madeleine was the straw that broke the camel's back, as Armand was like I can't keep THAT a secret from the coven, too (and ofc he couldn't--they're VAMPIRES; they'd FEEL a new vamp in their territory). But Loumand's problems PREDATE Madeleine; the same way Loustat's problems predate Claudia. I blame Les for not dealing with Lou's BS, just like I blame Armand, cuz THEY are the Coven Masters, NOT Lou--esp. cuz Armand had 14 other vamps in his coven he SHOULD be prioritizing over Lou. The same way Loustat's guilty of being bad fathers (which they BOTH admitted to), Armand's guilty of being a bad coven leader (which HE admitted to).

IMO, all this makes any & all discussion about Armand's trustworthiness difficult, when his "seismic lie" throws EVERYTHING else he's done into question. Esp. since the show ALSO provides us with the FACT that Armand knew from DAY ONE that Claudia lied about "Bruce"/Lestat; and that Louis was a terrible liar & terrible with the Mind Gift; and that he'd ALREADY planned on killing Louis in 2x3! Armand knew from the get-go that he couldn't do EFF ALL to keep Louis & Claudia out of danger, and TOLD Louis so.

"It also ignores that Louis softens his participation in certain things because he can't live with the guilt of his full participation, e.g. Claudia's turning, which he continued to lie to Claudia about even during the trial and only accepted the extent of his involvement in Dubai"

The Trial Timeline's purpose is to pinpoint when the preparations took place, NOT to hash out how bad of a father Louis was to Claudia. 🤨

And it certainly isn't meant to provide a timeline for the events in S1 wrt Claudia's Turning--we already know the dates for all of that, that she was made in 1917. I focus on the 1940s in S2, and the European dates, NOT the NOLA dates. LOUIS did not participate in the Trial's preparations, ARMAND & LESTAT did. My timeline has ZERO bearings on Louis' guilt for not warning her, etc.

But on the subject of Louis & Claudia, I've cussed Louis out for not telling Claudia about Armand b4 (x x), I don't ignore it at all. I fully understand & even agree with Armand being fed up with dealing with Louis' BS. But HE CHOSE not to kill Louis when he had the chance, and it's obvs that whatever arrangement they made when they had sex in 2x3/2x4 allowed Louis to TRUST that Armand would keep "the secret" & keep Louis & Claudia SAFE from the coven. (Which is a BOGUS claim for him to make, when Santiago'd ALREADY peeped that they were lying about Lestat & being from NOLA, but wtvr). I've called Louis a naive idiot 1000x for overestimating Armand, putting his life in Armand's incapable hands--just like he would AGAIN by trusting him about "Banishment;" and AGAIN by asking Armand to wipe his memories in SanFran (and LIE by omission about Les saying "I love you, Louis").

"Louis remembers the trial, he remembers what was said and what Lestat showed him."

HOW can Lestat have showed Louis ANY memories during the Trial (inc. the Ep4 revisit), when Makers/Fledglings CANNOT read each other's minds???????

I love this show so much, but I effing hate this show--they don't even give us an answer, Daniel just moves right past it, like wtf are we supposed to do with that, AMC? There's plot threads, vs plot HOLES. Louis' TOO unreliable, Armand's a shysty liar, white savior Lestat to the rescue~~~! "BANishMEnT~!" As if Lestat's any less impartial?

Esp. when at least SOME parts of the Ep4 Revisit were OBVIOUSLY Scripted lines written by the coven to implicate Louis in breaking the Great Laws that Lestat allegedly taught him AND Claudia to follow?

Like, Louis HATES himself, and is quick to blame himself for things beyond his control (a la Paul, a la the Ordinances; "Can we be forgiven if we do not forgive others ourselves?"); so if one is determined to see him bad faith then of course one can easily pounce on him Florence DPDL style / Santiago style, and blame him.

(Esp. since in 1x4 we literally SEE Louis admit to begging & emotionally baby-trapping Lestat into turning Claudia--the revisit in 2x7 is more (melo)dramatic & extended, sure, but it does NOT contradict Louis' account in S1. So I get REAL confused when people say he lied about 1x4 or wtvr.)

Louis invalidates his perspective cuz he KNOWS he's an unreliable narrator--he spends 2x1 sobbing about wanting to remember & "get every detail right"--and ARMAND is there constantly tryna STOP the interview; having directly contributed to his already deteriorated (& inherited?) mental illness, by bending Lou's trauma into "a Lestat shaped-effigy" with all that "I will not harm you" bullcrap.

TL;DR: We won't know for sure what the Trial timeline actually looks like, unless S3+ revisits it with more context.

But as things stand at the end of S2, NO, I don't trust Armand as far as I can throw him, cuz there are waaaay too many instances where he's deliberately lied & obfuscated & omitted in ways to deliberately confuse the narrative surrounding the Trial--that go beyond Louis' already confirmed trauma, PTSD, mental illness, repressed/faulty memory, and guilty conscious.

If y'all want a timeline of S1 events, those have already been made by other people in the fandom (this one is goated).

I wanted to know what was going on in S2; so I used every single date and IRL reference possible, and put them in chronological order in a way that makes sense based on how I TENTATIVELY understand things currently; NOT how AMC has confirmed yet--if they ever will.

If anyone has more relevant in-show references & IRL sources we can cite, to help make better sense of S2 than I did, let us all know!

[sunlit-mess]

nalulunod

[spark-circuit]

me at my bookstore job to the 27th young adult straight edgy fantasy romance to come in this month

[onrainynights]

I'm not even asking for much literally I just need a job like that's it just a job that won't literally kill me would solve like 70% of my problems and well the other 30% I can't do anything about anyway so let me fix what I can fix and give me a job PLEASE

[pathologicalreid]

falling flat | s.r.

in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to the reaper, car trouble, blood, tetanus vaccine, kindergarten teacher!reader, flirting, protective!spencer, takes place following 5x22 "the internet is forever", hastily edited word count: 1.87k a/n: rahhhh an old prompt from may 2024 that ended up working for a margovember request rahhh.

The absolute last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere Virginia, with a flat tire. You weren’t entirely helpless until your tire jack broke, sending metal flying everywhere and cutting your hand open.

You slumped down next to your car, pulling your phone from your pocket before calling the first people you could think of. Every single one of them ended up going to voicemail. Some of them didn’t even let it get past the first ring before declining your call—traitors.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you thought of Spencer. He had a PhD in engineering, but you weren’t entirely sure that would come in handy in this instance. It was late, almost midnight, and you weren’t even sure he’d answer.

At this point, what choice did you have?

As the phone rang, part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer. When he asked you about it the next time you saw him, you’d wave it off as a butt dial and he’d be none the wiser.

“Hello,” he said through the phone, leaving your plans quashed.

This was awkward, you had been on four dates with the guy over the span of two months, and now you were calling him in the middle of the night. “This isn’t a booty call,” You blurted, cringing inwardly and banging your head back on the passenger door of your car.

Spencer laughed lightly, “I didn’t think it was, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked, his job had a lot of long hours, and you didn’t want to bother him if he was catching up on sleep. If he was even home, “Wait, where are you?”

There was a rustling on his end of the call, “No, I wasn’t asleep, I’m at work. We just got off of a case.”

You let out a sigh of relief, at least you weren’t being a total nuisance. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just… my tire blew out on the highway and my jack broke and no one else is answering their phone,” you told him, verging on rambling.

“You’re kind of cutting out, where are you?” He asked, he sounded concerned, and if there was a moment where you weren’t sure you still had feelings for him, it was fleeting.

Looking to either side of you for a mile marker, you stood up, looking at the ground so you didn’t step on any metal, “I don’t really know. There aren’t any signs, I’m somewhere on 28, I think?”

Spencer cleared his throat, “Do you have your location on your phone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I have enough service to check it,” you said, all you could see were trees.

You could hear him talking to someone, holding the receiver away from his mouth, “That’s fine, I’ll have someone look, just stay on the phone.”

It would seem that dating someone in the FBI does have its perks, “Oh, cool.” You overheard Spencer explaining your situation to someone, hearing the other person in the room say something about Reid’s girlfriend and you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you were very unofficially official.

“Hey, I’ll be there in half an hour,” An elevator dinged in the background. “Is that alright?”

You hummed, leaning your hip against the front of your car. “I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Another ding of the elevator, “Will you do me a favor?”

In exchange for this? You’d do just about anything within the realm of legality, “Name it.”

“Get in your car and lock the doors,” he responded. “Turn your hazards on because right now you’re a sitting duck. If someone doesn’t see your car, they could hit you.”

As a favor, he was asking you to make sure you’re safe, “Okay, I’m getting in now, should I leave the car running?”

You heard the sound of a car lock disengaging through the phone, “As long as the cooling system on your car is in good shape, it shouldn’t be a problem to leave it running while you wait. Just remember what I told you about the hazards.”

Nodding despite the fact that he can’t see you, you got in the car, turning the key in the ignition before pushing the button for your hazard lights, “Okay, I’m in the car.”

“I can’t drive and be on the phone at the same time, but I’ll be there soon. Don’t unlock the doors for anyone except for me,” he told you, and you thanked him for his help before hanging up and settling yourself in your driver’s seat.

You pulled the hoodie you kept stashed in your car over your head, your school mascot—a panther—proudly displayed in the front, and made sure your car doors were locked. If you said you weren’t a little unnerved, you’d be lying to yourself.

Spencer had a worrisome job; it was something you were aware of before he ever asked you on that first date. It became alarmingly obvious to you when he revealed that he’d been shot a few months prior, which was an appropriate second-date conversation with an FBI agent. It made sense to you that he’d be concerned about you, in your idle car, on the side of the road, but you wondered if there was a case that he was thinking of. Someone with a flat tire who had met an untimely demise.

Shuddering, you turned up the heat in your car, flipping through radio stations until someone knocked on your window. You jumped at the noise, hitting your head against the roof of the car before looking outside to see Spencer. Sighing in relief, you unlocked your car door, and he opened it for you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is your head alright?”

You peered up at him, casually leaning over your car door. “You cut your hair,” you observed. You’d seen him just last week, where his hair still touched his shoulders, and now it was considerably shorter.

Self-consciously, he reached up a hand and thumbed one of the tendrils, “Yeah, it just got too long—and heavy.”

Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair, your head bobbed, “I like it. Did you do it yourself?”

“You can tell?” He asked, following you around the back of your car to your busted tire. Spencer sets his tire jack down before looking back at you, putting his hands on his hips.

Grinning at him, you shrugged, “I teach kindergarten, I’m basically a professional at noticing DIY haircuts.”

On a towel that you had previously set out, the two of you sat along the side of your car, and you tried to ignore the fact that Spencer still had his weapon holstered. It made sense, he’d come straight from work, but you wondered if there was a reason he didn’t leave it in his car. “Where’s your lug wrench?”

“I can change it myself,” you insisted, “I just needed a different car jack.” You gestured to the pieces of yours that were now all over the side of the road.

Alarm flashed on Spencer’s face, “Nothing fell on you, right?”

You shook your head, “No, just a cut from the metal.”

Holding out your hand, you let Spencer take a look at the cut on your palm. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

Blinking rapidly, you frowned at him, “Uh, when I was in college?”

“That might need stitches,” he responded, letting you take your hand back. “I’ll change your tire, I don’t want you using that hand for anything,” he informed you, pushing the hydraulic jack beneath your car.

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you watched him take your old tire off, muttering under his breath about how your old jack was practically an artifact, seeing how it literally fell apart under pressure. “How was your case?” You asked softly, fully aware that you were likely opening a can of worms by asking about work.

Spencer’s movements faltered slightly at your question, “It’s closed. We were in Boise,” he answered tactfully, leaving out any case details and cluing you into the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it. “What are you doing out here?”

You sighed, leaning back on your hands and watching him work, “I had a meeting with the other schools in our conference. It’s annual, and this year they happened to pick the school furthest away from mine.”

“Well, I suppose it worked out well that your tire blew out so close to me, then,” Spencer said, swapping out the busted tire for the donut and looking over at you. There was something nervous in his eyes, and you didn’t know if it was related to work or you.

Humming, you tried to watch the tire rather than just watching him, “Is there something bothering you?”

He was tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire, “Are you driving home after this?”

You furrowed your brows, “Yeah, where else could I be going?”

“It’s almost a two-hour drive to your place from here,” he reminded you, his tone laced with concern. “You won’t get home until almost one in the morning,” the displeasure in his voice was plain, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. “Plus, you really shouldn’t travel that far on a spare tire, they’re not made to travel far distances.”

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you let your shoulders slump forward, “So, what do you suggest I do? Get a hotel?”

Spencer mumbled something inaudibly, trying to finish tightening the bolts on the tire before sighing, “You can stay with me,” he blushes, a swipe of pink across his cheeks.

Your lips parted in surprise, “Uh, I don’t… I’m not…” you faltered. Utterly failing to come up with a good enough reason to tell him no, “I don’t want you to feel inclined. This isn’t what I was looking for when I called you for help.”

He let the car down, staying quiet while the two of you cleaned up, and Spencer swatted your hand away when you tried to pick things up. “So, you can come back to my place tonight. My work-issued first-aid kit has your name all over it,” he told you, eyes flickering down to the cut on your hand.

“Okay,” you breathed, unable to conjure a reason to refuse his hospitality.

He was grinning at you, hair just barely brushing his eyebrows, “So tomorrow, maybe we can get coffee and drop your car off to get a new tire?”

You smiled back at him, “That sounds great, date number five.”

“You know where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” you’d been to his place once to pick him up, “Hey, Spence?”

He turned around, fishing his car keys from his pocket. He looked ready to respond to you, but you pressed your lips to his before he had a chance to speak.

You kissed him softly, whispering against his mouth, “Thank you for coming.”

He chuckled lightly, gently resting a hand on your waist, “Thank you for calling.” 

[prongsx]

we are not children anymore, honey.

warning: swearing, a bit insinuating, f!reader, fluff.

where jason needs to remind you that you're not kids anymore and teasing him isn't the same anymore.

1,8k words

You met Jason Todd when you were both innocent children, well, as innocent as the crime alley allowed. He was your best friend, most of the scars he had back then were from picking fights with anyone who raised their voice at you, anyone who tried to sell you drugs or tried to be aggressive with you.

You had an easy body language, both of you touched each other often and played the usual games that children do, physical touch was never a distant thing.

You secretly had a crush on that somewhat reckless and smiling boy who protected you, always holding your hand. Maybe in the back of your mind you thought that one day you would get married.

At the time, he was a little shorter than you, a fact that deeply irritated him but made you laugh. Then he was adopted by Bruce Wayne and you thought that would be the end of your friendship, but there seemed to be a thread that connected you, not even taking on the mantle of Robin could separate you.

Then Jason was taken from you in the most abrupt way possible, by the hands of death itself. But not even that which seemed inescapable separated you for long, the grief that consumed you could have destroyed you, but something in your mind repeated that Jason would never leave you alone.

When Jason appeared at your door, years later, his blue eyes looking haunted, you cried, something in your heart that was dead seemed to come out of the ground in the same way as your best friend.

At first, you simply didn't know what to do with this new Jason, he himself seemed a little lost, the well had affected his emotions. He took up more space, his arms and hands were bigger. Doubts consumed you, afraid of never rescuing the old bond, but then you bought your old favorite cookie and he smiled at you.

That dimpled smile, which lit up his blue eyes and seemed to bring a reckless air to him. And you decided right then and there that nothing would stop you from being his best friend again.

The thing was that your friendship was based on a time when you were both younger and more naive, feelings were simpler. Jason died before you could be friends during that strange time in your adolescence when touching your friend seemed strange, the only memory your body had of your friendship with Jason was a sticky friendship.

"Only you could make me go to the other side of town to get that damn donut that tasted like paper." Jason grumbles, closing the latch on your window as he moves his huge body into your living room. At that moment, you feel the room shrink, and it feels like any false move will betray your racing heart as you watch Jason remove his helmet, his black curls messy in a cute way.

"They're great." You hum, reaching out to take the package from Jason.

"Seriously, there are so many bakeries with better donuts." He retorts, crossing his arms, drawing your attention to the outline of his biceps in his skintight uniform.

"The best isn't always going to be the tastiest."

Jason rolls his eyes at your completely nonsensical choice of words, flopping his tired body on the couch next to you.

"Jason, did you just sit on my couch in your dirty patrol gear?"

"Sweetie, I just walked halfway through this shitty city looking for that donut. I have a right to dirty your precious couch."

You let out a grunt, knowing he's right. He has the right, but that doesn't stop you from lightly pinching the side of his hip, where his suit had a layer of fabric.

He doesn't even blink at your attitude, his hands holding your wrist, his long fingers holding it as delicately as was allowed.

"I thought you gave up trying to play fight with me," he whispers, his voice heavy with that accent that makes your legs a little weak.

You shrug, your body approaching him almost as a reflex, your knee touching his. It's kind of annoying how much bigger he's gotten than you, and stronger. Much stronger, you know he could flip you over with a single hand and honestly the thought is more exciting than you want to admit.

"Sweet thing?" He calls to you, still with that sly smile on his lips. You blink slowly, coming back to reality.

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you going to eat your delicious donut?"

"Yes. Yes." You say, nodding.

If before you thought Jason was cute, now you could write ridiculous poems about him, two stanzas just about his sapphire eyes.

He snuggled deeper into your couch, spreading his thighs and letting out a sigh of relief at the comfort.

"Tiring patrol?" He opened his eyes when he felt your hands lightly pinching his nose, trying to make him pay attention to you again. You would never admit it out loud, but having Jason's undivided attention was kind of addictive and intoxicating.

"You could say that."

You dropped the donuts on the living room table, suddenly feeling guilty. Even though it was just him teasing you, the store that sold your favorite donuts was really far away.

"I'm sorry I made you take my stupid donuts." He let out a breath when you rested your chin on his shoulder, staring at him from under your eyelashes.

"No. I don't forgive you." He teased, his hands going down to your waist and drawing circles there.

"Seriously, I was selfish." You repeat, looking down at the red bat symbol on his chest.

His blue eyes continued to stare at you, his hands coming up and lightly holding your chin, his eyebrows furrowed. Jason never accepted it when you seemed sad towards him, or when you made it seem like you were a hindrance in his life.

"Stop that shit."

A laugh escaped through your nostrils.

"You still have such a dirty mouth, Todd. My mother still blames you for the variety of curses I know."

He laughed, the sound going straight to your stomach. It should be forbidden for someone to have such a delightful laugh to hear. Jason wasn't as much of a laugh now as he used to be when he was a child, his innocence had been taken away from him years ago, so you drank every drop of his laughter you could.

"Well, I blame you every time I act stupid. We're even."

You reached your hands up to his hair and pulled lightly, like you used to do when you wanted to get back at him when you were kids. But this time, he didn't laugh you away or flick you in retaliation. His lips curved into a thin line and his eyes blinked so fast you thought you'd imagined it.

"Sweetie." Jason's voice was low, the nickname sending an electric shock through your body. "We're not kids anymore."

"You're still just as annoying." You joked, praying he wouldn't notice the slight crack in your voice.

"No, sweet thing, you didn't understand what I meant." He said, his blue eyes staring straight into your face. His hands moved down to your hips, pulling you closer to him, your legs almost resting on his thigh. "I'm saying we're not kids anymore." He repeated.

"Yes. I obviously know that."

He let out a long sigh, as if you were irritating him with your stupidity.

His slightly chapped lips parted as he said something that you were momentarily lost in, your hands resting on his muscular thigh. He gripped your chin tighter when he noticed your inattention and felt your hand on his thigh.

"See? That's what I'm saying." He let out a laugh that wasn't like before, it wasn't genuine and open-hearted, it was low and had a feeling you couldn't quite grasp. "You keep touching me and teasing me like we're children."

"I can stop." You stammered, very confused and feeling a little dizzy. This new Jason Todd, with more scars and less shyness, was making your throat suddenly close up.

"You're not supposed to stop." He whispered, his other hand coming back to grab the back of your neck and pull your faces so close you could feel his warm breath. "Just letting you know that now, when you lie on top of me and stare at me like that, my first thought isn't to play fight with you, darling." His hand squeezed your chin lightly as he added, his voice lower, "When you stare at me like that, all I think about is kissing you stupid."

Forming words seemed harder than ever.

"Ah."

"Ah," he mimicked you in a thin voice, a goofy smile on his face, his grip on your chin bringing your lips close to his. "I say I want to make you sigh my name and that's all you have to say?"

You clear your throat, your eyelashes fluttering slightly. The hand resting on his thigh makes an involuntary movement to lightly squeeze the muscle there. Jason's blue eyes darken, a noise close to a growl leaving his lips.

"You keep doing these things. Fuck, baby, every time you almost climb on my lap like it's nothing." He took a deep breath, as if he was losing his mind, closing his eyes so as not to get lost in his own thoughts. "You must know what you're doing to me."

"No. I. No." You repeated, still very overwhelmed by how close you were. Your best friend, staring at you like he was about to destroy you.

He smiled again at your mental confusion, brushing his lips against yours and letting out a low moan that made you gasp. "Let me kiss you, please?"

You nodded, crashing your lips against his before you had to beg for it. Jason's lips were rough against yours, as if he was punishing you for making him wait, for making him yearn for this.

Jason's ability to focus on multitasking was evident when he pulled you to sit fully on his lap, without separating your lips, his hands moving up and down your body, swallowing the small moans that came out of your mouth.

"I think I've already thought of a way for you to pay for your stupid donuts," he whispered, pulling your lips away for a few seconds to smile at you.

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in years. Your hands cupped his face, caressing his cheek. There were so many questions and doubts swirling around your mind, but Jason pulled you into a hug, kissing your forehead.

"Honey, it took you a long time to realize that you're mine. Just relax."

You blinked away the tears, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, a genuine smile on your lips.

Your best friend was in love with you too, and everything would be okay.

I hope you liked it, sorry for the mistakes, I need to review all my works. My epub box is open, I just want to write more for Jason!! I'm stupid for him. And I'll be dying on the hill that Jason Todd has a dirty mouth. I'm trying to write for a gender-neutral reader but I've discovered that I have difficulty, I'm sorry, but I'll keep trying.

[starkwlkr]

Can I request some hung with old man Logan? Something domestic or soemthing like reader baking for him. I love reading fics of Logan and reader being an old married couple

just the two of us | old man logan

an: anon ily for this request old man Logan needs more love <3 credit to pinterest for the gif btw this doesn’t follow the logan storyline so i added laura hope that’s ok!! sorry if there’s an spelling mistakes!

reader and logan live in a nice little cozy home because i said so 😍

“Taste.” You held the wooden spoon up to your husband’s mouth. Logan sighed, he knew you weren’t going to let him walk away without tasting the brownie batter so he licked the spoon.

For a while you had been craving brownies. While Logan was out working, you and Laura drove to the city to pick up the ingredients to make brownies. It was a fun small girls trip until it was time to come back home. Laura had helped you mix everything together until she got tired, she then decided to go up to her room to watch cartoons. You continued working on the brownies by yourself, that’s when Logan had arrived from work and now here you were giving him a taste test.

“So?” You waited for an answer.

“Bub, you are the best baker in this whole town, city, state, planet.” Logan was going to dip his finger in the batter until you slapped it away.

“No! You’re going to wait like the rest of us, but I did tell Laura she could have the first brownie so just wait.” You told him.

Logan groaned and walked to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. “How was your day?”

Logan always asked about you day. It didn’t matter if you stayed home and read a book or did some gardening, he wanted to know.

“Good. Laura and I read a new book, we went to buy ingredients to make brownies and now my old man is home so I’d say it’s been a pretty good day.” You started to pour the brownie batter into a pan.

He didn’t mind you calling him old man, in fact, he loved it. Yeah, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, but you still loved him. You did admit to him many times that the grey hair was a turn on for you, which made him laugh.

Before you could react, Logan quickly dipped his finger in the batter and licked it clean.

“James! Don’t you dare do it again!” You scolded him. “These are for Laura too.”

“Come on, Laura’s not going to know that I ate some batter,” Logan leaned on the counter next to you. “I’ve been thinking. .”

“Oh no, that’s concerning.” You teased, finishing up with the brownies and putting them in the oven. You turned to face him then wrap your arms around him, bring him closer to you.

Logan chuckled at your response. “I’ve been thinking about taking you and Laura to some place nice. We can do that family shit you always talk about.”

You laugh at his choice of words. “Family shit, yeah that’s what I said.”

“Tomorrow then, I’ll drive us to the nicest place you’ve ever seen, get some ice cream, watch a movie, whatever you want.” Logan leaned in closer, you doing the same.

Before your lips could touch, Laura interrupted you asking about the brownies.

“Not yet, my love, I just put them in. I’ll call you when they’re done,” You pulled away making Logan groan. Laura nodded then ran up to her room. You noticed the frown on his face so you quickly gave him his after work kiss. “Don’t be so sad, old man, the neighbor’s kid wants to have a sleepover with Laura this weekend so it’ll just be the two of us.” Logan definitely liked the sound of that.

Half an hour later, the brownies were ready. Laura took several with her to her room while you and Logan took a plate outside to the patio where your porch swing was. It was a beautiful evening, it wasn’t too hot or too cold, and now you were ending the night beside your husband eating some homemade brownies.

“I think Laura is going to ask you for a dog.” You mention, scooting closer to Logan and laying your head on his chest. You held a brownie up to him so he could take a bite.

“No, we are not getting a dog.” He said.

“It would be nice, you know . . .” You bit the brownie after Logan.

“Is this why you made brownies? You want me to get you and Laura a dog?” He looked down at you.

“No, but can you?”

He sighed defeatedly. “I’ll think about it.”

[logaenhowlett]

THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD IN HER HANDS - L.H.

Summary: After months of watching you relentlessly try to gain control of your powers, Logan finally takes matters into his own hands.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff - so much damn fluff, Slight angst, Language

A/N: Suffering from writer's block on a plot-driven angsty Logan fic so I wrote this to focus on something else. Shout out to End by Frank Ocean. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“You’ve been going at it for hours.”

His voice makes you pause, shifting your concentration to the man leaning against the door frame. Logan watches as you swing your head down, possibly frustrated by his interruption.

“Professor said I’d get better at this,” You swipe the sweat off your face, grabbing your drenched shirt as it clings to your skin, “It’s been months and I'm nowhere near strong enough.”

He huffs in amusement, he would often catch you in moments like these, tiring yourself hour after hour till you were exhausted enough to finally pass out. It reminds him of his early days at this place. Young and eager to prove himself to everyone here, that he was capable of being good once again.

“Old man doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about.” A measly attempt to shut down your self-deprecation, he knows nothing will convince you otherwise, that much he learned over the last few times he tried reasoning with you. When you shoot him a questioning glance, he relents, raising his hands up in defense. “Alright. But you’re not doing any good wearing yourself to the bone.”

“I just want to be like Storm and Scott and you.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, the bar ain’t that high.” A teasing grin shining as he approaches you, the annoyed expression on your face does little to stop him. “Come with me.”

“What?”

He chuckles at your confusion, wandering dangerously close into your personal space. “I wanna show you something,” He murmurs.

Flirting isn’t a new concept to him at all. Though you never get used to his attempts, always brushing it off with the assumption that it’s just a game.

“Logan - I need to keep practicing.” You take a few steps back, creating a little distance from his very distracting presence. “It’s the only way I’ll get better at controlling this.”

“Okay.” He drags out, “You can still keep doing this when we come back.”

As you contemplate his request, he knows he has you convinced, a grin tugging on his lips. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

When he leads you to the mansion's garage, you recall all the times he'd whisked you away from moments of misery and fatigue. He seemed to have this innate ability to know when you're in over your head, too absorbed into whatever you were doing to take a step back and relax. A tinge of embarrassment creeps into your thoughts, feeling bad for him to constantly keep checking in as if you were incapable of knowing your limits. Fuck, I'm a mess. You snap yourself from going down the negative route, shifting your focus to Logan, a chuckle escapes you.

“You know he hates it when you steal his bike, right?”

He swings a leg over, revving the engine. The sound seems to unintentionally comfort you, your mind having subconsciously associated it with him. Despite Scott being the owner of vehicle, he rarely saw it since it was Logan’s choice of transportation. Fucking dickhead, he used to curse up and down, unwillingly giving up after Charles reasoned with him one too many times. You remember the entire ordeal, having to intervene during one of their many childish fights when Scott attempted to blow up Logan’s ass.

“I’ll fill up the tank.”

“No, you won’t.” A short laugh leaves you as you wrap your arms around him.

He flashes a smile, tilting his head back to ensure you’re properly seated. “No, I won’t.”

You hardly pay attention to his driving, instead mindlessly watching the scenery zip past. It wasn't the first time Logan had taken you on a ride. In fact, after the initial fear, you had grown fond of this time you got share with him. A quiet and peaceful journey where you could turn your restless mind off and simply enjoy each other's company. An unspoken vow of trust had always lingered between you two, which was something he cherished more than he could ever express. He smiles softly at the weight of you resting on his back as the breeze encompasses around you.

“How’d you even find this place?” You ask, sliding off the seat as he kicks the stand.

“Used it for shelter during that snowstorm a while ago. The bike gave out on me.”

You hum in response, spinning on your feet to look around. It's an abandoned gas station that had definitely seen better days. Despite all the damage and vandalisation, it was an oddly interesting location, a lake nearby overlooking lush fields. Nothing in Logan's expression gives away his intention of bringing you here. He slowly steps backwards, a hint of a smirk tugging his lips and when he's a decent distance away, “Hit me.”

“What?”

“Use your power, sweetheart. Don’t be scared, you can do it.” It's rather encouraging and not at all akin to his usual cocky tone.

“Logan - what, no!” You exclaim, finding his proposal ridiculous. “I’m not - I can’t even fully control it. What if I hurt you?”

He scoffs, amused you could even suggest such a thing, “Well, you’re gonna have to control it, aren’t ya?” When you make no attempt to try, his gaze softens, “I can take it.”

You take a deep breath, channelling your focus to create a ball of energy between your hands. Despite being small, it hits him with enough force to push him back a few steps. A groan leaves him as he clutches his stomach, you shift to run towards him but he lifts his hand, making you stop.

“Again. Don’t hold back.”

This time you think of Charles, remembering all the lessons and training sessions you've had with him. Where you had always doubted yourself, he had constantly reassured you and your ability to control your gift. The ball of energy grows more between your hands, crackling with intensity. Using all your might, you aim at Logan once again, hitting him square in the chest, thrusting him back several feet, the impact denting the ground in the process. He stands up feeling a bit lightheaded, though that sensation disappears as he flexes his muscles, grateful for his healing factor.

“I did it!” You laugh in surprise, running to him.

His arms immediately wrap around you, slightly lifting you off the ground. “You did it,” He says with a faint smile, taking in your satisfaction.

Caught up in moment of finally making progress, you notice the lack of space between Logan and you. And suddenly, his hands on your waist, his tender expression, it all becomes too much, making you pull back. “You’re insane. That could’ve gone so wrong,” You spit out, trying to relieve some tension.

“I trust you.” He whispers, softly.

Your body seems to be on fire, everything about this begins to overwhelm your senses. With a shaky breath, you try stepping away from his gentle grip.

“Why do you always run from me?” His words still your movements. His eyes can't seem to find yours, instead settling on the charred ground beneath him, "I know… you feel this too.”

“I’m - I don’t…”

“Let me in, sweetheart. I won’t run away.” He approaches you, giving you the space to reject his advances. ”I promise.”

When you don't respond, he hangs his head low, accepting your decision. “Let’s go home,” He mumbles.

As you walk down the hallway to your room, you can't seem to shake the urge to run back to him. You take a moment, hand grasping your doorknob before you spin around. Within seconds of knocking on his door, he swings it open catching your distinct heartbeat on the other side.

“Logan - I just…” The words die on your tongue. Every little feeling you'd held for him comes rushing forward. As he stands there, growing concerned for your wellbeing, all you can think about is kissing him till the air leaves your lungs.

“You okay?”

That's enough for you to slam into him. You grab the collar of his white shirt, pulling him down. Your lips find his own, slowly moving against the soft flesh. It takes him less than a second to comprehend what's happening before he reciprocates your actions.

You tilt your head back, inhaling his comforting scent. He continues peppering kisses on your face, unable to stop once he finally got a taste. “I'm sorry, I was scared. I am scared,” You whisper.

“I know. But I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you.” He murmurs against your lips, “If you let me.”

Your smile sends flutters to his heart. His low chuckle echoes within you as he leans down, capturing your lips with a hunger he'd suppressed for as long as he could remember. When your moan teases his senses, he lifts you with ease, one arm securing your waist and the other gently stroking the underside of your thigh. He lowers you down onto the bed, noting your exhaustion from earlier. Sliding right next to you, he presses a light kiss on your temple, pulling you into his warm embrace. A silent promise that he'll never let you go.

[unwantedtomost]

so dirty — miguel o’hara

dbf!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

word count: 888

summary: miguel, who just so happens to be your dad’s best friend, fucks you in a bthroom

warnings: dirty talk, degradation, unprotected sex (i’m back to my old ways)

a/n: hehe two in like a day? look at me go. send me requests because i need more ideas.

“We shouldn’t do this,” came out of your voice in a tired tone. You tried to fight it but it got harder every time. How could you fight something that felt so right?

“I know, amor.”

Then he kissed you and you stopped fighting. 

Things got dirtier every time he touched you. The first time he kissed you he was so soft, so delicate. He touched you like he thought you could fall apart in his hands. Now he was bending you over the bathroom sink with the whole neighborhood in the backyard—not to mention your father, his best friend. He still loved you all the same, you never doubted it for a moment. Something about the switch felt right. This was a dirty little secret, not a Romeo and Juliet love affair. It was meant to be dirty.

He used to kiss every inch of your naked body, muttering how much he loved you every time his lips left your skin. It was a harsh comparison to how he shoved your panties to the side and rubbed his rough fingers up and down your slit.

“You’re soaking,” he stated with pride. “This all for me, honey?”

“‘Course it is, Miguel.” Sometimes you try to be soft in times like this. He’d give you a small smile then it would leave. His eyes were hungry, you almost felt like prey.

“‘Course it is,” he repeated before bending you forward.

He spit on his hand, pumping himself a few times. He rubbed the head of his dick against your clit, causing you to shutter. So dirty.

“Beg for it.” Your brows knitted together, giving him a confused look in the mirror. “You heard me. Beg for it.”

“Give it to me,” you demanded, standing your ground.

His large chest was flush against your back, his chin grabbing your chin and making you look into his eyes. His lips brushed against your ear and his other hand gripped your hip like a vice. “I said beg. Or we’re going back downstairs right now.”

It wasn’t the worst threat in the world but at some point these little hookups became something you needed. He knew that. He felt the same way too.

“Please, Miguel,” you whined. “I love you so much. Need to feel ya inside me so badly. I promise to be such a good girl. I promise. I’ll be such a good girl.”

The tiniest smile came to his lips as he saw the tears lightly brewing in your eyes. God, how he loved you. He planted a sweet kiss on your temple. “Such a good girl, only for me, yeah?”

“Only for you.”

Suddenly, the head of his member entered your entrance. You gasped, causing his hand to clasp over your mouth. “Got to be quiet, amor, yeah? We can’t have anyone find out what a dirty little whore you are for me.” He quickly pushed the rest of his length inside of you. You screamed into the palm of his hand, gripping down on the countertop.

“Fuck, princess. Best damn pussy I’ve ever had. Such a good fucking girl.”

His thrusts were brutal and you loved every second of it. Something about the strange circumstances made something dormant in Miguel come out. He said the dirtiest things. His mouth sputtering whatever came to mind as he pounded into you like both of your lives depended on it.

“Letting me fuck you while half the neighborhood is in the backyard. You wanted me that bad. You’d let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn’t you, honey? Want to be my little fuckdoll. Let me take you wherever I want. As long as we don’t get caught, right?”

You nodded vigorously as your eyes screwed shut, your head resting on Miguel’s shoulder. He let you stay like that for a while until his fingers started to rub your clit.

“Look at me,” he cooed. You had no choice but to pry your eyes open and look at the disheveled state of the man you were falling in love with. “Keep looking at me when I make you cum on my dick. Look so fucking beautiful.”

You had to use your last amount of strength to keep your eyes open, losing all control of the noises coming out of your mouth. Both of you were glad that his hand was clamped over your mouth. You tried to hold back your orgasm just a little bit, something you did often in these scenarios, you wanted to hold on just a little bit longer.

But it was always impossible. As soon as he figured out what you were doing, his fingers worked quicker.

“Please, cum for me baby,” he begged. And how could you refuse him? Quickly the coil snapped and you turned to absolute putty in his hands. “I love you, honey. I love you so much.” He whispered in your ear as he came inside of you. “Love you so fucking much.”

Slumped there, panting, you had that terrible wave of realization of the predicament you were in. Doomed to be in love with a man you could never really be with. Banished to a life of dirty secret hookups in bathrooms. But you didn’t need to worry about that now. Not when he was smiling at you.

“I love you too.” 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Piercing

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get your ears pierced

"I'm sorry, princesse," Pernille sympathises as you sniffle.

You're both in the back seat of the car, you sitting in her her lap as you whine a little.

Your tears have petered off now so you're just left with little tracks down your cheeks and a big pout as you look up at her.

"But they're so pretty now."

Admittedly, Pernille did feel a little bad.

She should have just had them done when you were still little and couldn't understand these things but she'd felt bad about it.

It's always been in the plans to get them done when you were still young but Pernille couldn't bring herself to do it while you still didn't understand.

You were older now, barely, but she didn't want you to get too old where you would overthink and go back and forth for ages.

Which led to the situation now, as you sit on her lap in the car with freshly pierced ears and a lollipop for your good behaviour in the piercing chair.

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on Pernille's shirt before shoving your lolly straight back into your mouth to suck on.

"Hurted," You say between sucks.

"They still hurt?"

You shake your head. "Hurted."

"They hurt when you got them done?"

You nod.

"I'm sorry, princesse," Pernille says again," But you go to choose the special new earrings you got and you got you lolly. Isn't that nice?"

You nod again, huffing a little as you wipe the remaining tears off your cheeks using Pernille's shirt.

"Where's Morsa?"

"She'll be here soon. She's just finishing with the groceries."

Your mothers had split off today.

Magda was at the supermarket, buying the groceries (and hopefully a new toy) for the week while Pernille did the smaller jobs like getting a few packages, getting your ears pierced and buying Magda's new set of earphones.

You and Pernille had finished first of course which is why she could spend so much time soothing you in the car park while Magda, out of the corner of her eye, could be seen pushing the shopping cart towards the car.

"You won't believe how packed it is in there," Magda says as she slips into the driving seat after putting the shopping into the car boot," Why is everyone doing their shopping on a Sunday?"

"Why are we doing our shopping on a Sunday?" Pernille teases as Magda adjusts the rear view mirror to look right at her.

"That's not the point. I..." Magda's words come to a halt as her eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Why are you in the back? Why has Princesse got a sweetie?"

"Was good," You mumble.

"Good? What, like generically good? I thought we weren't giving her sweets. Pernille, you said it would ruin her teeth."

"Momma didn't give," You say and Magda frowns.

"What do you mean- Pernille! What are those things in her ears?!"

Pernille sighs, expertly manoeuvring you from her lap into your car seat, pulling on your straps until you're secure before pressing the softest of kisses to your forehead.

"Earrings."

Pernille climbs over the centre console to the passenger seat in the front.

"But...What?!"

"Magda we talked about this last night. You agreed that it was time."

"We did not talk about it!"

"We did."

You frown a little, the pain in your ears forgotten as your eyes pingpong between Magda and Pernille.

"I'd think I'd remember."

"You literally came in from the bathroom and I told you that I was thinking about getting her ears pierced today."

"You were talking to Tired Magda! I can't be held responsible for Tired Magda's choices!"

"Magda," Pernille says fondly," We've discussed this before. When she was born. You weren't against it then."

Magda's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "I'm not against it," She says after a long, measured pause," I just...Princesse? Are you feeling okay? How are your ears?"

You show her your lollipop. "Got a lolly," You say," Ears okay."

"They don't hurt?"

You think about that for a moment before shaking your head. "No ouchies anymore."

"Are you sure?"

You huff. "Would know if they hurt, Morsa."

Pernille laughs in the front seat. "Yeah, Magda, she's know if they hurt."

Magda rolls her eyes. "Okay. It's about ten minutes until we're home. I'll have a little check of your ears when we get in. Did they give you an information pack, Pernille? If her ears are pierced then I want to make sure we're taking care of them properly."

"I've got everything ready for you," Pernille says, leaning across to press a soft kiss to Magda's cheek," I love how protective you get."

Magda grins, sitting up a bit straighter in her seat at the praise. "Of course."

"Even if it's something as silly as her ear piercings."

[churipu]

STUDYING WITH GOJO INCLUDES ✮⋆˙

featuring. gojo satoru x reader

warnings. clingy gojo, college! au, study buddies (u guys r dating) but he's unserious, soft gojo

note. sksjlddlsjjd look at me uploading anything but my 1k event, but pls i can't stop thinking abt studying with gojo and how unserious he will be during the session.

studying with gojo includes him whining about being bored because he's just naturally gifted — while you actually needed to study to match his brain capacity. he's a whiny baby about having to accompany you study when he was the one who volunteered to do so.

"baby, come on. can we please take a break? how long has it been? two hours?" he whines softly, his forehead had been stuck to the surface of the short table you had in your room. his long legs sprawled underneath it.

"satoru — it's been twenty minutes. and nobody forced you to be here, you can go if you want to," your answer only furthered his whining, like a small child who hasn't gotten what he wanted, he shifted a bit, letting the table move along with his movements; preventing you from focusing on the book you were scribbling on.

the man child finally pulls himself to sit up straight, a red blotch on his forehead. with furrowed brows, and a big frown on his face, he grabbed your pencil and tossed it across your room — sighing, you grabbed another one from your pencil case, and he did the same thing. only then after, the decided that throwing your pencil case across the room was the best choice.

"satoru, if you're not going to let me study, please leave."

yet again, another whine escaped his throat as he threw his head back onto your bed, "come on, 'ts good to take breaks, cuddle me, love me, pay attention to me!"

"we can do that later, 'ts a big exam next week . . ."

studying with gojo includes him distracting you with his love — whether it being a kiss, or just him stuck to your hips like a koala. he just needed a bit of love and attention as well.

gojo paced around your room, trying to distract himself from your silent form. poking around your figurines and shelves, looking through old year books, and even family albums. but nothing, he comes back to you, slotting your sitting form in between his open legs. gojo slithered his arms around your waist, burying his face into your shoulder.

"'m dying here y/n . . ."

your vague silence only offended him, "so y'don't care if your boyfriend's dying?"

sighing you replied, "i do care. but you're not," gojo grumbled under his breath, prepping his head up so his chin rested on top of your head, whistling out a a random tune that, of course, bothered you, "'toru, shut up."

"give me the love and attention that i deserve and maybe i'll stop," he nonchalantly said before continuing his whistling concert.

studying with gojo includes him finally being tired of not receiving what he wanted, and he turns sulky. his aura gloomy — and the corner of his lips tugged down into a big, giant frown.

gojo slipped himself under the table, resting his head on your thighs. the male looks up at you, only getting a good look of your chin and neck, he reaches his finger out, touching the tip of your chin before traveling down your neck.

still no love. or attention.

the male lets out one last (loud) sigh and tore himself away from you, plopping down on your bed. hiding under the covers, he curled himself up into a ball, his big back facing you — letting out grumbles under his breath as he hides his sorrow away.

you think gojo was being dramatic. he usually comes back, yearning for attention. but no, this time he didn't, just laying there on your bed for the next half an hour — where you coincidentally finished the last question in the practice page.

"satoru, are you asleep?" no answer. but the male shifted slightly, "satoru."

again, no answer. but gojo kicked his legs once, showing that he was indeed, not asleep at all. he had just been lying there, in the same position for the past half an hour.

"satoru, are you mad at me?"

gojo peeked one of his blue eyes from under the blanket and huffs childishly before grunting, he then prompted to pull down the blanket over his eye again. letting you have a taste of your own medicine, "fine, i was going to tell you that i can now give you love and attention. but you seem a little angry so i'm just gonna leave you alone—"

the male opened the blanket and pulled you under the warm fabric with him before covering you both, he immediately locks you in his embrace using a leg over your torso, "finally," he mutters out.

gojo pulled you in, a hand resting on your hips. his fingers raising the hem of your shirt just a bit to brush his digits on your skin intimately. he leans his head on top of your chest, "'m still mad at you if you're wondering."

chuckling, your fingers threaded with his white locks. your cheek pressed onto his head, "you're so childish, 'm not as smart as you, y'know? i need to study."

gojo hums softly, "there's still a week. seven days. you can start studying tomorrow, i promise i won't bother you then," he mutters out, his lips puckering into a small pout.

promises were meant to be broken anyways.

studying with gojo includes him promising he won't bother you the next time — and him ended up doing the same thing, because why study when you can love him instead?

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[railingsofsorrow]

Recharging. . .

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: spencer's best remedy is his little family.

pairing: s.reid x f!reader (+ eden reid!)

w.c: 3.8K

warnings/content: fluff; cuteness overload; children; spencer is a girl's dad; discussion of a case; mentions of death and traumatic events; this is basically a hurt/comfort blurb; mentions of pregnancy; mentions of marriage; crying.

A/N: is anybody in need of some fluff? this was supposed to be a short drabble.... enjoy this old WIP as I finish some of my requests.

loosely inspired by ocie elliott's take me home

want to read more works about this au?

→ day-off

━━━━━━━━━━━━

You stopped the low humming to the song as you eyed the rearview mirror to check on your kid. The familiar scratching against your seat warning you she was awake.

“Hey bub,” you take advantage of the red traffic light to dive your hand back and tickle her bare feet. She'd always kick off her shoes the first chance she got. Your favorite sound echoes through the car: her giggle. “You were just napping, where'd that energy come from?” you refer again to the tip of her feet bumping against your car seat. Another reminder that she was getting bigger every day.

Eden raised her arms, wriggling her little fingers like she did when she was excited for something. You were pretty sure she got that from Penelope, you always saw they do this whenever she came over to your place.

“We're visiting daddy!”

A laugh bubbles out of you. Eden left you amazed by her perception of things. Although the route from your apartment to the BAU wasn't that strange for her anymore, given that you and Spencer drove a lot to drop each other off with her in the car.

“Are we?” You turn on an avenue, humming. “I didn't notice.”

Eden looks at you through the rearview mirror, “but you're driving, mommy. You need the GPS. It's in your head.”

“Is it?” You're amused at your toddler's choice of words. “Okay. Yes, we're visiting daddy at work. We've come to pick him up because he's very tired from a case and it's not good to drive while you're tired, right?”

“Right!” She nods vehemently, craning her neck to check on the view through the window. “And he needs me to recharge his bats.”

You finish parking your car and a smile curls up the edges of your mouth. Eden can't say the word batteries so she shortened it to an easier version which is bats. You still have to teach her what the word actually means.

“That's right,” you say, taking off your seatbelt and opening the door. By the time you reach the backseat, Eden is grinning like the Cheshire cat. Her excitement never ceases to rub off on you, even though you enter this building most of the days in a week. “Hi, baby.” You cooed, welcoming your child in your arms after unbuckling her seatbelt. Her light brown curls that you have no idea who she got it from tickle the side of your face as she snuggles to your chest to stare at the tall FBI building.

“Shoes on. Coat on. All warmed up. Shall we go up?”

An eager Eden exclaims a loud YES and that's enough for you to start walking.

From “Spencer”:

[6:34 p.m] No need to pick me up, angel, I can drive. I am not that tired.

[6:35 p.m] Is Eden still at your mom's? I can pick her up on the way.

This is the mutual feeling you have on workdays. Not in a million years you'd understand how hard it was to be away from your daughter for more than one day. Until it happened.

It makes your heart break when you're not able to tuck her into bed or pick her up at school to see her excited little legs run towards you. In spite of the fact that Spencer and you manage well to alternate days at work so she always has one of you close by, it's difficult to not see her every day when a case takes either one of you out of the city.

You can only image how much he misses her after being away for four days.

You left the messages unanswered and click on another chat instead. Light of my life with a bunch of hearts is the one you're looking for. Penelope somehow stole your phone someday and changed her contact name to this; you never changed it back, just left as it was, it suits her anyway.

“Smile.” You request Eden as you lift your phone to take a selfie of the two of you. Her grin exposes her two missing front teeth. “Done.” You kiss her cheek and adjust her in your hold to type another text, waiting for the elevator to reach your desired floor.

To “Light of my life 💗❤️💕”

[6:38 p.m] incoming at five... four... three...

You hit send right as the elevator doors spread open.

Just as you step into the bullpen, it's as if a switch has flipped because your daughter promptly tucks her face into the croak of your neck, her cold nose making your shiver slightly. Her hands clinging onto your blouse.

Eden gets shy under watchful eyes, no matter how many times she visits the BAU.

Penelope is walking briskly out of her office, her hands wriggling into your direction as she catches sight of you and the bundle in your arms. Every eye in the bullpen turns to you because of the commotion.

You haven't seen your husband yet.

“There is pumpkin!” That's the reason that pulls Eden out of her shell. She practically throws herself out of your arms and into her favourite aunt's arms. “Oh, hello, hello, my beautiful niece, whom I have missed so much!”

Eden is giggling and you can't help but smile softly at the scene. Soon, your friends start approaching one by one. It doesn't take long for Eden to have at least two new toys in her hands. Emily and Derek are competing which one she likes best.

“She's so big.” JJ entwines her arm with yours.

You sigh, leaning closer to her, “Yes, she is.” You say, observing Eden play with Emily. “Henry as well! How is he by the way? We haven't had a playdate in so long.”

JJ nods, “He's great, my sweet boy.” Her eyes hold a fondness that you relate. “And that's true. We have to set up a date, catch up on things that aren't murders and blood.”

“Preach, Jayge.”

Your laughter dies down when the two people missing from the group appear. Your eyes met Spencer's and his whole body seems to relax as if it physically pained him to stand and seeing you just helped him take a breath of fresh air. Luke greeted you with a side hug and was immediately captured by Eden's endearing spell, as expected. Although, once Spencer entered her line of sight, no one else mattered.

Spencer let his satchel drop to the ground without a care so he could scoop Eden up as she jumped into his arms. His sullen demeanor converting into a cheerful one in a blink of an eye. This is what Eden means by “recharging”.

You watch the reunion with a growing smile, deciding to approach them a little later.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Spencer says while peppering kisses at her cheek, her little nose and her forehead. Eden could only reply with giggles as her whole face became red at the overwhelming love she's receiving. “Daddy missed you so much, did you know that?” And the crack in his voice goes unnoticed by her, but not by you, so you take advantage of everyone's distraction to step towards your little family.

Eden is giving her dad a butterfly kiss when you get to them. That's her way of saying I missed you to any of you when you come back home.

“Hey,” you squeeze his arm in a gentle touch, grabbing his attention. “Tough one?” your question is discreet, only meant for him. Eden is fortunately too busy with her new stuffed toy that Derek is showing her to notice anything else.

The dimmed spark in Spencer's eyes along with the red outline of his eyelids are everything you need to know. You don't need words — you never needed words to understand Spencer — but he provides you a meek yeah and swallows hard. The only thing that seems to be holding him back from crumbling down is the fact that he's holding his daughter.

In an attempt of comfort, you pull his free hand to yours, intertwining your fingers and giving it a tight squeeze. Just for him to know that you were there and it's okay now.

He repeats the action, the corner of his lips pulling slightly. His attention is quickly stolen back to Eden, who starts listing possible names to the new friends that uncle Derek and auntie Emily had gifted her.

They discuss the matter until you bid everyone goodbye, a playdate, a babysitting afternoon and a girls night out scheduled. Trying to take Eden from Spencer was foolish, he didn't want to let her go. No matter how tired he was. Better yet, she didn't want to let him go either.

“I think grapes would be a great name, E.” Spencer praises her daughter's naming skills as he buckled her up in the safety seat. “What about this one?” He grabs the green bunny and places it in front of his face, his voice in a high-pitched tone to imitate an animal's voice. “What will you name me after, miss Eden Reid? I am green and I like carrots!”

Eden's bright caramel eyes glint with joy and she pulls the bunny to her chest, holding it tightly. “I know what I'm going to call them.”

“You do?” You were starting to be curious as well.

“Mr. Greenie.”

“You're so clever.” Spencer and Eden shared accomplice smiles and you see everything of him in her at that single action. It was in the nose scrunch whenever she found something particularly funny, in the spark of mischief in her eyes and even the outline of her mouth which you never stopped noticing from the moment she was born. Eden carried a lot of mannerisms and features from you but those things? They definitely came from him.

He's not even halfway to the driver's side when you steal the keys that he had stolen from you when you were in the building. You've known each other for ten years, for three out of those ten you have been married and Spencer still thinks he can be slick with you.

“You're riding shotgun today, pretty boy.”

His eyes are filled with amusement as you walk by and give his butt a soft squeeze.

“Really?” He says, leaning on your window. You had already turned the engine on when you give him a serious look. “It's a long drive. You already drove all the way here.”

Giving him an eyeroll, you muse, “It's not that long, Spence. And you're tired. Just get in.”

Quantico wasn't far from your home, but ten minutes in the road was enough to send Eden to dreamland. You were certain she had fallen asleep when her humming to Angeleyes, that was playing on the car radio, stopped.

You suppose Spencer has fallen asleep as well, until you stole a glimpse at him during a red light to see he was just staring out the window. A far away gaze.

His mind was far. You could feel that. You two enjoy the silence but it's not like that. This is not the kind of silence you want to bask in after a tiring day of work. No, this is different. It comes with the type of things you face at work, the voices in your head that claim they know what's best.

You know that silence. You've drowned in it once.

A gentle breeze caused a few strands to slip out behind his ear. He was letting his hair grow longer again. You liked it, it suited him.

“Hey.”

Your knuckles grazed his cheek softly, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear. Your hand lingered at the nape of his neck and he let out a sigh, leaning back in a way that you knew he needed that kind of touch.

Good thing your love language is physical touch.

“You want to talk to me about it?” A whisper.

Spencer refrained from a verbal answer, but he reached up for your hand, lifting it to his lips to place a prolonged kiss which translated to I'm glad to have you.

“Not now,” he said, caressing your palm. Definitely later then. Your communication can be non-verbal sometimes and that's one of the great parts of your relationship. You knew that some days words were hard, so the touch and the eyes fulfilled the void of a voice.

He gave it a delicate squeeze and that's when you realized the light had turned green, so your attention was back to driving.

At some point, you could feel a comforting weight at your right thigh. It was the familiar warmth of Spencer's hand, something that he liked to do whenever you drove. Good thing his love language is physical touch.

“I got her.” He practically leaped out of the vehicle once you parked, walking around the other side to get Eden.

Your asleep child didn't so much as flinch while being picked up. You caught her little arms embracing his neck as you locked the doors of your car, her shoes on your hand and Spencer's satchel on another. He tried to fight you on that but you just ignored him.

“Sleepy head,” you mouth to him as the elevator went up. Eden's big eyelashes fluttered lightly when you kissed the top of her head.

The corner of your husband's lips quirked up, “Just like her mother. Sleeps anywhere.” He said, not breaking eye contact, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Rolling your eyes, you hummed, “Don't know what you're talking about.”

The apartment was quiet, an unusual occurrence at this time of the day. Normally, Eden would be rambling about her day when one of you arrived from work — I learnt about seagulls today and we made a drawing; grandma made cookies!; Teacher Susan read a story about a princess saving her kingdom, I want to be like her someday. Isn't it like what you do, mama? I want to be like you — a range of subjects mixed with her occasional endless energy of a child. Some nights, she wouldn't stop running around until she tired herself — and both of you — off.

Today was different. She was asleep before you even arrived home, it was way before 8 p.m and the apartment was quiet, no toys scattered around, no ink stain on the floor. She was into painting nowadays which is a rather messy hobby for a kid, but you'd indulge your daughter's wishes anytime. She is a kid, she should be messy.

“I love you, bub.” Your ears pick up Spencer's faint voice from the entrance of Eden's bedroom. You perched up at the wall, careful enough to make yourself unknown. Not wanting to disturb the little father-daughter moment. “I'll always be here.”

That was something that didn't need to be said out loud because Spencer showed that every day. He didn't spare love demonstrations regarding you or Eden, he never had. Although you know part of the reason beneath that promise. Some people haunt us forever, even when they are no longer present in our lives. His father still walks somewhere in the corner of his mind, no matter how many times you tell him that he is not him.

“Is the whole bathroom drenched or...?”

Spencer chuckled, seeking for your hand to pull you closer as you stride to your bedroom.

“It wouldn't be Eden if she didn't make an entire spectacle during bath time.” He said. “But I cleaned it up, so don't worry.”

“That's true.” You eye his soaked shirt attempting to contain a smile. “Guess you already took your shower?”

“You're so funny,” Spencer murmurs dryly.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug nonchalantly, slowly encircling your arms around his neck. “Wasn't that why you married me? Or was it for my good looks? Nah, it was definitely my terrific sense of humour, wasn't it?” A peck on his lips. “You can admit it. I won't be mad.”

“Ego the size of a lake, that one.” He mumbles, burying his face in the croak of your neck and practically locked you in his hold.

You started to message on his shoulders to ease whatever felt heavy in his chest. At least, until he let you in.

It wasn't until after you both showered separately to finally call it a day and laid down to rest that he broke his silence.

“A little girl died. We couldn't get to her in time.”

Oh, kids.

Now it all made sense.

A shiver went down your spine at the thought.

“Oh, Spencer...” if the tone of your voice translated anything, it was that you understood. His body was entangled to yours when you tried to diminish a bit of his pain by showing that you were there. “I'm sorry, sweetheart,” you said into his curls. The moist sensation in your pajamas top let you know he was crying, but you didn't give it a second thought. It was what he needed.

“I could only think of her and I—” he said shakily, suddenly leaning away to cover his face. “Any rational thinking went down the drain.” His croaked out, drying his tears in the harshest way possible. You pulled his hands away from his face, replacing it with your softer touch.

“Spencer.”

“I can't even— even grasp my head around—”

You cut him off, “good. Don't do that. Because it's not real. Spencer,” you cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you so he could focus on something that wasn't the disruptives thoughts in his head. “Eden is here, in the room next to ours, safe and sound.” That seemed to calm him down lightly, but you could see the conflict in his gaze.

“I wasn't fast enough.”

“It was not your fault.”

“You weren't there.”

You sigh, “I don't need to physically be there to know that you, as well as the team, did your best to crack the case, Spencer. As you do in every other case we have.” The hardest part of this job was still the loss that you had to live with. The guilt. The shame that, despite doing your best, you wouldn't be able to save everyone. “As we always do.” Sometimes, you needed some convincing too.

“I know it's hard to believe what I'm saying,” you forehead was touching his and your eyes were shut. “but it's the truth. You have every reason to feel that way, it never gets easy to face what we face every day. But, Spencer. It was not your fault. You did what you could, please trust me on this, okay?” Please, don't blame yourself. You don't deserve it.

“Our little girl is right next door, sleeping with her favourite plushie. Safe. Because we make sure of that every single day.” You know it's not that simple, to not doubt the dangers that run in the world, probably in your street, but you can't live in fear and you don't want your daughter to live in fear either. “And I'm right here. we're not going anywhere.” You won't lose us.

“Yeah,” he croaks out, releasing a batted breath. “Yeah, I know.”

Slipping an arm around your middle to bring you closer was the indication you needed to understand that he was hearing your words. Your husband settled for accepting your warmth for the time being, you were playing with his curls, gently brushing them away from his face.

That's all he needed, really. You. The home and family you have build together. Nothing else.

“You know,” you say, thumb traveling across his jawline until it reached the tip of his nose. “People keep saying she has your nose and I think I'm starting to see it.”

His body shook with laughter, causing his eyes to crinkle slightly.

“Oh, really? You're starting to see it now?”

Your lips curled up at the edges, “Yes.” You lied, poking his ribs, earning a glare. Your smile only widened. “No. The nose is clearly yours.” He raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

Spencer leaned close enough so he could press his lips to yours.

“She has the outline of your mouth, though.” He tucked a strand behind your ear. “And your eyes.”

Soft padding against the floor pulled you out of your trance and you knew who was at the door before looking through the open space of the door that's been left ajar.

“Is that a ghost that I'm seeing, angel?”

You decided to enter Spencer's playful undertone.

“Mhm. Good question, I think that's definitely a squirrel or something. Look at the red and yellow paws.”

Eden's mismatched socks flashed your eyes in the dim light of your side table lamp. Her soft giggling made you smile instantly.

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?” She curled up to his bare chest as soon as he scooped her up to hold her on his hip. “Mhm?”

She grabbed both of his cheeks, forcing him to lean down so she could say something to him. You observed them with a curious gaze. “It's not a squirrel,” Eden whispered. Spencer's face broke out into a grin, “tell mama it's me.” Spencer nodded and dutifully did as asked.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, acting surprised. “It's you, bub? With these tiny socked feet, I almost didn't recognize.” Eden's shrieks as you pepper her whole face with kisses. “You want to sleep with mommy and daddy tonight?” It's your turn to whisper as if it's a secret, but it's loud enough for Spencer to hear it as well.

Eden nods shyly, resting her head on her dad's shoulder. Her feet wriggling lightly. Who could ever resist those sweet doe eyes?

The three of you then lay down in your bed, Eden engulfed between Spencer and you. Hopefully, she wouldn't kick and turn all night like she commonly did. She was sleeping through the entire night alone in her bedroom, though some nights — like today — she would sneak in to yours.

Just like you expected, the toddler fell into dreamland with your soft chatter about random things you did during the day and what you needed to do during the upcoming week. You cracked a smile at her slight parted lips and wild curls dispersed on your arm which her head was laid on.

“Thank you.”

Your attention drifts from a sleeping Eden to Spencer. His eyes carried their usual light again. They now glinted with a familiar pride rather than the heavy darkness it was drowning in earlier in the evening.

“What for?” Your whole demeanor softened at the way he was looking at you, heart swelling with love.

“This,” he says, eyes falling on Eden. “For this. Her. You.”

You blink, the sudden urge to cry is being hold back by a thread. You don't know how to react.

“You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.” And he's said that before. When you first confessed and he said he felt the same. In your wedding day. When Eden was born.

“And you are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Spencer.” You manage to whisper beneath the crack in your voice. He lifts his torso to kiss both of the single tears that slipped out of your eyelids, caressing your cheek lovingly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.” His mouth stretches into a soft grin. “And I love the life we have built.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @lilyviolets

━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N: will never forgive the show for not making this man a dad.

[neil-gaiman]

hey mr gaiman. i saw that this post got revisited and wanted to address it.

i submitted this ask over a year ago on my old account and it was one of the stupidest things i ever did. it was my first tumblr account. id only been really online for a few weeks. i was 13. i was just coming back to school after a global pandemic.

ive been a fan of good omens for years and a fan of yours for longer. i was brought up reading odd and the frost giants and fortunately the milk, and as i got older i fell in love with your norse mythology book, good omens, snow glass apples, the sleeper and the spindle, and more.

i was excited to see one of my favorite authors on tumblr and tried to come up with the most bold and interesting ask i could think of.

i was rude and misinformed and it was a stupid choice of me to send it in with no thought.

but i got feedback. some in the form of kind suggestions. quite a few in the form of death threats and people telling me to kill myself.

while those specific messages were rude and hateful, the point got across. i educated myself to the best of my abilities, and eventually came back online.

not only did i misuse the term queerbaiting but i also implied that you were not an amazing supporter of the queer community. that’s absolutely incorrect. you’ve done so much for us with activism, representation, and overall kindness.

i wanted to address this ask that got so much attention because despite moving accounts i still feel guilt and shame every time i see it, or even when i interact with any of your posts at all. i need to actually address it.

also, i wanted a proper apology to be made. by no means am i now a saint. but im trying to be more thoughtful about thinking before i speak.

whether or not you decide to make a public response to this, i think ill find some peace knowing you’ve received this. ive needed closure on this for a long time.

im overjoyed and thrilled that season two is so close. thank you for tolerating the dumb questions of pretentious kids and thank you for helping to create a world where we can grow to be better than we were.

First of all, and most importantly, I'm really sorry that people were mean to you. That's awful. And nobody should ever have to deal with death threats or online threats and attacks, let alone a thirteen year old.

And secondly, you do not owe me an apology. I figure I have a Tumblr account, people ask things. Mostly they'll get nice replies, occasionally (normally when I'm being asked the same thing over and over) the replies will be terser. There has to be a certain amount of rough and tumble though, and occasionally I'll grab an ask that represents all of the asks I've had on that subject, and try and reply to all of them. That's what happened to you. I was getting tired of being accused of Queerbaiting for the occasional answer about a Season that was not yet released and about which nobody knew anything. And I needed to tell everyone who was doing this that they had to stop now. You had the misfortune to be the representative of all of the other people.

If you are not making mistakes you are not human and you are not learning anything.

(I wish there was tone of voice on the internet.)

And I think you are growing and learning and will make a fantastic adult.

I really hope you enjoy Season 2 when it drops.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (III)

On your travels with the two demon companions, you stumble upon a fortified village plagued by monster attacks. It would be quite unlucky if the grand finale happened just as you step foot inside, right? Worry not, you're saved by a third mysterious yokai that you immediately recognize. The harem grows!

Content: female reader, monsters, violence

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guide]

“Alright, how’s this?”

You do a clumsy pirouette before the two yokai men.

“That’s...are you sure?” Kiritsubo eyes you, mildly confused. “It’s usually what men wear.”

Of course, you already know. After weeks of walking through feudal Japan, you’ve reached the conclusion that modern clothing isn’t the most practical choice. Not to mention the strange looks you always get from other people upon your arrival in any village. You needed something to blend in, and the typical fashion for your gender might not be compatible with your training. You’d rather not swing a sword while covered in multiple layers of kimono.

Thus, you opted for the hakama pants typically worn by men. With your hair tied up and in this baggy attire, one could think you’re a young samurai. If they squint enough. You chuckle at the thought.

“She’ll wear whatever allows her to not be a burden.” Murasaki concludes with crossed arms.

One way to put it, you tell yourself.

“If you’re done discussing fashion, we can leave.” The dark-haired man continues with indifference, standing up and adjusting the swords in the folds of his sash.

Both you and Kiritsubo hurry and follow behind obediently.

“Where are we going this time?” You ask sheepishly.

“South-west. An old residence of his, although we will have to pass through a fortified settlement first. We should reach it before sunset.”

It’s hard to imagine you’re the supposed savior in this equation. Murasaki has been leading you by the hand each step, carefully considering every detail on the map, and extensively planning your travels every evening. All this on top of your daily training. You’ve now mastered the basics with the katana he’s provided you, as well as some common prayers for exorcising small-class demons.

You glance at the daisho pair of swords under his belt. A long, thin blade, and a shorter backup version, both in elaborate matching scabbards meant to showcase the status and wealth of the samurai wearing them. In this case, meant to express his rank as the advisor and right hand of the famed onmyōji. You certainly don’t doubt Nakamaro’s decision to rely on Murasaki.

In comparison, Kiritsubo carries a nagamaki at his waist. A comically long blade in your opinion, used mostly to bring down horses during battle. Any regular sword would’ve been too small for him. Despite his imposing appearance, you’ve learned rather quickly just how different Kiritsubo is from the other yokai. He’s quite clumsy in combat, often anxious about making mistakes, terribly apologetic, and overall has a heart too kind for his own good. If there’s hesitation coming from his side, Murasaki immediately follows with his ruthless, ending blows. As a matter of fact, even you’ve had to do the occasional killing to spare the man of such choices.

The silver-haired demon notices your eyes on him and smiles, excited. He reminds you of a large dog. A horned, fanged dog of monstrous strength, nonetheless the innocence is there. And he does make a great travel companion.

“How much longer?” You grunt, looking up.

“Are you tired? I can carry you for the rest of the way-” Kiritsubo instantly offers but is interrupted by Murasaki’s barked orders.

“She can walk. Don’t spoil her.” He glares at you, then nods ahead. “We’re almost there, so quit your whining.”

True to his word, you can finally discern the outline of a wall at the top of the hill. A few more steps, and you can even spot two guards standing beside the great gate.

“Stop there!”

The soldiers lift their spears threateningly. Before you can react, Murasaki steps in front of you with a hand placed on his sword.

“We’re just passing through.” He states factually.

“We’re no longer allowing visitors.” One of the guards exclaims. “The village has been raided by monsters recently and our Lord has closed all gates until the matter is solved.”

“That means no filthy demons go in.” The other adds in a mocking tone, his gaze lingering on the horns of your companions. His mouth curls in disgust.

You can tell Murasaki is angered by the disrespectful approach. He is not one to let such insults slide and you’d rather avoid him claiming unnecessary victims; therefore, you push past his arm and plant yourself ahead with a polite greeting bow.

“These yokai are with me. I vouch for their good behavior, so please consider letting us through. Perhaps we can even help you with these monsters.”

“You? How would you…”

The man stops abruptly, switching between you and the yokai. Eventually he inspects your scabbard, and he gasps, confusion twisting his features.

“Could it be? No…He’d be dead by now.”

“What are you talking about?” His partner inquires impatiently.

“That’s the family seal belonging to Abe no Nakamaro.” He explains, pointing to the golden finish at the end of your katana handle. “I’ve heard about him from my grandparents. But it’s been decades!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re saying this kid is a legendary onmyōji?”

“Who else would show up with demons as servants? Everything matches. Perhaps his powers have finally reached immortality”, he concludes solemnly.

The men continue their argument, and you clear your throat, embarrassed. What the hell? You can’t possibly look that manly. Sure, you’ve been skipping the makeup, and the clothes aren’t exactly curve shaping, but to be mistaken for an old man is like a slap to the face.

You’re about to deny their claims, but Murasaki swiftly pinches the back of your neck, and you wince. He lowers himself to your ear and whispers:

“This will be to our advantage. Just go along with it.” “Fine!” You mumble angrily. Then you turn back to the guards.

“V-very well, I see I haven’t been forgotten.” You admit, theatrically. “Lead me to your Lord and we shall discuss the details of your monster attack.”

Thus, you sip on your tea, kneeling at the luxurious table and awaiting the arrival of the feudal Lord. The servants are exchanging words, gossiping fervently next to the wall. “I wonder if he can cure my daughter!” one woman mumbles, visibly emotional.

“Do you think we can finally be saved? He’ll truly exorcise the beasts tormenting our village?” another whispers.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead and glare at Murasaki. You had no idea he’d given you Nakamaro’s old sword. Now you’re stuck pretending to be a pompous, long-dead asshat.

“What if they catch us?” You hiss between your teeth. “I don’t know shit about onmyōdō.”

“Then I’ll just kill them all. Simple as that.” The crimson-eyed man retorts, unconcerned. “Have a little fun, won’t you?”

“W-we’ll help you come up with answers, (Y/N). Don’t worry.” Kiritsubo chimes in, trying to reassure you.

You sigh in frustration and look out the window. The sun must’ve set a long time ago and has since been replaced by a pitch-black sky. What’s keeping the Lord? Surely, he can’t be having important business meetings late at night.

Almost as if your thoughts were read, the door slides open and a servant wobbles in. The rest of the household workers are silent, expecting the entrance of their master, but no one is following behind. You observe the bizarre limp of the woman. Suddenly, she collapses to the floor, revealing her bloodied back torn by deep wounds, caused by some sort of claw. Her body is stiff.

Panic settles in right away, and the servants topple over each other to get away from the fresh cadaver. You struggle to get up among the terrified crowd, but thankfully Murasaki grabs your wrist and pulls you out into a quieter hallway.

“What the hell?” is all you manage to say.

“Rotten.” Kiritsubo furrows his brows, sniffing the air. “Someone in here must be possessed. Could be more of them.”

Murasaki surveys the surroundings and gestures towards his partner.

“We have to see if the Lord is still alive. You go that way. I’ll take the front. Kill everyone suspicious.”

“What about me?” You demand, holding your breath.

“Get out and wait for us. You know how to draw a protection circle, don’t you? I won’t take long.” The dark-haired yokai answers before vanishing.

Judging by the screams and wails coming from all directions, you suspect Kiritsubo is right about multiple attackers. You sprint across the hall, looking for an opening. The self-defense lessons didn’t cover cursed humans with demonic powers. You’ll stay out of this one.

What an absolute mess. You have encountered some demons in your weeks spent here, but nothing to this degree. When the guards mentioned a monster attack, you imagined a ghost with a grudge, or some small fry yokai scaring the workers at night, not a mass curse that ends in a massacre. Of course, it had to happen the moment you arrived at the main house.

You find a room with a door leading to the inner courtyard. Seems isolated enough and it should provide a bit of shelter while you wait for the pair to finish the business. As you rush past the dead bodies, you notice a woman hiding behind a screen divider.

“Ah! It’s you!” she yells, aware of your presence.

From the shadow of her secret spot emerges the small frame of a child. The woman pushes the little human towards you, blocking your path.

“Don’t worry, he’ll protect us.” she gives her child another nudge. “Go on, hold onto him. You’ll be safe.”

What? No, no, no, no, no. Not happening. You’re getting out.

“Ma’am, sorry to break it to you under such circumstances, but I’m not-”

You’re interrupted by a loud growl. One of the possessed creatures must’ve followed your scent, and it’s now sliding into the room on all fours with the bones of the limbs twisting and creaking in unnatural pounces. You purse your lips in a frightened grimace. One advantage of the wide hakama pants – useful to know – is that no one can see your knees shaking cowardly.

Theoretically, you could use the brat as bait and run for your life. It’d make a decent obstacle. Unfortunately for your life span, you’ve been gifted with an idiotic sense of duty instead of survival instincts.

“Keep your distance. If I can’t kill it, get out and don’t look back” you advise, positioning yourself in the learned stance and sliding the sword out of its sheath.

Damn it! Then again, it should be like fighting a zombie, right? Given the pathetic way it drags itself around, it can’t be too difficult to hit. Aim for the head, you repeat in your mind. Your fingers grip around the handle.

The ghoulish beast lowers itself, like a spring about to recoil, and leaps across the room with an ease you did not anticipate. Despite your iron hold, it slaps the blade out of your hands with enormous force. The impact breaks your skin, and you wince. There’s no time to weep, within seconds it could go for your vitals next. While Murasaki hasn’t gotten around to teaching you much hand-to-hand combat, you’ve read your fair share of shounen manga. The first idea that comes to mind is to put the beast in a sumo lock. You bend your knees smoothly and wrap your arms around the monster, feeling for something to hold onto. You grit your teeth and attempt to lift the creature.

A thundering laugh resonates within the walls, and you jolt, startled.

“I never thought I’d see the mighty Abe no Nakamaro wrestling with ankle biters like this. What are you going to do, throw it out of the ring?”

The voice is deep, loud, and unfamiliar. You can’t afford to look back to see the source, but it’s not hard to figure out the possibilities. So far, you’ve only been called by that cursed name by the yokai accomplices. Although now is not the best time to seek revenge.

“Shut up, I panicked”, you snap in frustration. “If you can’t help, keep that trap closed!”

The sudden burst of anger seems to have triggered something within your body, a power you don’t recognize. You watch as your arms effortlessly pick up the monster and swing it across the room, its body demolishing the opposing wall and causing thick clouds of dust to rise and spread everywhere.

The impact must’ve alerted the nearby ghouls, as you can now hear the agitated trample and screeching rapidly approaching. You’re not confident you can pull the same lucky move a second time.

You turn to search for your sword, but it’s already being handed to you by the mysterious yokai who’s been observing your little fight. You have to step aside and tilt your head all the way back in order to fully view the gigantic frame of the man.

Ah, you recognize the features immediately. The same kind of fear you felt when you stumbled upon that old shrine statue is now tugging at your chest.

“You’re Suma, right?”

A proud, wide grin forms on his face, revealing a pair of glistening fangs. His expression is unexpectedly soft and friendly.

“We’re halfway through our introductions then, eh?” You pick up the sword and his fingers stretch out for a handshake. “What is your given name? I’m guessing you don’t willingly go by that…title.”

“I very much prefer (Y/N), yes.” You marvel at the significant difference in size, placing your small hand in his. “Was that your power I just used?”

“Mhhm. You sure surprised me there! It’s not something I did intentionally, but I s’ppose we just resonate that well, huh?”

He laughs again, completely unbothered by the impending danger.

“Alright, you can leave the rest to me. Take the lady outside, it will get a little messy.”

And with that, he casually walks towards the gathering of ghouls. You guide the family to the courtyard and wait for the battle to end.

“Do you think she’ll be fine by herself?” Kiritsubo is resting against the fence, keeping you under a watchful gaze.

“Let the humans sort it out among themselves.” Murasaki responds, somewhat bored.

The morning after the attack, you offered to deal with the survivors: ask them how everything started, if they’d noticed anything suspicious days prior to the event, and if the route to Nakamaro’s old residence was still open. The yokai men had found the feudal Lord in the jaws of a possessed creature and he quickly succumbed to his wounds. Consequently, only the remaining servants could provide them with clues.

A village being targeted like this is highly unusual, and Murasaki can’t shake the feeling it could be related to their master.

“Oh, where are you heading after this?” The silver-haired yokai glances at Suma, sitting lazily next to them.

“Where? After you just told me the whole story? I’m way too invested in this modern reincarnation that just popped out of nowhere, so I’m tagging along!” He announces with a chuckle.

Murasaki frowns.

“We don’t need your help.”

“Don’t be like that.” The giant man pouts dramatically. “Are you upset I saved (Y/N) before you?”

“W-we were on our way!” Kiritsubo retorts, visibly bothered.

“It’s a done deal!” Suma rests his hands under his head and yawns. “Besides, the little human already said he doesn’t mind.”

“He? (Y/N) is a woman.”

The redhead abruptly sits up and gasps.  

“Wait, what?”

“Don’t get funny ideas, man”, the silver-haired demon warns.

[chelseeebe]

all outta’ luck

18+. smut. exhusband!eddie, this is set sometime in the early 2000s but it’s mentioned once so who really cares

a/n: thank you anon for inspiring me to write another part to the exhusband!eddie series! this is a just a lil something to show that he doesn’t get his way all the time hehe. i’m so tired, please ignore any mistakes

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

the repetitive clanging sounds of the garage ring through eddie’s ears, murmured profanities and a chorus line of huffs fill the space. 

he can hear that fucking britney spears song echoing from the courtyard, his colleagues choice of music made him passively suicidal. 

something’s afoot, emmanuel stops tinkering to gaze over the car out into the parking lot, glancing at eddie quietly before the rest of the guys clock on. 

“oooooh,” they ring out, “someone’s in trouble,” mocking as they stop working to stare gormless at him. 

eddie’s stands, noticing your dinged up old ford straight away, searching for the missing accompaniment of your furious face alongside it. 

“yeah, nice one boys,” he hits back, his feet scuffing the gravel as he comes around the car. 

there you are, with your hands on your hips, exchanging niceties with robert before latching your eyes onto him. 

you were here for one of two reasons, either you needed something, meaning he would get his dick wet, or eddie had done something wrong, he’d probably still get his dick wet. 

it’s difficult to hide his excitement when you’ve essentially pavlov’d him into getting hard every time he sees you. 

“can we talk?” full of scorn, causing robert to back away, rightfully so too. 

“about?” rolling his eyes at his gawking friends before slipping out of the garage, away from their prying eyes. 

“what’d you give oscar this for?” retrieving the twenty dollar bill from your bra to hold in his face. wilfully ignoring the perverse whistles in the background. 

eddie stares at the twenty, wiping his hands with the oily rag, “he said he wanted some video game so i gave it to him,” shrugging because really, what other answer could he give?

“i already told him he couldn’t have it,” your brows knitted together, “i wish you’d check with me first before just doing shit,” sliding the note back into your bra, another round of whistling begins behind him. not to mention that was his twenty. 

eddie’s dumbfounded completely, absolutely certain that you’d only made the drive up here to piss him off, “so? i can’t give my son money anymore?” 

you tut, “i didn’t say that,” blinking rapidly, he knows you’re trying to contain yoursel, “i just want you to ask me before you tell him he can have something.” 

you’re surely not serious. this must be a ploy to get him pent up so you can drag him away from work, it must be. 

“i’m his dad,” getting louder, making sure that anyone eavesdropping could clearly hear this pathetic argument, “you remember that? if he wants the game, he can have the game.”

your eyes trail from his to the gallery of blinking eyes behind him, “can we do this somewhere else?” 

there it is. 

your plan unfolding right in front of his eyes. 

eddie exhales, playing into the little act you so desperately wanted, tossing his rag to the floor, “i’m taking lunch now,” announcing his plans to the entire audience, stomping from the garage to your terribly parked car. 

they’d all be talking about you no doubt, hushed whispers about eddie being weak or a pushover, whatever. if they only knew what was really about to go down, they’d have far worse to say. 

he gets in without ever looking back at them all, concealing his smirk rather unsuccessfully, “happy now?” he remarks snidely. 

you shift the car into drive, looking straight ahead, “very,” wheels crunching over the gravel as you pull off, smug as you drive. 

“you don’t have to do all this shit every time, you know? i would’a just gone with you anyway,” tapping his fingers along the leather interior, waiting for his mark to touch you. he’s sure it’d come, just as soon as you were away from the crowd. 

“but it’s more fun this way,” turning off to your usual desolate spot, hidden away from passing cars or peeping people. 

his hand braces your knee first, watching your face for permission to move upward, which he does with glee, slipping underneath your skirt, “no panties?” hardly surprised by the lack of fabric. 

you park, somewhere deep in the bushes, “mhm,” nodding as your legs clamp shut around his wrist, trapping his arm in the most precarious position. “you like it?” 

eddie nods, his breaths growing erratic, “fuck yeah i do,” attempting to grab a little fistful of your skin but your hold around his arm only gets tighter. 

“thought you would,” humming softly, removing his hand from your thigh to slide over the console and onto his lap, receiving a short grunt of approval. 

eddie’s practically salivating, coming to wrap his arms tight around your waist, anticipating the next best three minutes of his life. “holy fuck,” shuddering into the disappearing space between your faces as your cunt moves against his crotch, no doubt darkening the fabric with your slick. 

somethings wrong, something must be wrong.

he’d never get off with this so easily, he’s waiting for the bait and switch, for whatever punishment he must endure to come crashing over him. 

your hands snake around his neck, taking a strong fistful of his hair to tug backwards, “you wanna fuck me? hmm? d’you wanna cum?” that stupid pornstar voice you put on sometimes, low and raspy, almost making him blow his fucking load right now. 

“yes.. please,” his hips thrusting upwards for just a hint of relief, “god- fuck, please,” clawing at your skin, he’s never felt so desperate in all his life. 

you grind down against his cock, pulling a filthy mewl from his whiny throat, “what’re you gonna do to me? huh?” 

oh god. 

he can’t even think, only do. so pathetically desperate to fuck up into you a couple of times before cumming everywhere. 

“i’m gonna.. i need to feel you,” eddie mewls, grinding back against your cunt, the only thing separating the two of you were his stained work pants and his boxers that suddenly felt very sticky. 

your hips begin to bounce, his clothed cock nudging against your bare pussy with every frantic rut of your hips. “oh my god,” you cry, using his crotch to get yourself off more than anything, the denim brushing your clit just right. 

“fuck sweetheart, please fuck me,” rutting frantically upwards, latching onto your bottom lip and the skin around it. 

there’s not much longer of this he can take before he inevitably cums in his pants. you were moving too erratically, whining into his mouth in tandem with your clit catching against the tip of his erection. 

“mmhm,” barely audible over the creaking of his seat, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“so much.. like, now baby,” grasping at your shirt, kneading the fabric through his fingers in a bid to get you to just move a little. 

“too bad,” stilling your movements completely, gazing into his eyes, an gleam of utter villainous intent behind your otherwise glossy eyes. 

sick. you must be sick in the head. 

“nononono please, baby please what’re you doing?” desperation dripping from his tongue, his grabby hands urgently trying to keep you on his lap. 

“nuhuh,” pinching his cheek, cruel and mocking with your smirk, “you don’t get to fuck me today,” climbing back over to the drivers seat, pulling your skirt back to a respectable length and running a quick hand through your wild hair. 

“what?” eddie exclaims, hands falling limp against his burning thighs, “what’s wrong with you?” you were psychotic, utterly depraved and sick in the head. 

eddie wants to cry, the tears pricking in his eyes at the longing ache still lingering in his cock, a cruel and unusual punishment for a damned video game. 

“what’s wrong with me? what’s wrong with you?” turning to him, mouth hung open in shock, “you don’t listen to me, ever. why the fuck would i let you fuck me?” 

you were serious about this. genuinely pissed off over some money he could hardly remember giving.

fuck this.

eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated and ridiculously horny, a terrible combination when he was expected back at work any minute now. “it’s twenty bucks,” he sighs, “i’m sorry i didn’t ask you, i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry, can you please get back over here and let me make it up to you?” in complete despair, the man had never had to plead so hard just to touch you. 

your tongue peaks out, wetting your bottom lip, as if you were really contemplating this, “no,” before turning the ignition back on, so smug and so sure you were in the right. 

hell, maybe you were. 

but he’d learned his lesson now, he was ready to repent and make amends. 

“oh my god,” eddie huffs, pulling at the bunched up fabric of his pants in an effort to conceal his still very much raging boner. “you’re gonna make me go back in there like this?” they’d never let him live this down, no doubt about it. 

you hum with a sickening sense of satisfaction, “yeah, i am actually,” glancing down at his crotch, “maybe when you’ve learnt your lesson i’ll let you make it up to me,” turning down that gut-wrenchingly familiar road to the garage, knowing you were really serious about this, relishing in his pain. 

they’re all waiting when you pull back in, a gaggle of beady eyed freaks line the garage, just waiting for their moment to start the attack. 

eddie scoffs one final time, “you’re a sick fuck, you know that?” 

“goodbye eddie,” shooing him off, your lips twitching in excitement. 

they whoop excruciatingly loud when eddie closes the door, the scarlet hue to his cheeks and the unruly nest of hair on his head giving everything away. 

“what’s the matter? you can’t get her off anymore?” james screeches, far too old to be hazing him like some teenager. 

“tell her if she needs a real man, i’ll be right here for her,” emmanuel pipes up, clutching onto his heart. like you’d ever go for a man who was balding at 28. pfft. 

“that’s my fuckin’ wife, you degenerates,” eddie spits, watching intently as you back out of the parking lot, the boys ogling as you go. 

“not anymore,” their laughter roars through the echoing garage, reminding him that despite the ring still wrapped around his fourth finger, you weren’t married anymore. 

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Migraine Ministrations

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @wasteofatoolbox

Synopsis: you get a migraine during a hunt, and things go wrong.

Not now not now not now, please not now.

The mantra played over and over in your mind, as if you could wish away the pain that was beginning behind your eyes—wouldn’t that be nice.

Instead, the pain got worse as the Impala roared down the side road; which of course was full of potholes.

“Road’s gonna ruin my tires,” Dean grumbled, oblivious to the way you cringed at every jolt and jump. Or at least, he was oblivious so far. You’d have to hide it better before the three of you arrived at your destination, or Dean would make you sit out on the hunt.

He’d only decided a few months ago that you were old enough to start hunting, and since then he’d been very picky about what hunts you were allowed on. It had been weeks of “too dangerous” hunts since you’d been invited to come, and you were itching to join in.

But if Dean found out you were getting a migraine, he definitely wouldn’t let you go. Once you coughed too many times last month, and Dean made you sit out the hunt because you “sounded like you’re getting sick.”

You didn’t notice the Impala pulling to a stop until Dean was turning in his seat to check on you.

“Grab your machete, and don’t forget the—hey, you ok?”

You looked up, forcing your face into a neutral expression; you didn’t want to look pained, but smiling would be too far.

“Yeah, I’m great. You sure you’re ready, old man?”

Dean’s concern dropped immediately, a prideful smirk on his face.

“Oh, it’s on newbie.”

…

You were cornered, but not worried. One vamp had taken it upon himself to go after the smallest human, and you let him back you into a corner—now he had no choice but to get close to you, and all you’d have to do was swing.

You were adjusting your grip on your machete, waiting for just the right moment, when the pain that had been beating behind your eyes suddenly pulsed painfully. It was so sudden and extreme that your eyes shut of their own accord for just a split second…

By the time you could force your eyes open through the pain, the vamp was already on the move, and you couldn’t get your machete up fast enough.

You cried out when he grabbed hold of your arm and slammed it hard against the brick behind you, forcing you to drop your machete.

He was leaning his head down, his vampire teeth extending from his gums in more detail than you’d ever seen—you didn’t appreciate the close-up.

He didn’t get the chance to sink his teeth into your neck. His head was on the floor before you even noticed Dean sneaking up behind him.

“You ok?” Dean demanded.

You tried to assess yourself for injuries, but it was hard to do when your migraine was the worst pain you felt; nothing else really registered.

“I’m…I think so,” you mumbled, swaying a little on your feet.

“Whoa, hey.” Dean grabbed your shoulders to steady you. “You didn’t get bit, right?” Dean’s loud voice had you cringing in pain.

You shook your head, lifting your hands up to rub your eyes—you couldn’t hide the pain anymore; you didn’t even know how long you’d be able to stand.

“What’s going on?” Sam’s—you assumed—hand was on your arm suddenly. Where had he come from? Last you saw him, he was tackling a couple of vamps. “They’re all dead,” Sam said. “We should get going. Are you hurt?”

You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you or Dean, and you didn’t want to open your eyes to look—the boys had turned the lights on in the building to disorient the vamps, and even with your eyes shut the light was nearly unbearable.

“Is it a migraine, kiddo?” Dean’s voice was softer now, which you appreciated.

Despite not wanting him to know, you have a tiny nod, knowing that trying to hide it was pointless.

“Alright, ok, we’re gonna get you back to the bunker.” Dean tugged on your arm and guided you outside and into the Impala.

“Here,” Sam said, pressing a water bottle into your hands. “Drink this.”

Ignoring Sam’s order, you just pressed the cold bottle against your forehead.

“Hey,” Dean spoke up once he was on the road. “How long have you had a migraine?”

“An hour or two,” you mumbled, before realizing your mistake.

“You had this before the hunt?” Dean demanded. “And you didn’t say anything? Are you crazy?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you mumbled.

“It’s always that bad,” Sam argued. “And you know better than to go on hunts when you’re not ready.”

“I was ready!” You argued.

“The fact that you lied to me tells me you weren’t,” Dean scoffed. “So…you’re benched from hunts.”

“What?” You finally looked up, regretting it when your head pounded. “For how long?” You cringed.

“I don’t know,” Dean huffed. “Indefinitely. And I don’t ever want you to do something stupid like that again, understand? If you’re not a hundred percent, it puts everybody’s life on the line. Are you hearing me?”

“I understand,” you sighed, dropping your head back into your hands.

“Ok.” Dean’s voice was noticeably gentler. “Good. Now let’s get you home and see if we can do something about that headache. How does a nap sound?”

Despite yourself, a small smile creeped onto your face.

“Yeah, ok. Can I pick a movie tonight?”

“It’s my night,” Sam argued, but at Dean’s glare he huffed. “Ok, ok. Fine.”

“You’re gonna milk this for all its worth, aren’t you?” Dean asked. When he glanced back and saw you still smiling, he chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

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