#last time for his memorial and the time before just to talk to him because he was still alive. drove 5 hours just to see his face

[andivmg]

is it bad i wish people would give examples of how dream is “manipulative”?? because the examples I am seeing right now are just him over explaining himself

tw/ drama, sa mention

i can give you one example but you have to bear with me here, it’s kind of hard to explain through text and i can’t give full context because it would drag other people into it and i don’t want to be messy.

edit: i added a division here bc i don’t want to see all that when scrolling through my blog lol

the following screenshots are taken from a conversation we had in july 2023, where he messaged me after 7 months of no contact and basically tried to make me apologize to him after he ghosted me. i have since blocked him and deleted his number (i had to dig through my friends’ group chat to find these screenshots). the conversation was extremely long and if i wanted to dissect it fully i’d have to make an hour long video on it and and tbh, i don’t care that much so this is what we’re working with.

for at least some context: the “she�� being referenced is a former mutual friend who informed me that he had a gf the whole time we were talking (i have since learned that might not have been true but with him who tf knows). The name blocked out is her boyfriend, who is his friend. and the block of text covered is just him yapping and name dropping too many people. also i guess to give him some grace, he had just gotten surgery and told me he was high off pain meds, which is why he was messaging me.

here we go

“your memory is wrong”

this is referencing the day i was told he had a girlfriend. that day, the girl and i went to get our nails done and during that time, she informed me of the situation. as you can see in the message, i had texted him saying that we had those plans that day. he never replied to it. like seriously, that was the last message i ever sent him before blocking him a few weeks later. so, in this context, him saying my “memory is wrong” is textbook gaslighting.

“i swiped to look at to give you the chance to bump it, which you never did.”

now… huh?????? tbh i’m still confused about this bc he’s basically admitting that he didn’t reply to my message after saying that he didn’t ignore me. so, contradicting himself there and making it seem like it was my fault that he didn’t respond.

“you can unblock me on snap”

as we know, he has a history of having conversations with girls and other people exclusively through snapchat in order for him to say whatever he wants because the messages disappear. i guess he had a point there bc here we are. you could see this in his favor, but i see it as a way for him to avoid any accountability whatsoever for the shit he says. he was trying to move the conversation over to snapchat, i guess to avoid exactly what is happening now: evidence of him being a slimy little shit.

“I was the only one actively trying to keep you in the friend group despite even backlash from others for it”

now this one just pissed me off at the time. after getting out of an abusive relationship (which all of our friends knew about btw) everyone continued to hang out with my ex instead of me because: a) clout and b) they had been friends with him longer. here, he tried to make it seem like he was doing me this huge favor by still talking to me and “keeping me in the group” (which he didn’t btw). now, at this point he already knew about my sa, he knew about all the shit that happened in the relationship, and he still wanted me to be in a friend group with the man who put me through all of that, his other friends, who made super weird sexual comments about me on multiple occasions, and other people who enabled all that shit. then, he tried to make it seem like he was doing me a favor. insane and manipulative.

i hope this helped, anon. i kinda had to relive some shit in order to provide this for you but i think it’s the only example i could give from my situation in which he was being manipulative. i think these are pretty good examples and i hope it wasn’t too confusing without all the context.

[trentsgirl]

JUDE BELLINGHAM x fem!reader

synopsis: i have a request 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️ imagine reader and jude fighting and him leaving for training in the middle of the fight, then he comes back in the evening and reader is crying because her childhood dog died :( so he comforts her and all that cute fluffy stuff🥰 if you’re not comfortable writing this i totally understand ofc, i hope you have a great day my love

author note: thank you so much for the request. i apologize that it took me so long to publish, i had to take a break a bit. but i’m for now 🫶

playing: felt good about you by gracie abrams.

masterlist.

“YOURE IMPOSSIBLE, JUDE,” YOU SAY, your voice sharp as you fold your arms across your chest.

“yeah? and you’re overreacting, as always,” jude shoots back, standing in the doorway with his gym bag slung over one shoulder. his tone is clipped, his dark eyes narrowed, and you can tell he’s trying to hold back more biting words.

“i’m overreacting?” you repeat, incredulous. “you’re the one who started this!”

jude lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “i don’t have time for this. i’m already late for training.”

“oh, so now it’s my fault you can’t manage your time?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as he stares at you. you know he’s debating whether to argue further or just walk out. he glances at his phone and groans under his breath. “we’ll talk later,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

before you can respond, he’s out the door, the sound of it shutting behind him echoing in your chest. you stand there, fuming, replaying the argument in your head and stewing in the frustration he left behind.

you don’t even remember what started the fight—something small, something stupid—but it escalated in the way that only arguments between two stubborn people can. now, you’re alone in the quiet apartment, the silence feeling louder than anything.

you sigh, grabbing your phone and collapsing onto the couch. you scroll mindlessly, hoping the distraction will help you cool down, but it doesn’t last long.

then your phone rings. it’s your mom.

“hey mam,” you answer, your voice still tinged with irritation from earlier.

“sweetheart…” your mam’s voice is soft, hesitant. that tone immediately puts you on edge.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, sitting up straighter.

there’s a pause, and then she says it. “tux passed away this afternoon.”

you freeze. the words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. “what?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“he… he was old, honey. it was his time. he went peacefully, but i know how much he meant to you.”

you don’t hear much of what she says after that. the memories flood your mind—tux as a kitten, chasing your shoelaces, curling up on your lap during rainy days, purring so loud it felt like he was trying to comfort you. he’d been your companion through so much, and now he was gone.

tears spill down your cheeks before you even realize it. you manage to mumble a shaky goodbye to your mom before hanging up and curling into yourself on the couch, sobbing quietly into a throw pillow.

when jude comes home two hours later, you don’t even hear the door open. you’re in the bedroom now, curled up in bed with the lights dimmed, your tears soaking into the pillow.

“baby?” His voice carries through the apartment, but you don’t respond. “y/n?”

he steps into the bedroom a moment later, and his expression softens immediately when he sees you. “hey…” His gym bag drops to the floor as he crosses the room. “what’s going on? love, i’m sorry about the argument. i never meant—”

you shake your head, not trusting your voice to answer.

jude doesn’t hesitate. he sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently brush the hair from your face. “talk to me,” he pleads, his voice lower now, filled with concern.

your lip trembles as you finally manage to get the words out. “tux… he died.”

the weight of your grief is palpable in the air between you, and jude doesn’t say anything for a moment. he just leans in, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. his embrace is warm, steady, and exactly what you need.

“i’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “i know how much you loved him.”

you cling to him, your fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie as you let yourself cry. he holds you tighter, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

after a while, your sobs begin to subside, and jude pulls back just enough to look at you. “have you eaten?”

you shake your head.

“okay,” he says gently. “stay here. i’ll be right back.”

he disappears into the kitchen, and you hear the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, the faint hum of the microwave, and the clinking of dishes. when he returns, he’s holding a tray with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, a bowl of popcorn, and a small plate of cookies.

jude sets the tray on the nightstand before sitting down beside you again. “here you go, love,” he says, handing you the mug first.

the warmth of it seeps into your hands, and you take a small sip. it’s sweet and comforting, the perfect antidote to the heaviness in your chest. “thank you,” you whisper.

jude smiles softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. “anything for you.”

he waits until you’re finished drinking, then helps you settle back against the pillows, pulling the blanket over both of you.

“remember when you showed me that picture of tux wearing that ridiculous santa hat?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

you manage a small laugh, the memory of tux glaring at you with the little red hat perched crookedly on his head flashing through your mind. “he hated that thing.”

“but he put up with it for you,” jude says, smiling. “that cat loved you so much.”

you nod, your chest tightening again, but this time the tears that fall feel a little less heavy.

jude pulls you closer against him. his fingers find their way into your hair, gently combing through the strands as he places soft kisses on your temple and cheek every few minutes.

and as you lie there in his arms, the ache in your chest begins to feel just a little bit lighter.

[zerocoded]

summary: you both share the past of being human experiments and when his nightmares start to become frequent again is the time you can comfort caleb the most.

authors note: guess who's back with another caleb work??? give me a man in a military uniform and i'll make it my personality for the next three months. so yeah, here is us comforting caleb then kissing him right after because he can't get enough of us hehe. CREDITS TO THE AMAZING ARTIST WHO MADE THIS DRAWING THAT I'M IN LOVE WITH (thank you who helped me find it!).

warnings: slightly suggestive • hurt/comfort • not much hurt actually • sfw content • ptsd symptoms

word count: 1.2k

the room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the stars outside the ship's viewport. caleb sat on the edge of the narrow cot, his broad shoulders hunched, the pale light catching the contours of his bionic arm. his flesh hand, calloused and warm, trembled slightly as it rested on his knee. you sat beside him, the silence between you thick with unspoken words, heavy but not suffocating. it was the kind of silence that held space for both of you to breathe.

his breathing was uneven, shallow. he hadn’t spoken much since waking up in a cold sweat, jolted out of the nightmare that had gripped him. you knew better than to press him. instead, you let your presence speak for itself, your hand brushing lightly against his. a small gesture, but it was enough to draw his gaze to you.

“it was the lab again,” he murmured finally, his voice hoarse, as though the dream had clawed its way up his throat. he didn’t meet your eyes. instead, his gaze was fixed on the floor, on the faint scuff marks of boots against the metal. “the restraints, the lights…” his words trailed off, his jaw tightening.

“you don’t have to talk about it,” you said softly, though your heart ached to share the weight of his pain. “not if you’re not ready.”

he shook his head, his bionic fingers flexing involuntarily, the faint whirr of servos breaking the quiet. “it’s not… it’s not the memories. it’s what they make me feel. like i’m still there. like i’ll never really leave.” his voice broke on the last word, and he exhaled sharply, a frustrated sound, his flesh hand running through his sweat-dampened hair.

you shifted closer, the mattress dipping slightly under your combined weight. reaching out, you let your fingers graze the cool metal of his arm before moving to his human hand, your touch deliberate and steady. “you’re here now,” you said, your tone quiet but firm. “you’re here with me. that place doesn’t own you anymore.”

at times like these, you felt guilty for not having memories of the lab. your nightmares consisted of visions of people that suffered from guilt, not this. caleb suffered from nightmares almost every night, having to become dependent on drugs to keep his consciousness at bay at night.

he finally looked at you, his pale blue eyes glassy but searching, like he was looking for something to hold onto in the vast expanse of everything he’d been through. “i don’t deserve you,” he said after a moment, his voice barely audible. “not after… everything i’ve done. everything i—”

“stop,” you interrupted gently, your hand tightening around his. “we’ve both done things we’re not proud of. but that doesn’t change what’s here, now.” you raised your free hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble along his jaw. “you don’t have to be perfect, caleb. you just have to let your mind rest for a bit.”

his eyes closed at your touch, his breath evening out, a small, shaky exhale escaping him as he leaned into your palm. “you’re too good at this,” he muttered, a faint, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“someone has to be,” you replied softly, unable to resist a wry smile of your own. the thin blanket draped over your legs had slipped during the night, leaving your shoulders bare, your skin cool in the artificial air of the ship. your nightshirt—more for modesty than warmth—hung loosely on your frame, slipping off one shoulder, the hem barely grazing mid-thigh. the stark contrast between the unyielding metal floor and the intimacy of this moment made it feel all the more fragile, like a secret shared in the dark.

his gaze flickered downward as his smile faded into something more tender. his dog tag caught the dim light, the worn metal etched with his name and the faint outline of an apple painted in red. it dangled against his chest, just above where the soft fabric of his sleep shirt clung to his torso, slightly damp with sweat. the chain swayed faintly as he shifted, the sound faint but unmistakable in the quiet room.

“you’re freezing,” he murmured, his hand—flesh, warm, and calloused—skimming over your exposed shoulder. the touch was light at first, almost hesitant, before his fingers splayed, tracing a line down the curve of your arm. his bionic hand rested in his lap, motionless for now, but the faint hum of its servos was a constant reminder of his reality.

“i’m fine,” you assured him, though your body leaned instinctively into his touch. it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver, but the way his fingers lingered, reverent yet grounding, like he was memorizing the texture of your skin.

his thumb brushed the edge of your collarbone, following the faint rise and fall of your breaths. “you always say that,” he said, his voice low, a hint of vulnerability threading through it. “but what if you’re not?”

“then i have you,” you replied simply, your words so certain they made his chest tighten. his lips parted as if to respond, but whatever he was about to say dissolved in favor of something else entirely.

he leaned forward, his breath warm against your neck as his lips ghosted over your skin, pressing the softest of kisses there. it was tentative, almost unsure, as if testing the boundary between solace and something deeper. but when you didn’t pull away, when your hand moved to thread gently through his hair, his resolve seemed to shift.

the next kiss was firmer, placed just beneath your jawline, his lips brushing against the delicate pulse there. his hand had moved now, splayed across your back, pulling you closer. “you make every little mistake i made worth it,” he whispered against your skin, the words barely audible, as if saying them louder would shatter the moment.

your breath caught, your hand trailing down from his hair to rest against his chest, just above where the necklace rested. the cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his skin, the faint thrum of his heartbeat steady beneath your palm. “you are human, caleb,” you said softly, your voice laced with something between insistence and yearning. “we all make mistakes.”

he closed his eyes again, his forehead resting against yours now. his bionic arm moved, finally, the whirring sound almost imperceptible as the cool fingers brushed along the curve of your hip, grounding him further. the dichotomy of his touch—metal and flesh, strength and vulnerability—felt uniquely him.

as his lips found yours, the kiss was unhurried but no less consuming, a slow melding of need and comfort. it wasn’t about passion or urgency but connection, the quiet reminder that neither of you had to face the shadows alone. when he pulled back, his hand lingered on your waist, his thumb brushing idly against your skin as if afraid to let go.

“stay,” he murmured, though the word wasn’t a plea. it was a promise, one you’d already made and had no intention of breaking.

you pressed another kiss to his lips, softer this time, your fingers brushing the edge of his collarbone before settling over his heart. “always,” you whispered back, the word filling the small space between you, wrapping itself around the both of you like a second skin.

author's note: and the crowd went... silent? pls tell what you think about this post in your reblogs or comments, i love to read them all ♡ yes i have some more caleb content in my drafts and can't wait to post them. hope you enjoyed! xx. send me a request • my masterpost

[dronningreid]

✧ Part 1: All the times I knew you

A seemingly ordinary case turns into something more when reader returns to Reid's life. Forcing him to tell something that he never told, the beginning of a story that broke his heart fourteen years ago.

change the ending series masterlist

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: angst/fluff

warnings/content: reader jealous, reader is a little mean to jj (nothing personal, i love that queen), mentions of maeve, allusion to bullying, special appearance of alex blake, reid is a little mean to reader, very vague mentions of a case and reader and reid appear aged 12, 15 and 31. English is not my first language.

word count: 3.1K

a/n: Hello this is the first part of my series 'Change the ending' I hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing this. There are a couple of references to the song cardigan (because that is my most personal song and also Spencer's)

14 years, 160 days, 33 minutes and 13 seconds. That was all the time that had passed since Reid last saw you.

It is said that there are always more questions than answers and that has never made more sense than today.

Today's case promised to be average on the Reid scale, of course.

Today promised to be just another day, like the rest. Just an irrelevant Wednesday where he would miss the Sunday of talking to Maeve, which was still fresh in his mind.

As fresh as you, a memory he should have let burn away fourteen years ago. But it wasn't that easy, even without his eidetic memory you attached yourself to his cerebral cortex as if you had been there since the first time he opened his eyes.

If there was one thing he had learned all those years ago, it was that the memories most want to forget are the ones hold on to the most tightly.

"Earth calling Reid." JJ waved her hand in front of his friend's face.

He blinked a few times. “Yeah. What’s up?” He tried to keep his gaze on JJ, but his eyes kept drifting to your shape. So close and so far at the same time... Just like the last time.

Maybe it was a mistake in his mind and it wasn't you, fourteen years had passed. How could he even recognize you? He didn't even know if you were still alive.

Maybe this time it was like when everything ended and he thought he saw you everywhere. In the grocery line, at school, at home...

As if you were a phantom he couldn't get rid of.

He knew those shadows weren't you and yet every time he thought he saw you it was like such a simple activity like breath became complicated out of nowhere. You used to have that effect, honestly you still have it.

Jennifer frowned before turning her gaze to you. But a couple more eyes weren't enough for you realize what was happen. "You know her?" The question caught him off guard.

How should he even answer such a question? Yes, more than anything. No. Of course. Maybe. Neither was a sufficient answer because on the one hand of course he knew you, at least that's how it was before and that's why he didn't know you, at least not now.

He shoved his hands into his pockets before finally looking at JJ. “She looks like someone I used to know.” 100% true? No, but pretty close.

"I was hoping so, it would help us if you met her." Reid frowned. "Bertram is our most viable suspect, if we lose him we're going to hit a wall." JJ explained something that Reid should already know, should.

"And what does that have to do with her?" Reid raised an eyebrow.

JJ was the one who frowned this time. "Spence, she is Bertram's lawyer. Are you okay?"

When he was about to answer, you approached him, increasing his questions, doubts and clumsiness.

"I'm Bertram Harris' lawyer." You introduced yourself before continuing, answering at least one of Spencer's questions. "What is the imaginary evidence against my client? Because if there was real evidence, charges would have already been filed." He knew that harsh tone so well...

"We have 48 hours before we file charges." Reid replied seriously.

"46 hours." You corrected so casually. He recognized you, but you didn't recognize him? Ouch.

"Well, we have a profile-" You didn't let Jennifer finish speaking.

"Profiles." You let out an exaggerated sigh. "I bet a lot of people would fit in your profile, so that's not enough to prove my client guilty in court." You spoke firmly, fierce as a defense lawyer, and you weren't in court yet. And even though he didn't exactly like your attitude, he had to admit that you were good.

Reid crossed his arms. "Out of so many people, it's amazing that the evidence will lead us right to your client. So we'll take advantage of the 46 hours we have left."

You snorted. "Fine, but when time passes and all of you have nothing against my client, he'll be upset about the time you made him waste." You pulled a pen out of your bag. "Give me your names."

JJ and Spencer shared a look before sighing and agreeing to your request. "Jennifer Jareau." You jotted the name down on your palm.

"Spencer Reid." A hint of mockery crept into his serious tone. Yes, you probably didn't remember his face, but his name was something you'd never forget.

You barely wrote the S on your palm and it was like the ink turned to poison when it came into contact with your skin. You immediately rubbed your palm against your trousers before looking up. "Spencer Re...?" The last few letters died in your mouth.

Of course, no one else had those beautiful eyes with hazel colors and golden flecks. So bright, so honest, so innocent. But now in those eyes there was nothing more than severity.

JJ's gaze traveled from Reid to you and back to Reid, using her profiling skills to determine why the air had suddenly become so thick.

"You look... Different." You whispered as he suddenly decided that silence was his best friend.

The wall he had built so long ago was still as strong as the last time you saw him. The last time he saw you he was so serious but this time after fourteen years he made you feel like you were seventeen again.

"You too." Rather than stating the obvious, that sounded like an insult.

JJ cleared her throat. "Spence." He looked away from you. "You know her?" Jennifer whispered in a failed attempt to get you not hear her.

"No." You were surprised at how quickly the letters that came out of his mouth took shape.

"Liar." You pointed out before looking at Jennifer. Though your attention wavered to the ring on her finger. "He knows every inch of me." You lifted your chin.

JJ raised her eyebrows and the way she looked at Reid it seemed more like gossip to her than a tease...

You thought. <<Yeah, maybe she doesn't>>

"Her husband's name is Will. It's not me, she's just my friend." He clarified, though it's not like you were entitled to clarification. At least you hadn't had that right for a long time.

Even when he was just a student he also had that ability to read you like an open book.

"And as for what you said, I'm not a liar." His tone was painfully stern. "I knew you before, fourteen years ago, but that's too long for anyone to remember." That's what he wanted to repeat to himself, because honestly the memories that were about you had no expiration date. "Now and maybe even then I have no idea who you are."

He gave you one last look before turning on his heel and walking off to somewhere where he couldn't sense your presence.

"I'll talk to Bertram about not pressing charges." JJ looked at you in confusion and to be honest even you couldn't believe that a stupid teenage love affair was enough to affect your work. At least you weren't the only one going through something like that.

"And I'm sorry..." A lump formed in your throat. "Maybe I shouldn't even ask you this, but could you deliver something to Spencer?" You then pulled a card out of your bag and handed it to Jennifer.

She studied the black card in her hand for a few seconds, carefully looking at your name and phone number. "Of course, I'll give it to him." She smiled slightly at you.

You gave her an awkward smile before turning away. God, you felt so stupid now for thinking she was his wife. Besides, what would be wrong with him having a wife? Spencer Reid deserved to be happy.

As soon as you left the police station, JJ pulled out his phone. "Penelope, you won't believe what just happened."

∗⋅✧⋅∗

Reid was in a small office going over all the evidence again for a reason he wouldn't admit out loud.

But he had already checked everything three times and had hit a wall all three times. The time it took him to figure things out could vary, but this was different.

What he didn't know was that the answer was there, it's just that his mind was too clouded at the moment to realize it.

And all that mental fog had a name: yours.

He loosened his tie, taking a deep breath to regulate his racing heart. Apparently you still had that effect on him, you, the protagonist of a story so old that it must have already had cobwebs. But unfortunately for him, that wasn't the case...

Spencer gripped the edge of the desk before taking another deep breath.

But his attempts to relax were cut short when his worst enemy: his own memory made him relive the last time he kissed your lips...

The soft skin against each other, the mingled breaths, your hands in his hair and the way he didn't see that those would be the last kisses.

"Another disadvantage of eidetic memory," he told himself. But now that he thought about it, did it have any benefit? Of course it did. But all the tangled threads in his mind didn't allow see the reality.

Someone knocked on the door and he jumped slightly in place before looking towards the door. "Blake..."

Blake smiled slightly at him. "Hi." Her eyes scanned the papers scattered across the desk and then Reid's disheveled appearance. "Is everything okay?"

He nodded quickly, taking his seat back behind the desk. "Yeah." But the way Alex looked at him made him say something else. "Not really."

She sat down in front of him. "Yes, we all know about the pretty lawyer."

"Jennifer..." Reid huffed before running his hands over his face.

"And who is she?" Blake asked in her usual calm tone.

<<Good question>>

A short time ago he was telling her about Maeve, he never thought he would tell Blake about another girl again and not so suddenly... But honestly you weren't another girl, you were THE GIRL.

Reid sighed. "She's nobody." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It must be someone if the smartest guy I know hasn't already given us a big revelation that will help with this case." Blake looked at him with understanding eyes. "Go ahead Reid, talking about it will help."

Reid rubbed his knees with his hands. "Well I can't tell you who she's, but I can tell you who she was."

∗⋅✧⋅∗

Spencer took a deep breath. "I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning is perhaps the easiest." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, encouraging him to continue.

"We had a lot of beginnings, if that's possible." He ran a hand through his hair.

His mind traveled back to the first interaction he had with you, when you were both 12. But before that, something else had to happen for him to get to know you, something very bad.

He was in the library when Harper Hillman approached him.

"Alexa Isben wants to meet you behind the field house." She said.

She was there. So was the entire football team. They stripped him naked and tied him to a goal post. So many kids were there, just watching...

He begged them to, but they just watched. Then finally they got bored and they left.

He had told that story to Morgan years ago, but he had completely erased you from it. Until now.

Alex looked at him with compassion. "It got dark and I thought I would stay there forever. But then she appeared..." He looked away, remembering it as if it were yesterday.

A little twelve-year-old you ran towards the goal post. "Oh my god. Who did this to you?" You kept your eyes fixed on his defeated face.

He had never seen you before, did you even study there? Because you didn't look the same age as the guys he was going to graduate with, the ones who had done this to him...

You looked much younger, like him.

You weren't discouraged by his lack of words, instead you considered how to help him. "Wait here, I'll go get some clothes and some scissors to cut the rope." You didn't wait for an answer, you just ran off to find what you told him.

The cold of the night was beginning to seep through his skin, freezing him. He didn't even think you'd come back, but then. "Be careful with the scissors, if I sting you, let me know." So you put all your effort into cutting the rope, at that moment you regretted not carrying a knife for ease.

Luckily, a single cut was enough to release the rope. You then spread the clothes you had found over him and covered your eyes with your hand.

"I hope it fits, it's my brother's so it might be a little big on you." Spencer took the clothes from your hands.

"Thank you." He whispered as he hurriedly put on each item of clothing. "You can look now." He said once he finished putting on the shirt.

You pulled your hand away from your eyes. “Oh, I forgot the jacket. You must be freezing cold.” You said as you hurriedly unbuttoned your loose black cardigan.

"Oh, you don't have to..." Embarrassment seeped into his words but you still put your cardigan on him.

"It's okay. You need it more than me. By the way, I'm..." Then you told him your name.

He watched as you finished buttoning the cardigan. "Spencer. Spencer Reid."

"You should tell me the names of those who did this to you, then I can tell my mother to expel them. She's the principal." You let your hands fall to your sides.

"It's not that bad..." Yes it was.

"Of course it was!" You exclaimed. "Give me names and I'll beat them up myself. I hate bullies."

Spencer let out a light laugh that quickly disappeared at the bitter feelings bubbling up inside him. "They're the older guys, you can't handle them. Besides, this could have been worse."

"Don't underestimate me." You tried to joke. "Worse? How long have you been tied up there? It's almost midnight" You looked at him with concern.

"Midnight?" His eyes widened. Surely his mother was worried that he hadn't come home.

So you grabbed him by the sleeve of the cardigan and dragged him along. "Come, I'll ask my dad to take you home."

∗⋅✧⋅∗

"So her dad drove you home?" Blake asked.

"Yes. It was like midnight when I got home. My mom didn't even realize I was late. She was having one of her episodes..." He sigh, how could something that had happened so long ago still have such a negative power over him? "I know I shouldn't get into a stranger's car and technically nothing bad happened to me, they helped me. But I did it... Because I felt like I could trust her but maybe it wasn't a good idea from the start."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that to meet her."

Spencer sighed and looked down. "I regret about both."

"Both?" Blake looked at him in confusion.

Reid looked up. "Yeah, what happened that day and meeting her." He replied with a seriousness too cold to be true.

Blake stared at him in silence for a couple of seconds before speaking again. "What happened next?"

"I don't saw her again, it was like she just vanished." He sighed. "Then three years passed and there she was again..."

"I was studying for my first PhD at MIT so I decided that over the holidays I wanted to go home to visit my mother. But instead of taking a flight I decided to travel by train."

It's funny how a single decision can affect our future.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

"The last train to Las Vegas leaves in five minutes." A voice announced through one of the speakers.

"One ticket, please." The woman at the ticket office handed him his ticket once he gave her the money.

Reid was about to board the train when you crashed into it.

"I'm so sorry." you continued to apologize as you helped him up from the floor.

He brushed off his clothes once he was standing again. "It's okay, don't worry."

You tried not to look at him, not after you had thrown him to the floor. But he did look at you which made his heart skip a beat when he recognized you.

He stared in your direction for a couple of seconds before deciding to continue and board the train.

"Oh, I, I had my money here." You patted your jacket pockets. "If you could just help me I'd pay you right away... It's just that it's very important for me to have that ticket because it's the last train to Las Vegas and I really need to go." But the woman at the ticket office didn't take pity on you.

Then Reid came over. "I'll pay for the ticket."

The woman didn't say anything, she just accepted Reid's money and handed you the ticket, which you immediately took.

"Thank you so much, you just saved my life." You followed him to board the train together.

"Okay, we're even now." He smiled slightly at you.

You hadn't planned on sitting next to a complete stranger but you followed him. "We're even?" You asked as he placed his luggage in the compartment.

"I'm Spencer." He hope that will refresh your mind.

You opened your mouth in surprise. "Of course! Spencer Reid, I remember you well." You scanned him from top to bottom. "The answer to where I left my favorite cardigan three years ago." You tried to load your luggage into the compartment but couldn't.

He helped you out, like a true gentleman. "I'm sorry I didn't see you again after that. Do you want it back?" He asked after closing the compartment door.

"You still have it?" You asked in disbelief.

"It's my favorite too." He whispered.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

"I didn't plan on things being like this, but she and I were together the whole trip. Just chatting and-" He looked down as nostalgia washed over him. "Marked me like a blood stain..."

"She seems pretty nice so far." Blake commented. "What went wrong?"

"She was really nice." He sighed. "At that time, nothing bad had happened. In fact, after that incredible trip I lost track of her again and didn't see her again until two years later."

He looked up. "But I didn't really know her until our third beginning, when everything started to go wrong..."

[married-to-google-translater]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Diasomnia and Scarabia x Reader, where after an accident causes Reader to lose their memory, The character in this scenario must help them remember their love story?

I do this now for Sebek and Malleus

Kalim and Lilia are here (coming soon)

Jamil and Silver are here (coming soon)

Sebek Zigvolt

It would be really hard to hear that you had an alchemy accident in class and that you had lost consciousness because of it.

Sebek was certainly not happy about this.

He won't meet you until a couple of hours after you regain consciousness.

Although you will definitely hear his voice before that.

Poor Crowley who has to listen to Sebek talk about incompetent security measures.

Also poor person who acted as your lab partner.

Sebek would surely blame them for what happened.

The crocodile would be really upset.

Although your beginning together was difficult, Sebek cares for you a lot.

Sebek would be happy when you wake up but really worried when you can't remember anything.

Someone should calm him down so he doesn't get too loud again.

After that, Sebek would do his best to make you remember him again.

First, Sebek would make sure you were okay, he would bring you food and take you to places where you spent a lot of time.

It could take a while here, but Sebek is sure that your memories will return with time.

Malleus Draconia

Cursed be the alchemy class and the accidents it causes.

Malleus really just wants to burn the entire alchemy class.

However, as Lilia says this might scare you.

Malleus really doesn't want you to be afraid of him.

You are one of the people who doesn't and Malleus wants to keep it that way.

Of course, everything can be difficult for you at first.

You don't remember anything and suddenly a two-meter-tall fae comes to tell you that you are basically engaged.

Malleus tries to treat you normally.

However, when you are weak his dragon side becomes really overprotective.

At one point it feels like the Malleus is following you everywhere.

The worst thing about all this is that Malleus doesn't know how long this will last.

Believe that Malleus did everything to find out about this.

However, he does not give up.

When you get better, Malleus would take you to the place where you met for the first time.

Maybe that would jog your memory.

You two spend a lot of time in places that are important to you.

However, if this doesn't work, you'd have to come up with some other options.

Maybe true love's kiss could heal you?

A really good cure and not just an excuse for Malleus to kiss you again ;)

[jsmainblog]

bedtime 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘

requests are always open <3

summary: in which reader and spencer have been seperated for a bit longer than usual because of a case and spencer comes home exhausted

warnings: none!

💗-fluff

Spencer was never gone for this long. In all your months of dating your genius boyfriend had gone on a plethora of work trips which spanned the usual couple of days. But this time he was gone for a week and a half.

A week and a half you haven't heard his incessant ramblings (that you secretly love), for a week and a half you haven't felt his arms wrap around you, for a week and a half you haven't seen that small grin you adore dearly. During your separation the lack of his presence tugged at the flood gates spilling worry into your mind. What if something happened? Maybe he was hurt? Or worse..?

You lay in bed reading in the soft dim light trying to sweep the worry out of your mind. When a couple minutes later the front door opened and clicked closed silently relief tumbled over you feeling you with a giddy warmth at seeing Spencer. You walk out of your room where you see his tall, lanky frame pouring a cup of coffee.

"Spence?" you say groggily, rubbing your eyes to fight of their droopiness. He turns and offers you a dreary smile. The crescent moons under his eyes are shades of purple and red, his eyes look a little bloodshot and he moves slowly like if his body weighed a ton.

"Hey angel what are you still doing up" he says hoarsely.

"Reading"

He smiles clumsily and walks over to you wrapping his arms around your middle, burying his head into your shoulder. It feels nice to finally be enveloped by his warmth, to feel the soothing sounds of his soft breathing and heart beat. You feel his lips reverently touch your shoulder planting a kiss there which makes a giddy smile cross your face. Your arms which rest on his shoulders play with his hair on the nape of his neck which earns a breathy sigh from him.

"Tough case?" you inquire. You've seen first hand the emotional tolls some cases have taken on him and you can make the deduction that the longer they are the more demanding they are, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally as well.

"Mhm" he hums into your shoulder nodding his head subtly.

"You know what makes it harder though?" he questions raising his head a little to look at you.

"What?"

"Being away from you. I missed you so so so much y/n" he admits. He places a soft kiss to your cheek and then one to your lips. He holds the kiss for a little while his hands moving to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. When you break he studies your face trying to commit it to memory. Which he probably is, which in your opinion gets a little intimidating sometimes.

"I missed you too" you mumble sweetly smiling up at him.

"You know your even more beautiful then the last time I saw you?" he says quietly like a prayer. He offers you a big dorky grin.

You snort, laughing at his attempts of flirting with you in his semi delirious state.

"Shut up"

"I'm being serious!" he laughs breathlessly.

"Okay I think it's your bedtime." you say ruffling his hair which earns a whine from him. You know he'd rather forfeit his sleep just to stay up to talk to you and hold you. But he needs his sleep. After all, isn't the saying good things comes to all who wait?

He set's down his mug and intertwines his hand with yours. You practically have tug him to you guy's room because he started to fall asleep upright. You both eventually settle in bed in each others arms.

"I love you Spencer." you murmur to him. Your response is his soft snores which makes you roll your eyes and laugh quietly before you are consumed by sleep aswell.

[dilf-docs]

Can We Hit It Now, Low-Down And Gritty?

dieter bravo x younger!reader

summary: the last thing you need is world-renowed asshole slash actor dieter bravo to yell at you for doing your job. he'll pay for that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pwp, size kink, brat taming, degradation kink, fingering, oral (f. receiving), pussy spanking (again?! dilf-docs u horndog WE GET IT), creampie, tbh this is just pure filth pls forgive me Lord I have sinned, dieter bravo (yes that's a warning), nicknames (doll), reader is a glorified porn writer, she can also speak spanish but no physical description/nationality is mentioned

word count: 6,324 words

side note: hello someone please take away ai bots from me thank you. won't add anything else, just enjoy this horny mess sponsored by our fluffy disaster king (did enjoy writing their banter though). i need to be on horny jail bc i'm on those days and wrote this in about 24 hours talk about desperate like i'm going to hell wow if you know me irl no you don't

The set was quiet, well, as quiet as it could be: quick footsteps, flickers of lights, turning of pages, sips of freshly bought coffee and instructions yelled to the air.

That is something you can control. Like, even. But this job isn't easy, given not only what but also who you need to handle.

And speaking about the devil, here comes the who: world-renowned asshole and actor, Dieter Bravo, storming into the place with a strenuous walk.

Just what you need: he's coming in your direction with what you recognize is the movie's script in his hands.

"Who wrote this?!" he angrily shouts, glaring at the people on the set.

"I did" you stand still, defiant even. "Is that a problem?"

Dieter scoffs when he hears your response.

"Is that a problem?" he mocks. "Look at this!"

He holds up the script but you don't even bother to look at it: you've read it so many times, you could recite it from memory.

"This crap isn't going to sell" Dieter argues. "People aren't going to be interested in this story"

There's an irritated expression on his face as he looks down on you. Does Dieter think you care? Of course you knew it was bullshit as soon as you finished the first page, but you had to pay bills, and working this shitty jobs would get you closer to the contacts you needed―the only reason you're doing this in the first place.

"Tell me" he stands before you, and he's so close, you can hear his uneven breathing. "Did you really write this garbage?"

What's the point in lying? The only reason why you did is because you wanted to make him mad. Is it childish? Yes. But you have your reasons, the biggest one being that in no way would you allow a celebrity to talk down on you like that. It's one of the worst parts of your job, and not even Dieter and his handsome face would let you take his shit.

"No, I didn't. But I approved it" you cross your arms, revealing the truth. "You know, you're being very dissmisive of people's hard work because you can't stand not being so called perfect. It's called humilty, you could try"

(You don't really care about this people's hard work that much. They did a bad job, but in the end, a job. He should respect them for that, not the result. A bad one, objectively speaking)

Dieter scoffs at your response, obviously not liking the snarky tone.

"Oh, you approved it?" his tone comes out annoyed. "Which means you know it's crap, right?"

You shrug your shoulders, making him visibly frustrated with the conversation.

"This has nothing to do with me wanting to be the spotlight, you idiot" Dieter raises his voice, "did you even stop to think about the viewers?"

Okay, so now you're the villain. Frankly, it's been a bad week, and the last thing you want is this guy thinking he can get away with harrassing and talking down a less payed crew member just because he's rich, famous and hot. Whatever. If he wanted to play with fire, you'll happily be the match.

"Listen, I approved it because I want to go home and be at peace. Don't give me crap about the viewers. Of course I know this is shit! But I don't get paid enough to care. Besides, even if I wanted, I couldn't change it. You're angry at the wrong person; I'm just following orders"

Dieter clenches his fist, clearly struggling to keep his calm.

"So you just do whatever the hell the director says?" he spits in a irritated tone.

"That's about my job"

"You do know that could mean this movie flops, right? Is that how little you care about what you do?"

Dieter stands before you, crossing his arms, the veins on them popping with annoyance.

"You don't know shit about me" you reply while trying not to look at his flexing biceps too much, hoping he doesn't notice. "And I'm sorry to break it to you, but not all of us are big names that can do whatever they please or hold that much power. If it was up to me, I wouldn't hire this stupid director, writer or you, who, by the way, are way past your prime"

It's an unnecesary offense you truly didn't mean, but you hate the way he talks to you as if you were stupid. And maybe the blow felt bigger because you are a fan. Geez. You thought working with him would be a dream, despite his reputation, yet now all the claims are becoming true in the worst way possible. The last thing you need is Dieter finding out you're a fan, and even if it's a coward way out, you'll defend what's left of your dignity however it takes.

Dieter's brown eyes widen in disbelief at your petty comment. Then, they spark with rage, as he looks quite furious.

"Excuse me?! You don't get to talk about me like that" Dieter moves his ringed hands erratically in the air, as to make his point any more clear. "Do you know how hard I've worked for my career? I won't have anyone, less a little brat, tell me I'm past my prime"

You admire his career, that's the worst of it all. But the annoyance has settled deeply in between you both, and you find yourself at loss for words or energy to keep bickering. Besides, behind you, you can hear the order to continue filming in a few.

"Yeah, you don't get to talk to me like that either. I guess we're even" you sigh, tiredly. "Anything else I can help with, Mr. Bravo?"

If you could, you would cover your mouth in horror. You didn't mean to call his name like that, as if you're allured by him. Fuck Dieter. You hope he doesn't read too much into the tone.

But of course his drug-fried brain would notice that, the actor staring at you with a puzzled look when you call his name.

"Oh, now you're calling me Mr. Bravo, eh? Trying to flirt your way out of this? I'm not a dumbass, you know"

The fact that he associates the calling with flirting rather than nerves makes your eyes twitch. He keeps staring at you, heat making it's way to your face. It's like he's trying to find out if what you said was indeed flirting, and given by the smirk he's giving you, it seems Dieter's got the wrong veredict.

"I'm not stupid either, but here you're talking to me like I am"

Great. That came out even more childish than you intended.

You think the color painting your cheeks is noticeable now, as Dieter lets out a small chuckle. He then cuts the distance even more, the irritating smirk still on his face.

"Well, then don't try and play me like I'm an idiot." Dieter pauses for a moment, then continues in a teasing tone when he sees your flushed face. "Oh, you're so red... It's cute"

"Cute?" the sound you let out is a mix of a chuckle and scoff. "Did you just call me cute? Are you too trying to flirt your way out with of this?" you repeat his same words from earlier. He chuckles amused at your behavior, his smirk turning into a cocky smile as he stares down at you.

"Me? flirt my way out? I would never." he then continues to speak in an amused tone. "I call people I find cute, cute...and you are definitely cute"

"Oh, I'm not the only one then, huh? And here I thought I was special" you feign hurt, and even if you're not an actor, you hope it sells. "And here I thought we were playing the same game. Well, I suppose we're done, and you can go back to filming or complaining, whatever suits you. Oh, the director is here: now bother someone else"

"Special? Nah, can't say you are." he says playfully at your attempt to brush him off. Then Dieter glances over in the director's direction but his gaze returns to you. "Oh, I'll deal with him later, you worry about yourself, sweet cheeks"

You know it's part of the banter, but it's no news to anyone who truly knows you the insecurity you've felt after so many projects rejected, ideas scrapped and terrible dating life. The you're not special hangs in the air, suffocating you; it feels like a slap to the face. Not to be a downer or such a mood changer, but it's hard to pretend. Yeah, you couldn't be an actor even if you tried to.

"Yeah I know" you answer, this time not pretending. Your voice may have given you away, so you turn around, hoping he doesn't get to see your face fall. "You're right, I'll take care of myself or whatever you said before. Bye, Mr. Bravo" you rush the words out, embarrased at yourself and how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Really? And I called him again like that? So stupid.

But he notices that your face has changed a bit, picking up the slight change. Dieter feels a slight pang of guilt for what he said, his smirk disappearing from his face. He lets out a sigh when you bid goodbye; he was having fun.

"Hey, wait a minute"

The actor reaches out and gently grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"What do you want?" you dryly ask, trying to keep a stoic façade, hoping Dieter doesn't catch the racing heartbeat by touching your wrist. "Go bother someone else"

"What I want..." he pauses for a brief moment, "...is for you to not walk away"

Dieter's grasp on your wrist loosens a bit, but he still keeps a hold on you. "I made a mistake. I was being an ass"

Was he, apologizing? For a moment, it seemed like Dieter was going to admit to what he did, which was unlike him, but his voice sounded genuine.

"D-Dieter!" you squeak his name in surprise, then blushing at the embarrassing sound. "You can't be serious, I mean- I'm the one that's sorry, I was an ass first. I think I deserve that"

It doesn't make sense and yes, you deserve his apology, yet at this point you're braindead and this is nothing but just nervous rambling at his actioms, so out of character from what you've heard and know.

A small chuckle escapes from the actor's mouth when he hears you squeak his name.

"I am serious. I mean it. You did not deserve it" his light grasp on your wrist stays as he slowly runs his thumb over your skin. Dieter stands even closer, making your breath hitch.

"W-what are you doing? You realize we're on set, right?" I laugh nervously, yanking my arm, even if you want him to still hold you.

The actor slowly loosens his grasp on you and lets go of your wrist, but the relief is short-lived as he moves his hand to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Of course I know we're on set. Why? You think I'm doing something you don't like?"

Mischief glistens in his eyes, and you gulp nervously at the turn of events.

"I don't like it because it's not what I've heard from you" you confess before even stopping to think a proper answer. "You know, they warned us... to not get involved with the cast, and you? This isn't who I thought... heard- I think I'm going insane" you get very nervous, well aware you're doing a very poor job at hiding it. "Y-you have an exhibition kink or something?"

Ah, why. Yes, of course your mouth and brain had teamed up against you, the duo an expert on ruining your life.

See, it was a joke, but it comes out horribly wrong, making you cover your mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean-"

Dieter lets out a soft chuckle when you cover your mouth in embarrassment, clearly enjoying this.

"An exhibition kink? That's interesting. I've never been asked that before..."

His hand gently grabs your wrist, slowly moving it away from your mouth.

"Oh, don't cover your mouth. I like the things you say, although some are dumb"

"Wow, you're still hellbent on calling me dumb. I thought we were friends" you breath relieved at the way he took your stupid move, playfully nudging his side, feeling plush skin under his clothes. Fuck. You better leave before you dig this hole deeper. "So, do you or not? Answer the question. The joke may have backfired but my curiosity is still there"

"Dumb, stupid, idiot... you choose. I'm still going to call you that, doll. Can't let you off that easily" Dieter chuckles before answering your question, because of your boldness and the reappearing dark shade over your face. "Alright, I'll answer your question. Are you sure you want to know, though? You have a wild imagination"

"How do you know?" you fake gasp. "Have you read my works?"

It came out in the moment, not something you're used to saying out loud, especially when you're simply an assistant, because honestly, it's embarrassing.

Dieter gives you a small smirk when you fake gasp at his statement. He then continues to look down at you.

"I've heard some things. That some of the scenes you've written are a bit... steamy. If you know what I mean"

There is that same treacherous blush again. How could you get out of this?

"No I don't" and a tricky smile adorns your features, "enlighten me"

Great. The best way out seems to be going down.

"Is that right? You don't know what I mean? Well, you're the hand behind these love scenes, aren't you?"

The small input in this movie, by yours truly. When he received the script, he recoiled at how bad it was, almost calling his agent to call quits on the project. But then he had read the first of many scenes involving a certain type of action, and he decided to stay. Now that he stands before you, knowing it's you who's written them, he finds the discovery amusing and worth entertaining, no matter if he was initially pissed at the fact you were also part of the reasons why he wanted to quit.

A cocky smile appears on the actor's face when you get closer: he likes how, despite the embarrasing events you still find it in you to stand before him, spark behind your eyes full of mischief. It all starts to make sense, he thinks with amusement.

"Love scenes?" you taunt. "You mean the ones were they break furniture and blow off steam with the nasties sounds ever heard to human kind? Nope, doesn't sound like it; no idea what you're talking about" Then you pause, to keep suspense. You lick your lips, making sure to hold his gaze. "Unless..."

Dieter snickers when you describe the scenes; filming hadn't yet get there but he is eager. The actor's gaze is fixed on you as he lets out a low hum.

"Unless what? You can't just pause there, now that got me intrigued"

This isn't real, because he genuinely seems interested in what you'll say next.

"Unless you want to recreate them before filming, since you know, you're so damn interested. Sweeping your big nose in business you shouldn't" you called his nose big not as an offense but rather a compliment: it's literally the prettiest you've ever seen. Hell, it's not only endearment you feel towards it; you've literally wrote a scene where the female lead grinds off it, all while thinking of him. You really hope he's lying about reading your stuff. "Metiche"

Dieter lets out a surprised laugh at your comment about his nose, positive in his mind. He found it amusing that you called it big, which usually would be negative to some, but he didn't really mind. It's also funny in a way, and he finds to be enjoying this more than he should, long forgotten his complains or the movie he's supposed to be shooting as of now.

"Metiche, huh? You have quite the mouth on you"

"Do I?" are you confident, bold or stupid? "You haven't even seen anything yet, Mr. Bravo"

Dieter lets out another chuckle at your confidence. He's definitely entertained by your responses. He tilts his head while giving you a curious expression.

"Is that so? You have something more you'd like to share, doll? I'm open to see whatever you have if I haven't seen it already"

"Or read" I joke, "like I seriously need to check my friends to see who would sell me out. Did you truly read my stuff or you're just fucking with me?"

Dieter lets out another chuckle, finding your joke funny. He then gets a more serious, but still amused, expression on his face.

"I'm not messing with you, I did read some of them, including the ones on this movie. I didn't lie about that, I promise" he pauses for a brief moment, letting out an amused hum. "Y no te preocupes, linda. No estoy jugando contigo"

"If you didn't lie then I suppose you'd know who I had in mind when I wrote that scene of a guy eating a girl's pussy while she sits in his face, grinding on it. I'll give you a clue" you tiptoe, until the hot of your breathe clashes against the cold of his ear's skin, "he's got a big nose"

Dieter lets out a low hum when you drop the clue. "A big nose huh? Sounds familiar"

"It does?" you ask on an overly saccharine tone, fingers carressing the bridge of his nose, softly.

How did we get here?

He leans in a bit to get closer, clearly into your little taunts.

"Yeah, it does. And you just confirmed it too, no need to try to hide it now"

"Woah, don't let the ego win over, Mr. Bravo. A lot of people got big nose, you included" you smirk, removing your fingers from his face, and he would never admit out loud he instantly misses the warmth of your touch. "It's just coincidental you got the part and matched the character's description. You know what they say: all events depicted in this movie are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental" you recite.

He laughs, shyly. "I know a lot of people have big noses, but I do wonder why you chose that trait in particular"

"I wonder too" then your tone drops low, "We should try, you know, to see if it's viable before we get to filming that part... call it exploratory research"

He feels your fingers touching again his nose.

"Exploratory research, you say?" Dieter lets out a soft chuckle. "How about you be a doll and show me some of that research. I'll gladly be the test subject"

You get flustered. This went too far. Why aren't you running away, or banging your head against a wall for some common sense? This is getting ridiculous, but so is the wet spot between your legs.

"Um, I- wow, I- do you really...? No way" you become a rambling mess again, trying to steady yourself, "You want to eat my pussy?"

The words come out brash, making you cringe.

"Is that what you're saying, Mr. Bravo? You can still turn around and pretend you don't know me. Muero de pena"

Hee tilts his head to the side, looking at you with an almost wolf-like look in his eyes. He takes a step closer, so more of his body is against your own, his face closer to yours.

"Don't do that. You don't have to be embarassed, doll" his finger plays with your lower lip. "I'm saying exactly that"

"Please" voice so small it feels like you'll break, "do it"

The actor lets out a hum in response to your small voice.

"Right here...?"

"No!" you jump horrified, getting out of the horny haze for a bit. "Oh, God. Do you want to be blacklisted, Dieter?" squeaky, lowering your gaze to avoid his, resorting to playing with your fingers. "You have a room, right? They gave you one.... just for you, right?"

He nods his head in response.

"Perks of being the lead actor" he beams a bit proud with full-blown ego in display. "I have my own trailer, and it's not that far away"

"It's okay, I like walking anyways" you reply. "As a matter of fact, I like a lot of things"

The actor lets out another soft laugh in response.

"You're cheeky, you know that, baby?"

He starts to lead you towards his trailer, putting his arm around your waist. It feels big and warm, his touch making a current shoot down until it looses in between your legs. If this is what fighting and low paid terrible jobs got you, you'd do it more often.

"Cheeky? Cute? Do you want to kill me?" I laugh as we almost make it there. "Turns out, I kinda like that"

Now, where you testing your luck by keeping on running your mouth? You need to shut it up forever.

The actor chuckles when you ask if he wants to kill you, stopping in his tracks when you mention that you kind of like that. He looks down at you with a soft, yet cocky smile, but his arm still lingers around your waist.

"I've never heard a woman say that before, doll. I'm starting to believe you have some weird things you're into"

I'm a porn writer, but now you stop before saying more shit. His comment makes you flustered, getting shy all of the sudden as if you hadn't just half-admitted part of your kinks.

Whatever, what's out in the open air can't be unsaid. And Dieter seems to be just as into this as you, finally someone to match your freak after all those men whose cowardice made them leave before the fun started. I'm a porn writer, what'd you expect? It would be fun if I was into vainilla stuff.

"Weird things?" you pretend to be offended, "what do you have in mind?"

"Me? You want me to think? My head is still hurting from yesterday's hangover" he jokes, "why don't you be a doll and tell me exactly what you want?"

You smirk devilishly and he's taken back by the change of your demeanor. You were truly a little wolf disguised as a sheep.

"What I want is for you to press your weight onto me as you fuck me raw" you get red as you spill the lewd thoughts out loud, but it's what you write so it's not new. Your eyes dart to the curve of his soft belly, tight against his shirt. You look away, even redder if possible. "For the research, of course! All with purpose, to uh- See if I don't suffocate- the character, I mean!"

Your dirty words darken his brown kit-kat eyes, clearly enjoying the way you talk to him.

"Of course, for the research. Got to make sure the scene is accurate, right?"

He lets out a small hum and moves his hand on your waist, until they dig in your hips.

"Yeah, because we're professionals. Is this your trailer?" you ask, trying to deviate the conversation because your face keeps getting hotter. "This is your last chance to turn your back before this gets weirder. Hell, I might even leave the country"

The actor smiles at your comment about being professionals, finding it amusing.

"It's my trailer, doll. And I'm not turning my back after how this conversation is going. If I wanted, I would've already left. You'd have to try to get rid of me yourself"

Dieter then grabs his door handle and turns it, opening the door to his trailer. Your heart beats faster than humanely possible.

"Please don't look at me like that"

Dieter lets out a soft hum and looks down at you with a cheeky smile.

"Why not? I like to look at you"

He leads you inside the trailer. Once you're both inside, he shuts the door behind him. With lock. Hearing the click makes your heart skip a beat.

"Don't look at me like you'd do all the stupid things I've said"

The actor is clearly amused by your words.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

He licks his lips with anticipation, bracing himself for what's to come.

"I think you're smart. That you know what's best for you" your fingers go to his curls, and you can feel him shiver at the touch. His hungry expression goes soft for a brief moment, and you think you like that too.

"Mmm... your hands feel nice..."

You smile like the Cheshire cat. "And they feel even better when you put them to good use"

The actor lets out a low chuckle in response to your words and looks down at you with a cocky smile.

"Is that a hint, darling?"

"A hint?" you snort. "That's a whole ass answer in red, bold and capital letters"

The man lets out a loud laugh at your response.

"Damn, you're feisty with that attitude, aren't you, doll?"

"Am I?" your eyes darken, body walking in automatic, closing the distance. His soft body irradiates warmth, the section between his pants feeling hard. "Will you punish me for that?"

The actor lets out a soft hum when he feels your body against his own. Dieter's face slowly gets more lustful.

"Mmm, depends on how bad you are, doll. I could punish you if you misbehave"

"What would you count as misbeheaving, Mr. Bravo? I just want to be a good girl" you whisper, batting eyelashes.

The man smirks at your comment and the way you bat your eyelashes teasingly.

"You'll see. You wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise, doll. Being a good girl will get you a nice reward, though"

"Like" you caress his nose, "helping me on the research part?"

Dieter enjoys your teasing touch on his nose and smirks at your comment.

"Mmm, just like the research part, doll"

"Would you show me?" you ask out in a tone so sweet, he's about to come right there. He didn't think it was possible, even. So he lets out a cocky laugh as he says, tone dropping too:

"Maybe I should if you're so persistent in not believing me"

You roll you eyes. "You really think I'm that easy to convince?"

"That's not a no" Dieter smirks.

You scoff. "It's also not a yes"

His tricky ringed fingers trace until it gets in the middle of your legs, feeling your dripping arousal. He then removes the finger and licks it with his long tongue, the scene as obscene as it is but never removing his gaze from yours.

"You sure? Your words might say one thing, but your body says something else"

You get defensive, despite him cornering your frame against one of the trailers walls.

"What would you know about my body?"

Even if his eyes bear irritation, he lets out an entertained laugh.

"I see you like playing these games. Pissing me off until I shut you up myself"

"I don't care" your tongue drips in snark, and he's equally pissed and turned on.

"You're a bad liar, doll. Can't act even if your life depended on it"

You scoff, as you muster the most annoyed tone you can. "Yeah?"

"I ain't met you that long, but I can tell how your body needs me" his voice sends shivers down your spine. "Still think I'm dumb? That I can't see the way you look at me, lips almost drooling, body shaking, pleading me to touch it?" all words you could say die in your throat. "What's that? Cat got your tongue? I see you're busier getting wet"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about" but there's no confidence in your voice anymore, giving away how turned on you were. Your mind goes numb at the dangerous game you're playing, coming only to your senses when his hard cock grinds against your soaked panties.

"I think you do" Dieter bites his lip, giving your core another hard rub. "I know you'd love to feel my cock around your pretty soaked pussy. Hell, you've been begging for it"

Your mind may be backtracking, but your body definitely wasn't.

"C'mon. Stop playing hard to get, doll" Dieter chuckles, "I know you want this"

He doesn't get a word out of you, but the patch against his jeans growing wetter is enough.

"Answer me" a little moan leaves your lips as he presses himself closer, his lips devouring yours in a rough fashion. "You better talk when I tell you to. Thought you'd behave" his hand easily pulls up your knitted sweater, revealing no bra. "Damn brat. Of course you wanted this: wearin' nothing to the set and writing those scenes getting off to me like some fuckin' creep" you moan at the humiliating words coming out of his filthy mouth as he touches the rosy skin gently before giving your hardened nipple a lick and then a little bite just to hear you whine.

Dieter then grabs you by your thighs, placing you down on top of what appears to be a small kitchen's counter, his growing bulge pressed against your cunt: the hard, the cold meeting hot... it all has you incredibly turned on. You feel the cool of the rings on his hand as it starts to eagerly wander under your skirt, rubbing his middle finger in between your clothed folds.

"That's right, I wore this to have you" you moan against his lips as his fingers find your clit, making slow but steady circles, "because yes, I wrote those scenes thinking of you"

"What a bad bad girl" Dieter chuckles darkly, "wanna hear you take your well deserved punishment. And don't worry, we're far away so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, doll"

He wastes no time in giving you such, pulling down the hem of your panties until they fall down to the trailer's floor. Before him, the best sight ever revealed to men: your sticky mess of a pussy. Dieter grabs onto your thighs, spreading them slowly as he leaves a trail of kisses on the inside, his beard and fluffy hair creating tickles. He then licks the folds of your moisty entrance. When you move, you hear him tut. "Be a good girl, yeah? Stay still" and now his hands hold your thighs, keeping them in place as the rings fig in your skin. His tongue hits your sensitive folds just right, making a series of sounds leave your lips. So addicting, he thinks.

"I-I'll be a good girl" you whine, "just please. Don't stop"

Your toes curl and you begin to see stars. You're surprised he's quite compliant, adding extra pressure with his tongue, slurping on your juices with a sound so obscene, even your dirty horny mind hadn't been capable of picturing. But here he was, Dieter fucking Bravo: the reason you started writing steamy scenes and agreed to do them for this project he was starring in, him always in your mind, now eating your pussy like a starved man inside the walls of his trailer.

Your mind turns into goo and your body into a sensitive mess. Your legs start to shake, clench up and tremble, leaving you a moaning mess. You weren't going to pull away, and Dieter seemed to like that feisty side of yours, yet his hold didn't loose a bit. His index and middle finger leave your red clit and slide into your soaked nub, his thumb now doing the work on it.

"That's right, baby. Tell Dieter how much you love his fingers inside of you, you cock hungry slut"

You come all over his hand, legs tensing up as you tug his messy curls into your now tight-white fists.

"I said talk" he now grabs your hair, pulling your face closer. "Gonna be ungrateful, when I just gave you the best orgasm of your life? Say it, brat"

"Thank you, Mr. Bravo" you pant out, still recovering from the high.

That makes it two discoveries as of now:

You weren't wrong when you wrote those scenes picturing him

Dieter lived up to his reputation, because that is indeed, the best orgasm of your life

You won't stroke his ego, though. And he doesn't need it either, as he's calling you good girl while leaving love bites all over your neck. "Mine" he hisses, and you let yourself believe it for a while.

"We done, sweetheart?" you shake your head. "That's right, research has just began. Bet you want my rock hard dick inside of you now"

You whine, and he leans closer. "Why do I even ask? Gonna give you my cock for you to take like the little whore you are"

You slid your hand into his pair of briefs, giving his cock a few strokes.

"See? such a hungry girl" he seethes. "Who gave you permission, you fucking brat?"

A sting spreads across your bare clit, making you moan. That's not what you had in mind, but it's embarrassing how turned on it's making you. Well, you have some certainly interesting ideas for what to write next.

"Answer me" his tone is demanding, his large palm delivering another harsh slap to your cunt.

"N-no one"

"How do we say, then? Be a good girl and show me your manners"

"P-please!" you mewl, soon feeling his tongue soothing the pain.

"So you do know how to be a good girl" Dieter praises, pressing a light kiss to your puffy folds. "Now, where were we?"

He frees his pulsating member from the confines of the underwear, revealing his throbbing cock, ready to rub it against your folds. A little whine left your lips as he kept rocking his hips back and forth.

"Talking back to me before, where is that girl gone? All I see is a hungry slut, ready to take my cock like the little good girl she is"

Dieter pushes his tip further enough to be at the entrance of your burning hole, and you whine in frustration and need, that attitude he teases you with, long gone. All you want is him to fuck you.

"That's right, beg like the fucking whore you are"

"Just fill me up with your thick cum and fuck me until I won't be able to stand up"

"Dangerous game you playin', doll" but his expression is all hunger and no warning.

"Just fuck me" you spit. "I'm yours. Use me"

That seems to do the trick.

"Good girl" and Dieter fully pushes himself inside of you, he abuses your clit, entering him fully inside of you over and over again, not even giving you time to adjust to his girth; surprinsgly (or not), you liked it rough. His wet kisses become sloppier and rushed, landing on your lips, corners of your mouth, jaw and neck. A string of drool is on his as he pulls them out, rather prefering to hear the sounds you drowned against his lips on full volume. His hands grab you by your hips while his buck back a forth in a rough pace. Surpringsly, Dieter remembers his promise, your body caged by his bigger frame as he fucks you on the counter, feeling the swell of his belly against your lower abdomen. He pushes hard, his heavier weight making your back start to ache against the cold metal, the wall behind you digging painfully on your skin. But doesn't it feel so good?

"So fucking good" he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he stares intensely into your eyes, "so tight"

You grab onto his back as he stretches you out, his pace speeding up. You moan against his ear as your nails dig further into his back with every thrust, saying his name. You come closer to your orgasm as he hits the right spot over and over again.

"Fuck... the way you beg for it, like a needy little slut. It's so fucking hot" Dieter wraps his hand around your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. "I'm going to ruin you, doll. Gonna fuck you so hard that you'll forget your own fucking name" his voice is a low, guttural growl, filled with a raw, animalistic desire. "All you'll know is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you"

His words and movements edge you close, sweat dripping and clinging uncomfortably to your skin due to the reduced space.

"I-I'm close again"

"But you better come with me, spoiled little girl. Ain't doin' it alone after all I've done for you" he groans, his thrusts becoming more and more aggressive.

Your walls clench against his soaked dick, his pace suddenly slowing as his cum fills your hole, coating your walls.

"F-fuck"

You try to even your breaths as he rests his head on your shoulder, bodies pressed together.

"So, was I of help?"

You chuckle at his attempt for small talk.

"You di good, Dieter. Mission accomplished"

"Right" he sounds a bit dissapointed, making the corners of your lips raise. "Well, If you ever need a helping hand" he wiggles his brows, "you know were to find me"

"I do" you press a brief kiss to his lips. "As a matter of fact, you can also tell me when you need my helping hand" said hand travels down, feeling his dick hard again. The sight alone makes you drool. "What'd you say, cowboy? Up for analyzing the collected data? We didn't even try with your nose"

"I knew it was mine!"

[noirsdoll]

Love love your Dad Curly x Daughter Reader stuff! What if one day Curly gets a gf (it could be Anya or some random woman) and the Reader comes up with a plan to break them up (what that actual plan is can be up to you). Can't have another woman take her daddy away after all..

need this... reader running everything behind the scenes and curly is just oblivious to it all!! this is so long i got lost in the sauce LMAO cw for father/daughter incest and dubcon! also smut!

Your dad has a new girlfriend.

He met her at a ski slope, he was impressed by her skills— like skiing is hard. You can ski too, you just choose not to, you're better suited to things other than fucking skiing. She’s just a loser.

As you've gotten older, you've noticed that Curly's choices in who he dates have begun to bear more and more resemblance to you. But their personalities are trash— whiny, inconsiderate, not good fits for your dad who is sweeter than honey.

Whatever. This new girlfriend will just be another phase. They only last a handful of months before Curly breaks them off, quietly admitting to you a week later that it was because they were nothing like Mom. Then he looks at you like he's staring through you, like you're a shopping list he's memorizing before his next trip.

You expected she would be the same as the others. Problem is, this relationship is approaching a year steady, and you're getting annoyed. Why hasn't he gotten bored like he usually does? Are you the only one that can see through all her inane bullshit? You need to do something to stop this. And here it is, the final nail in the coffin:

She keeps trying to make you call her Mom.

You almost threw up the first time you heard it. "Stop calling me that, you know you can just call me Mom, right?" Your blood has never boiled hotter, you wanted to slap her.

But you didn't, because Curly was right there, beaming his brightest fucking smile. "Aw, there's my two girls getting along."

Two girls. Your stomach turned over and you promptly excused yourself. As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, so similar to hers that she could be confused for a skinwalker, the plan formed in your mind.

It wasn't difficult, really. One easily-guessable phone password later and you were in. Changing your saved name in her phone to a man's name with far too many heart emojis, you started a small conversation between her and you.

When the three of you are watching a movie, you send her a sneak text and her phone lights up. You try to hide your grin. "What's that?"

Curly, being the gentleman he always is, reaches to snag the phone for her. "Oh, I can read it for you...," his voice trails off as he stares at the message. "Babe, who is this?"

You watch from the corner of the couch as the fight ensues. She's bawling her eyes out, blackened tears soaking her face as Curly just looks at her like his soul has been leeched from his body. You feel bad for hurting him, but it was a necessary evil. Now he knows better than to go looking for someone else— you're right here.

And then she's gone, nothing but her irritating perfume as her memory. Curly collapses onto the couch with a sigh, running a hand down his face. "Sorry you had to see that, honey."

"It's fine, Dad," you loom closer, a hand on his thigh, "she was a bitch anyway."

He looks at you, confused. "Who told you to talk like that?" Curly's eyes are red with unshed tears. You wipe them away for him.

“I’m just being honest. What, you didn’t notice either?”

He looks at you, then away, pursing his lips. Curly has a habit of that, dismissing his opinion, bending and folding himself into something that mindlessly agrees because that is easiest.

You take that as an invitation to get closer, practically in his lap. "Are you okay?" You smooth his hair out of his face.

Curly sighs again, less laboured. "I just wish your mother was still here. Everything was easier when she was around."

"I look just like her, don't I?" Your old photos of her say just as much.

"Oh, yes," he smiles distantly, "you look more like her every day. I just worry that--"

"Then fuck me."

His eyes blow wide in disbelief. "What's gotten into you?"

The radius between you is so short that you can feel his warm breath against your skin, the only thing that’s separating you two is a thin layer of air and clothes. “You don’t want to?” He must want to, his dating history points towards it, the way he looks at you, everything.

Curly squeezes his eyes shut with a held-back groan. “You can’t just ask me things like that, sweetheart.” He looks at you with weathered eyes. “It’s wrong, it’s—“

But then you’re kissing him and suddenly it isn’t wrong, because he kisses back with just as much fervour. Curly’s hands swallow your waist up and he tugs you against him. You’re taking advantage of him in a vulnerable state and you could not give less of a shit, because he’s grinding you against his cock.

Your hands scramble for his pants, you finally have him, after years and years of scaring away every girl that tried to take your dad away, it’s all paid off because you’re the one getting stretched open around him. He eases himself into you. You’re so full of cock you swear his tip is nudging your brain.

Curly rests his forehead on your shoulder, fucking up into you as your nails drag along his back for purchase. Each experienced cant into your pussy has tears budding in your eyes. You think he says your mother’s name at some point, but you’re too lost in the moment to care.

You slowly move with him, finding a rhythm that relieves that lifelong ache in your gut— an innate pull towards him. The unhurried movement of your hips feels so good, heat fizzling up your spine and erupting in sparks behind your eyes.

You kiss him open-mouthed, one part moaning and the other sobbing as he has you how he wants, tugging you up and down his cock, stuffing you over and over again.

Curly cums with a gasp, his hips pressed firmly to yours as he buries every last spurt deep inside you. Instantly, he realizes his mistake, pulling away, his blue eyes filled with horror.

“I didn’t mean to— fuck, I didn’t—“

And you just shush him and tell him it’ll all be fine, that you’ll take care of it. He won’t ever need to think for himself again if he stays with you.

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 3.

Prev

Jason remember the day she was born. He hadn't been Robin for very long, a few months maybe. One day, he had gone to school and came back to a baby girl, a somber Bruce, an exhausted Alfred, and the rare sight of Dick Grayson. Information came in a blur over the next week as the manor changed to accommodate an infant. She was Bruce's biological daughter. Her mother had been his secretary at Wayne Enterprises and had died during childbirth. Eventually at the will reading, the girl was given her mother's diary and her name (First and Middle Name) Wayne.

As Robin, that little twerp had him wrapped around her finger. As soon as she babbled her first word with those tiny graby hand, he was her's. "Jaja."

Him, Bruce, and Alfred had taken turn looking after her. Jason remember teaching her how to read. Holding her in his arms as they both sounded out words. The old copy of Grimms Fairy Tales being her favorite book to read together, "I wanna be like you and read lots of stories."

That was his last memory with her as Robin. He died two weeks later and took her happy childhood with him to the grave. Dick and Barbara had explained that after his death Bruce threw himself into work. Alfred while providing for her had become distant. Dick told Jason he couldn't look at the girl without seeing Jason next to her. Barbara admitted she didn't know how to talk to the girl anymore. She couldn't explain why she was in the wheelchair instead of walking. Nobody could explain to her why Jason didn't come home one night and they buried him later.

When Jason came back as the Red Hood, no one explained that either. (Name) was four and still scared to sleep with her closet door open. They were all certain hearing about Jason in that state, the pit madness consuming him would scare her. Plus he had become dangerous.

For some reason instead of being mad at her, he was mad for her. She was dismissed so frequently by the others. Tim seem uncomfortable near her. He later learned that's because she had gotten mad at him for wearing the Robin costume. "That's Jason's not your's." It made him swell with pride, out of everyone she hadn't replaced him.

Yet, when the rage dissipated and he returned to the family he couldn't look at her. He still felt too dangerous. Like he would snap and say or do something that would break her. So he pretended to not hear her. Pointedly ignore the seven-year-old asking him to play, what book he was reading, or can he help with homework. More importantly he ignored the questions he didn't know how to answer. "Where did you go Jay? Did I do something wrong?" Suddenly he couldn't blame Barbara and Dick for avoiding her.

When she was eight, he finally didn't feel as dangerous. The explanation would be messy but he could do it. He just wanted his little sister back. He could finally explain to her what happened.

She wasn't in the manor. Jason had begun to panic. Had she accidentally wonder off the grounds? Or been kidnapped? No, this couldn't happen not when he was finally going to get her back. Alfred walked into the kitchen and when he asked about his sister, he felt his world stop. "Master Bruce took her to see Master Dick before send her off to boarding school."

Just like that he had lost his chance to explain on an August wind. He shouldn't have been surprised really. She was smart enough to ace any entrance exam. Hopefully at this new school she wouldn't be as miserable. People would notice her and love her like he should have. She wouldn't be turned away, ignored, or given false promises like at the manor. So Jason let her go.

Now sitting in this family meeting in the batcave, he really wish he hadn't. One look around the table told him that everyone was thinking something along the same lines. The information Alfred had just revealed boiled his blood. He felt dangerous again, expected this time he didn't care. "You're telling me she never arrived at that boarding school and has been god knows where for the past two years?"

"There were several things that went wrong." Dick ran his hand over his face slouching down in his chair. Jason felt himself shaking with rage. Clearly multiple things had gone wrong if they had lost a literal human being for two years.

"First there was mix up on who was taking her to boarding school. Bruce thought Alfred was taking her because that’s was what was orginially agreed upon so Bruce could visit me in Blüdhaven. However Alfred received a message the day before from 'Bruce' saying that (Name) beggex to see me before leaving for school so she was with him. The story went that Bruce would drop her off at the airport and a school attendant would pick her up. Bruce never exactly sent those messages." Dick showed phone logs on the batcomputer's screen. Alfred did receive those messages but the logs didn't show Bruce sending them.

Tim lean forward, "Okay but when she didn't show up Bruce or Alfred should have been notified."

The screen shifted showing a school file for (Name). Barbara took over explaining this time. "They school did notify someone but it wasn't Bruce or Alfred." She held up a paper file and passed it around, "this a copy of the admission paper Alfred sent it to the academy. The batcomputer is showing what the school had on file for her. The mailing address and phone numbers are wrong. We have reason to suspect that someone changed them to keep her disappearance unnoticed for longer."

Steph shook her head, "Okay so that's why the school didn't alert us but what about the accountant. Looking at these papers her tuition was $95000 a year. That's almost 8,000 a month. If she wasn't attending the school, they wouldn't have accepted the tuition payments. Or her allowance, she was spending it right?"

"The payments were still being made." Alfred spoke this time. Jason growled lowly. Whatever the accountant was doing, be it embezzlement or fraud it had kept his sister in a dangerous spot for two years. The fucker was going to pay for that, most likely in blood. "As of current we are uncertain where the funds disappeared. Whether someone in the school or the accountant himself has taken them."

"I placed a tracker on the next payment so we can follow it." Barbara offered.

Jason stood and turned for his bike. He needed to do something other sit there. The answer was not going to walk into cave and drop at their feet. Dick got out of his seat, hurrying to grab Jason's shoulder, "where are you going?"

"To interrogate that piece of shit accountant." Jason shoved Dick out of the way. Dick began to get ready to say something but paused. They turned to see Duke run into the room holding his helmet and utility belt.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I took (Name) to the mall and lost track of time." Jason froze at her name. Going to the mall was a normal thing to be doing. If she was acting normal than maybe he still had a chance. Just as he was about to ask how she was Duke continued speaking, "Oh Alfred, I was looking for you. (Name) said her card was stolen by someone at that boarding school she went to and she needed you to call the bank to cancel it."

Tension rippled in the room. Jason felt his lip twitch behind his helmet. "What?"

Duke froze looking to the table for help. Than the computer screen showing all the evidence. Steph gave him a nervous half smile, "You're going want to seat down for this."

Ra's Al Ghul stared at the surveillance images his daughter had set before him. The girl was young and in the still shots appeared to be relatively weak. Yet he could see what his daughter was talking about. Her potential was evident in that she was partially obscure in all but one picture. In the picture she wasn't obscured in, she instead blended in with the crowd of people. Just a girl walking down the street.

"There's also these two videos, Father." Talia held a tablet out to him. The first video was loaded waiting for him to press play. It showed one armed pursuer chasing the girl from one alleyway to another. In a few seconds he watched as she spun in a circle while still running. The pursuer stumbled, clutched at his throat, before falling to the ground. The girl was down the alleyway before the body had hit the pavement.

He raised an eyebrow. Her form in those few seconds could use work but the framework was there. Especially since she didn't stumble or hesitate before throwing her weapon. Potential indeed.

The second video showed her running off screen. She had a wound to her face and another weeping blood from her stomach. The girl was stumbling and grabbing walls for support. She remained off screen for eleven seconds before reappearing. Both of her wounds were gone. Her movements had returned to normal, not even a slight limp. She turned to the camera and threw a misshapen bullet at it, causing the lens to crack.

Ra's watched that video again. There was no jump in time stamp or clipping of the video. He looked to his daughter. She smiled slyly at him, "She appears to be a meta human with an enhanced healing ability. I've seen it in person. Imagine the fighter she could be with that kind of gift. Plus she has the makings, no hesitation, doesn't flinch at pain, and she already knows some kind of stealth."

He considered her words carefully. All good qualities for an assassin. Qualities they typically had to train into their pupils but she already had them. Ra's looked to the paused video again. It was showing her face glaring at the camera. He froze.

Ra's Al Ghul knew that look. He had seen it before over 600 years ago. It had belong to a different girl back than. One so powerful and feared the Spanish had sent an army just to ensure she burned. A woman who now rest at the bottom of a special Lazarus Pit. He had always wonder what became of her gifts. "What was this girl's name again?"

"(Name) Wayne."

"A Wayne? Perhaps she is worth our time."

You were stuck somewhere between screaming and slamming your head into a wall. Once you and Duke had gotten home, he had helped you carry your bags to your room before leaving. That was fine by you, you needed to time to think through your plan. Yet as you worked on that you were meant with more questions and more problems.

Mainly, School. With the lie being in the family that you were attending boarding school, you were expected to be educated. Yet the experiments had refused to provide you with any learning matter.

Yes a part of that was probably, okay 100% your fault. Though you fully admit when stole the pencil and threw it at that one guy, you didn't expect to hit him in the eye. Using it to remove his eye once you realize it was stuck there... you plead the fifth.

The real issue was that you were expected to be at or around a 4th grade level. Maybe not so much to those who know about the experiments but to those who didn't know. You needed to play into the boarding school lie until you could weed out who knew.

Second was self defense. You were good at throwing things, scalpels being your weapon of choice to escape. Up close your main method of defense was escape by breaking your own bones or hapzardly stabbing their wrist. You couldn't fight without injuring yourself which was always a risk. So far you had gotten lucky in that no one expected it but you couldn't rely on luck.

This investigation was going to get dangerous and quick. Not being able to fight was a disadvantage. Your head was spinning with all the things you needed to figure. It was making planning... messy. You had to focus on one thing right now so you could get some clarity.

You read through the messy pages of your notebook. There were three pages of questions, two pages of miscellaneous information, and a page dedicated to things you would need to get or do. The best thing to do was choose one item from all of them that connected in some way. School kept coming to your mind.

On the questions page a particular one stuck out to you. "Was there boarding school tuition being paid?" Underneath it you wrote two more questions with lines connecting them "If so did the money go to the experiments?" Another line pointing to the second question making a little triangle. "Did Bruce know where the money was going?"

That seemed like a good place to start. It give you solid ground to build your case against him on. You flipped to the information page. Sure you could start by digging around Bruce's office for financial states. That however seemed like a bad idea. It tip someone off that you were investigating and it was too early for that.

The perfect piece of information jump out to you. They were having issues getting supplies from a Sionis because he wanted more money. Money that Davis wouldn't cough off up. Sionis was more the supplier so he wouldn't be connected to the money but Davis. You needed to find out more about that person to answer your first question.

Finally you turned to your needs page. The biggest thing on there was catching up on your schooling. Even if it didn't directly benefit your investigation being stuck at a second grade reading and math level was not ideal. As a kid you had pride in being oddly intelligent. Connecting dots and lessons before the other kids. If there was one you didn't want to lose to the experiments it was your pride. Plus it would give you an excuse to research forensic, medical, and computer sciences. All things that would help put together with the terms the scientists used around you cause you couldn't understand them.

Now it was planning time. How to accomplish these goals? If Davis was connected to your father than your best option was probably talking Alfred or Tim. You did mention needing Alfred to turn off the debit card your allowance went into when you were out with Duke. Maybe you could just check in Alfred, mention needing to get in contact with the family account to dispute charges on stolen card. That would work right?

As for the schooling, you needed a tutor. All your family members were off limits so you would have to find one independent of them. Where did people go to find tutors and learning?

"Looks like I have to make a trip to the library tomorrow."

Prev

A special thank you to my Taglist, you guys are awesome:

@stove-top96 @00hellohello00 @mysticalhills @yhin-gg @twismare @charlenexoxo1 @a-lurking-fae

[atxxzist]

to the only boy i've ever loved | 02

prev // series m.list

pairing: choi san x f!reader

word count: 652

-- the first meeting

january 1, 9th grade

hi san,

it's a little past 12 a.m. so it's finally new year. i wonder if you have any goals you want to achieve this year? i'm not so sure myself but i think i want to take school more seriously and improve my grades and gpa.

i got a 'c' on two of my classes: science and spanish, and it's not even that i didn't understand the materials, more so that i procrastinated so much until the last second and wasn't able to turn in some major assignments. i'm going to do better this upcoming semester, hopefully.

(recently, my dad has taught me to stop using probable but not certain terms like maybe, probably, hopefully... and to be more sure and confident in myself. i'm learning but it's still a habit)

i'm writing this because i don't have anything better to do this late and i can't sleep. it's also new year and because i have a laptop now, i figure i should probably write about some things i would be able to look back to in the future if my memory starts losing itself? perhaps like the first time i ever met you.

i think that's a good start if i'm going to be writing about you for a long time.

but it was in the 6th grade and you just transferred from another school. i remember thinking you were so cute (you still are) when you first walked into our classroom. you had such big eyes and a cute little nose. because of this, you got popular among the girls pretty fast and even got yourself a girlfriend not too long after.

granted, i was a tiny bit jealous even though i was really good at acting like i didn't care about you and the only time we interacted at all in 6th grade was when we were assigned in line orders and i was put right behind you for a week and accidentally stepped on one of your shoe laces.

you wouldn't even be able to tell at all that every time we got in line for lunch, my heart and stomach always felt funny for that entire week. i was both sad but also relieved when the teacher reorganized the order.

just thinking about it now, you've changed quite a bit in comparison to my very first impression of you. you looked so timid and overwhelmed by the attention at first, i couldn't have predicted you would be best friend with wooyoung jung to this day.

he has always been loud, silly, and a bit disruptive in class from time to time, i for sure thought there was no way you two would get along. i was very wrong because by the time we were about to go to middle school, you two became two peas in a pod.

(wooyoung really only knew i existed because before you came, i was 1 of the only 4 asian students in there and the only other korean besides him)

from then, you started hanging out with the popular crowd and i felt the gap between us grow wider.

i never planned on asking you out and i don't plan to, but it was just a feeling that was hard to ignore, even now.

sophie asks me all the time if i don't plan on doing anything about my crush then why do i still keep doing the things that i do, such as writing these letters and always talking about you.

honestly, i don't have an answer right now either. maybe i enjoy the feeling of liking someone? that there's something to look forward to when i go to school? i don't know, but hopefully my future self will know the answer haha. (sorry dad, i used a maybe and hopefully).

this is getting a bit too long, but i hope you have a good new year and again, i'll see you in less than 2 weeks!

sincerely, y/n.

taglist: @brown88

[toasecretsanta]

Secret Santa for just_snakess for "Meg giving a piano performance" and "Meg sees Apollo's true form for the first time" MCD for the last part

For @just_snakess from @femmefangirl

When Meg was very small, before the word pain had any meaning other than the prick of thorns or a scraped knee, her father had told her stories. There were many stories that he would tell her, most of which she had long forgotten. The rest she had kept with her, close to her heart where everything she could remember about Philip McCaffrey lay.

Except for one

-

Nero doesn’t like stories. He tells them of his greatest feats and pretends away his failures, but he never tells them stories and even though Meg saw him kill her father, it’s the lack of stories that give him away. That made her not trust him.

She’s his favorite, she knows this because he told her that himself. He tells them all their rankings in his mind, tells them that it’s for the greater good, that it will make them better fighters, better soldiers, better weapons. It’s what Luguselwa says anyway, and she trusts her more than she trusts Nero. Luguselwa doesn’t tell her stories though, except for once.

When Meg was six, just before her first gladiator match, Luguselwa tells her a story. It’s a different sort of story because this story Luguselwa tells her is true. She talks about the earliest memory she had, of her and her mother and her father and her brother. Luguselwa tells her about the way the flowers danced in the wind; the feeling of the breeze in her hair; the way the sounds of life within the settlement held her as she went to sleep every night. Meg didn’t understand then (and she doesn’t now) why Luguselwa told the story.

But Luguselwa became Lu after that nonetheless.

-

The first very first time Nero tells her a story, it is about the snake that lives in the basement. It doesn’t actually live in the basement, he says, it just lives in a metaphorical basement. Meg nods her head in understanding even though she doesn’t understand because not understanding angers The Beast. She doesn’t like The Beast; it brings fire and blood and screams with it.

“There is a snake. A very old and very powerful snake who can see things that you as a mortal cannot. His powers are even grander than mine.” Nero lowers his voice to a whisper as he adds on “At least that’s what he believes.” And that’s what Meg believes as well, because Nero is the most powerful man she’s ever met. “This snake is called Python, my dear. He was defeated by the Sun god Apollo after he came out of his mother’s womb because even as a baby, Apollo was arrogant. The only reason Python was defeated was because he never expected a baby to defeat him and so he got careless.”

Nero kneels down and looks at her blue-grey on black-brown. He takes one of his fingers, light as a feather, and caresses the freshly bandaged gash on her face. “I do hope you won’t get careless Meg.” There’s a threat not-hiding in those words.

Nonetheless, Nero gets split into her kindly stepfather and the monstrous Beast.

-

The first time Lester tells Meg that he’s the god Apollo, she doesn’t believe him.

In her defense, who would? The whole acne-riddled, baby giraffe look doesn’t scream God. It also doesn’t scream the Sun, Archery, Music, Poetry, Disease, Truth, Healing, Light and a bunch of other things she can’t remember. His nose looks twice as large as it should be and there’s a layer of dirt on him with garbage juice stains on his shirt and jeans.

Besides, he doesn’t even say it to her. He said it to the two jerks that were beating him up, the two jerks that she saved him from. Meg says as much to him and then he explains his situation to her, asking a bit about herself in the process.

Then he implies that her mother is a garbage goddess which. It adds to the whole ‘I’m a god’ thing he has going on. She says some things and he says some things, most of which she tunes out because his voice is grating. Nails-on-chalkboard sort of grating, all whiny and high-pitched. Annoying.

Meg is seriously considering beating the guy up and taking all his money because neither does she fully trust him, nor does she fully believe him. The only reason she’s still considering him at all is because there was a crack of lightning before he appeared, giant and painful, and the fact that he came from nowhere. There’s also something about him, the air around him is shimmery, or maybe hazy.

If he is the God Apollo, then Nero would be happy with her if she informs him about it. The Beast might not be unleashed if Meg brings Nero something to appease him, a sort of distraction from the fact she ran away. It’s not like she’s going to go back though.

And maybe he can defeat Python. After all, he defeated Python when he was like, a baby, and now he’s an adult which means he’s more powerful so even though Python is also super powerful there’s a chance.

What catches her attention in the end plants a seed of thought in her mind is him saying that “Usually Zeus requires me to work as a slave for some important demigod.” Goddy powers would be helpful in Hell’s Kitchen, but it’s not the usefulness that makes her ask her next question, cutting his rambling, it’s something else. Something to the left.

“How do you know which demigod?”

“What?” Meg notices that his neck goes forward in a twitch whenever he seems confused.

“Which demigod you’re supposed to serve.” She says, rolling her eyes (but only a little). Meg tacks on a ‘dummy’ at the end there, to make sure he knows that it was an obvious question.

“I…uh. Well, it’s usually obvious. I just sort of run into them. That’s why I want to get to the Upper East Side. My new master will claim my service and—” His explanation really boils down to ‘first come, first serve’ and so she’ll get served first.

She sort of knew that this day would change her life, but never would she have expected how much.

-

When Lester – Apollo – came back all immortal and goddy back again Meg thinks it’s goodbye. Going off to fight isn’t a goodbye because she ordered Apollo to come back to her, and as long as he was mortal he’d have to listen to that order. So that meant he had to win. Simple. Easy.

Once, a four-year-old Meg had planted her very first seed and she’d sat down in front of it, waiting for it to the Opuntia to grow. She sat in front of it for the whole day, her father finding her only when the sun started to stain Aeithales a pretty orangish red. Philip McCaffrey had asked her what she was doing, to which she only said waiting. Four-year-old Meg didn’t have much of a vocabulary, her sentences made up of very few syllables.

Her father had laughed then, smile lines stretching in a practiced motion, but then he’d apologized after seeing her pout, so she forgave him for that. He told her things in the way he often did, with a story.

“Long ago,” he begins like usual. “There was a warrior named Odysseus. He had lots of adventures but we’re not talking about him today. Today we’re talking about his wife Penelope.”

“Penelope was the Queen of an island called Ithaca. Her husband, Odysseus was naturally, its King. They had a son whom they named Telemachus and for a few months they were happy. And then news came of a war, a war that Odysseus was invited to fight in. The King of Ithaca wanted to refuse at first, the desire to stay with his family was strong, but in those days the honor of war overshadowed this desire. And so, Penelope and little Telemachus waved Odysseus and the soldiers of Ithaca off, wishing them a swift victory.”

“The victory was not swift. It was long and sad and violent but eventually Odysseus and his men prevailed. They beat the other side, and they were glad, because now they could return home. However, for reasons he, and only he because his men died in the war and later the journey back to their homeland, came back twenty years later. Penelope, who had to raise Telemachus with the help of her servants and not her husband could have chosen a new husband, a different one. But she didn’t, because she knew Odysseus would come back and so she waited twenty long years with suitors vying for her hand in marriage. She waited and she waited and. She. Waited.”

“Anyone else would have lost hope, lost patience but Penelope waited. And then she got him back. Odysseus returned home and he came back to her and to his son.”

Meg thinks twenty years is too long and she doesn’t want to wait that long for the plant to grow. She plans on saying as much to her father when he holds out a hand, signaling her to listen to him first. She does, but her legs shake in anticipation to speak all the same.

“Meg. I’m not saying the Opuntia will take twenty years to grow. I’m saying that it takes a while for things to happen. Nothing big ever starts and finishes in a day, no matter how much you want it to. It’ll take a while for your plant to grow, but patience is important, and so, you must wait.”

She nods her head at him which gets her one of his smiles. The smiles of Philip McCaffrey are the most common thing around, but each one directed at her is as precious as diamonds and water.

It is this memory she thinks of whenever her skin itches with the need to know. When the ants come crawling out of nowhere and decide that they’re going to creep around on her.

It is this memory that’s playing in her head when she sees her best friend (brother) again.

He looks the same, but also different. The acne isn’t fresh anymore but instead a crater of scars against a tan face; there’s a confidence lining his body turning him from freshy born animal to ballet dancer; his eyes, which were perpetually wide and anxious are half-closed in an easy way that reminds her of a sleeping cat. He looks content even with the undercurrent of nervousness in him.

“You’re back.” She breathes out, joy written so clearly in her voice that she would be able to read it.

He smiles at her, and she can see how he’s the Sun God because it’s so warm. Warm like the orangish red that bathes the greenhouse sometimes. “You’re sunburned.” Apollo says pointedly.

She orders him to come even though she knows it’s fruitless, he knows it too, but he comes back to her anyway. Meg should remember the rest of the day better but the only thing she can know for sure is the feeling of a huge weight lifted from her chest after seeing him alive and well. Her brother-best friend is back and that’s all that really matters anyway.

-

There’s something to be said about her siblings in that each and every one of them came to see her perform, even though it was just an opening for a band in a hole-in-the-wall SoCal café. Cassius, Lucius, Aemilia, Lityerses, Billie, Miranda and even Katie were visible in the crowd. They were bunched together like grapes and looked like clothing patches on jeans with how mismatched they were.

Cassius was in a Camp Half-Blood shirt and wearing a neon green maxi skirt; Lucius with orange bell bottoms and gothic frills was nothing in comparison to Aemilia’s dark, dramatic makeup and a white sundress. Billie, Miranda, and Lityerses looked like they both came straight from weeding a garden, dirt and all which isn’t unbelievable, if you can believe it. Katie was wearing a nice yellow sunflower skirt and a simple black top, which was miles better than what everyone wore.

A keyboard sat on the rickety wooden stage, a spotlight highlighting it and eventually her for everyone to see. It’s all been set up so that Meg doesn’t have to do anything other than just go out there and knock everyone’s socks off with how good she is. And she’s good.

Apollo had told her that after her very first piano lesson, most people don’t get it quickly, but she does. In fact, his exact words were “Anyone can play the piano Meg. Instruments are meant to be played and everyone who starts an instrument knows that. But you, Meg, shouldn’t settle for playing piano. You should perform it, make an art out of that piano.” To this day she doesn’t understand what his words meant but Apollo doesn’t give out compliments of greatness all the time. Goodness, yes, he’s nice like that but he doesn’t often sound awed by people.

That memory brings a smile to her lips. Apollo had magicked a dark green suit for her, with a dark orange bowtie as per her request. He’d pursed his lips and there was judgement in his face which if she’s being honest with herself is the reason she chose the color combination in the first place. His disgusted-horrified face is the funniest thing, especially if he looks concerned for her health.

An inhale and exhale later, Meg’s walking towards the keyboard, a cheap and plasticky thing. Even before she starts playing there’s applause from the crowd, Meg doesn’t even have to look at them to see it’s her siblings and also Apollo who’s posing as a bartender. A flush rises to her cheeks, Gods they are so embarrassing, she thinks as she plays the opening of Chopin’s Etude op. 10 No. 4.

Later on, she’d deny it but there’s a smile on her face the whole time.

-

There’s a sun on her grave.

Meg has been dead for two years and the apple tree that had been fertilized by her ashes looks healthy and strong. Lots of things can be said about the fact that she’s here and not in Elysium (like the fact that Nico owes her far too many favors) and she doesn’t want to say any of them. Living for a whole century is a considerable feat but it was wholly expected.

She had felt like there was something just to the side that kept tumors, diabetes, blood pressure and other medical illnesses that come with age at bay. Healing her left, right and center; she knew what, or to be specific, who it was, and it was that who who wept fiery tears on her grave.

At first Meg had thought it was the sun itself in humanoid form but the longer she looks at it, the more it seems like a rainbow, but only a pale silver, a monochromatic rainbow if you will. The edges of the form don’t flicker and dance in the way fire does but dilate and enlarge in a rhythmic manner like a heart does. The tears that fall are like glowing moon drops, all shimmer and shine.

Instinct that shouldn’t be there tells her that this is Apollo, that this amalgamation of light and melancholy is her brother. Her mind rages against the thought because he’d never, ever looks so not put together. The very same shouldn’t-be-there instinct tells her that this is Apollo’s rawest form, that if she weren’t already dead, she very well would be.

“Hey ‘pollo.” She whispers, words carried onwards by the breeze.

He whips around, quick as the Bach Prelude in C Minor, face morphing into several thing before settling on what she’s lovingly dubbed ‘Lesterpollo’. It’s a combination of his favored Apollo look and Lester Papadopoulos, which includes big brown sheep eyes and banana slug yellow curls. His acne has turned into scars, and they along with freckles and two moles shift constantly making different constellations. Her shoulders loosen up seeing his familiar face but then immediately tighten up when she sees tears as clear as her glasses well up inside his eyes.

“Mind a hug?” Apollo chokes out, she doesn’t even have to nod, just clench her jaw in a way and he’s hugging her like she doesn’t need to breathe. Which she doesn’t.

It takes an age and a day for the hug to stop, and she doesn’t want it to because a hug from Apollo God of the Sun and also Light and a bunch of other things is the warmest thing you’ll ever feel in your life. In every sense of the word warm, it will be warm. Even before Meg had died at the ripe old age of one hundred, she had been perpetually cold.

Apollo wipes the tears from his eyes, but the shifting patterns of dots do little to mask some rapidly oncoming tears stains.

“How –”

“Nico owes me a bunch of favours. Cassius is still here, and I was – I was waiting for him to kick the bucket so.” She cuts him off with her waterfall of words and shoves her liver-spotted hands into her burnt umber handmade satin coat she got from her youngest daughter.

“Younger siblings. Huh?” Apollo asks her, a dry joke that makes her want to cry and laugh at the same time because she’ll perpetually look like Apollo’s grandmother, and she likes looking old. It makes her feel happy and proud and fuzzy all over but there had been a point in her mid-forty’s where when she and her brother went out for something or the other and they’d been mistaken for mother and son. They’d laughed about it immediately afterwards, but she thinks of it in the most randomest moments.

A peaceful silence settles itself cozily between them as they watch the sun makes its descent downwards. She’ll be here till her youngest brother turns 101 years old because he competitive little shit and see more sunsets in this ghostly form, but she’ll always have company.

[guilty-pleasures21]

The last of the real ones

No context, no explanations. Just words and emotions spilling onto my keyboard. Listen to the songs for the full experience.

An only child of the universe

The waves

Wet concrete pt II

This whole damn city

Does your therapist know?

Too good to be true

The only one

Warnings: descriptions of depression and panic attacks.

----------------------------------------------------------

"I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me ..."

9 am: alarm. Don’t hit the snooze button. Get up and open the curtains to let some sunlight in - sunlight makes you happy, she reminded herself as the bright light streamed in through her windows. Make the bed - seeing it in a mess would only put her in a lazy mood for the rest of the day. Shower and brush teeth. And she shouldn’t forget to play the radio on her phone so she wouldn’t have to listen to her thoughts.

9.30 am: breakfast. Two hard-boiled eggs and a cup of hot chocolate to warm her up. And her medication, of course. And the new book she was reading so she wouldn’t have to think about her thoughts - scrolling through her phone would only cause her to spiral down a black hole, so her therapist had advised her to keep it away from her while she had her breakfast. 

10 am: gym. She put her earphones in her bag so she wouldn’t be tempted to drown out her thoughts with more music. Instead, she looked around at her surroundings and focused on all the natural sounds of the world as she made her morning walk. The world is beautiful, she reminded herself, and the world is fine. It will keep spinning, even when you feel like you might die. She forced the corners of her lips up, putting on a small smile as she waited by the traffic light. Her smile stretched wider as she walked into her regular gym and made eye contact with the receptionist. 

     “How was your weekend?” X asked, stopping to engage in conversation - social interactions were good. In small doses, they fulfilled the basic human desire for company. 

     “Ugh!” Stacey groaned, jokingly putting her head in her hands. “My sister and her boyfriend broke up. Again! So I had to stay in making sure she didn’t overdose on trashy rom-coms and ice cream.”

     X snickered at the not-quite-joke and a small smile pulled at the corners of Stacey’s lips. 

     “What about you?” she asked, completing the customary greeting conversation. X’s stomach twisted into a knot and she quickly pushed aside any thoughts she had of … he-who-shall-not-be-named. A joke. Joking was good. Joking made her … less sad. Her therapist had wanted her to open up about him more, in the initial stages of counselling - because talking about him, reliving the good memories, would help her accept … what had happened. Would help her miss him less - but everytime she felt the sound of his name in her mouth, she would break down all over again until Bruce had told the woman that perhaps it was best to just avoid the topic all together. 

     “I … read my new book,” X replied, latching onto the first saving grace that blessed her mind. But now she had to elaborate - it was what was expected, after all. “It’s set in the Victorian era. It’s about this guy who’s actually the illegitimate child of an Earl - this high-ranking nobleman during that time period - and his father’s will says that he has to marry someone by the end of the year in order to claim his inheritance. So, he asks his neighbour to pretend to be his bride. And then they actually end up falling in love!” 

     “Ah, the ‘marriage-of-convenience’ storyline.” Stacey nodded her head knowingly. Then she leaned forward, her eyes alight with excitement. “What’s it called?”

     They chatted a bit more before X finally headed over to the lockers to put her things away. Then she put in her earphones, turned up her music and set to work. 

     She spent the rest of the day going through the usual motions - lunch, library, coffee, dinner with some friends so she wouldn’t be alone with her thoughts for too long - until finally, there was nothing left to keep her from her bed. X opened the door to her apartment and leaned back against it once she’d locked it again, surveying the empty and darkened space. She sucked in a breath and forced a smile onto her face, then turned on the lights and began getting herself ready for bed. 

     But it was still too early for sleep - she needed to maintain a regular sleep schedule, her therapist would always tell her, and minimise her use of the insomnia pills her psychiatrist had given her. X sighed and grabbed her phone as she sank onto the sofa, preparing to scroll through her social media while the television droned on in the background. She thought she was doing fine, distracting herself from the cold silence sneaking around behind her,  waiting for her to look it in the eye and give it permission to devour her whole ... 

     But suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. 

     She dropped her phone onto the cushion and reached for her chest as she doubled over, the panic spreading through her veins and filling up her lungs and nose and eyes and everywhere! It was everywhere and it wouldn’t stop and she couldn’t breathe and it hurt - it hurt, hurt, hurt. It hurt so bad, her heart pounding in her chest in terror, begging to be let out, beating against her ribs as she tried and tried and tried to pull down a breath. Just one breath, just one breath. She fumbled around the sofa, reaching for phone, then she dialled the one person she knew would always pick up, no matter what. 

     “X?” Dick asked, his voice smooth and calm and so, very far away. X gasped into the phone, desperately trying to swallow down whatever air her lungs would permit, and Dick’s voice grew louder. “X, slow down. You’re okay, X, just slow down. You gonna slow down for me? Please?” 

     X nodded and clutched her phone with both hands as she forced her shallow breaths to slow down. She inhaled deeply, allowing the air to enter her lungs naturally rather than trying to pull it down. “J-Jay-”

     “I know, X, I know,” Dick reassured her, his voice soft and gentle and understanding. He understood. He understood and he’d gone through it too and he was okay. He was okay and he would be okay in spite of everything, so maybe she could be okay too. “Can you switch to video for me, X? Can you do that for me, please?” 

     She sucked in another shaky breath, then swiped up on the video button. Dick’s face filled the screen, his lips stretching into a delighted smile when he saw her - because he was happy to see her, even when she was a mess, even when she was a sobbing wreck who couldn’t get over her grief - and immediately, her stomach began slowly trying to untwist itself. 

     “Hey, little nightingale,” he greeted her, no judgement whatsoever in his voice - his calm and understanding voice. “We’re going to do our breathing exercises, okay? I’m going to need you to do them with me, X. Can you do that for me? Please?” 

     X nodded and Dick began narrating the breathing exercises her therapist had taught her. “Okay, let’s breathe in first and count to four. You ready, X? Breathe in, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four.” 

     X followed his instructions, focusing on nothing but making each breath last for as long as he told her to. They repeated the exercise a few more times until finally, she felt her body stop trying to fight her. Dick waited patiently as she brushed the tears and snot off her face, then he flashed her another one of those understanding smiles. 

     “Hey, we’re okay, right, X?” he asked softly, his tone so reassuring that it chased away any remaining fear that continued to slink around her body. “You and me, together?” 

     ‘Together’. That was what had brought them this far. Pain was always easier when you were dealing with it ‘together’ - when you had someone to share it with sometimes. X nodded in agreement and forced her lips into the smallest of smiles - because smiling also made everything seem just a little less heavy. 

     “You know your big bro’s always going to be here to protect you, right, X?” Dick continued. “I mean, I am kind of the greatest superhero to have ever walked this Earth.” 

     He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t such a big deal to make such a bold statement, and a soft chuckle fell from X’s lips at his joke. Dick grinned, his smile widening from one of understanding to one of joy - of relief and genuine happiness - and X felt her lips stretch just a little more too. 

     “There’s that smile we all love and fear,” he joked, coaxing another small snicker from X’s lips. “I’m gonna come by tomorrow if you haven’t got anything on. Do you need more candy? You’d better not have finished the last pack I got you! It was supposed to last three months, at least!” 

     X glanced around her living room, studiously avoiding Dick’s gaze as a guilty little smile crossed her lips. “Uh, … I might need just a little more candy? Maybe?” 

     Dick groaned and X’s next laugh was just a little louder than the last one - just a little longer. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, little nightingale? I’ll keep my phone on tonight so you can reach me if anything.” 

     “Okay,” X agreed, a wave of gratitude sweeping her up and bathing her in its comforting warmth. “See you tomorrow. Bye, Dick, I love you!” 

     Dick softened at her words. “I love you too, little nightingale.”

Tags: @stormz369

[sturniololuv08]

TreeHouse Chapter 6

"He was just a childhood best friend; they never really last anyway."

Summary: Sienna takes a trip down memory lane.

"A piece of my heart left with you."

⚠️This Fic Series will NOT be for people with triggers. This Fic Series will have very descriptive moments of abuse.⚠️

Please Read At Your Own Risk.

Sienna POV:

It couldn't have been him. There was no way, after all these years, he would reappear. He looked at me like he was looking right through me. His eyes were void. My Chris would never have eyes like that. The joy and life inside of him were so energetic it was almost impossible. That boy seemed saddened and dead inside.

"How come you never told us about him?" Julia asked as we walked to our following classes.

"He was just a childhood best friend; they never really last anyway." I tried to shrug it off, but the truth was I couldn't stop thinking about him. His hoodie was up, so maybe I had just imagined him to be who I wanted. Julia went to her class, leaving me behind with my thoughts. My next period was English. I debated skipping it because I couldn't focus much anyway. I just wanted to go home. I felt sick to my stomach. My parents would never believe me if I told them Chris was back. Was he... Was he back? I walked into class, and there, in the third row, next to the window with his hood up, was the boy again. We locked eyes just like on the bus. He slowly pushed his hood off of his dark brown, moppy head. His icy blue eyes, still cold, looked directly at me.

"Sienna." My vision was becoming blurry. "Are you okay? You look sick." I felt absolutely ill.

"No, I... I mean, yes. I am." I started to feel woozy.

"Please take a seat next to Christopher," the teacher said. I felt the name take every last breath out of my chest. My legs fell out from underneath me, and I felt a slight breeze as my body slipped through the air.

"Oh my god!" was the last muffled thing I heard before everything went black.

"Honey, are you okay?" I opened my eyes and blinked a few times. I was in a little makeshift bed with my parents beside me.

"We are right here, Sienna."

"Mom?" I started to sit up.

"The school called. Your teacher said you passed out at the start of class today."

"How are you feeling?" The school's nurse came in asking.

"I'm good." I took a deep breath and looked at everyone's faces. My mother's expression was the most worried.

"Why do you think you passed out? Have you eaten today?" The nurse asked. I knew it had to do with him, but I couldn't admit that, at least not to them.

"No."

"It could be some low blood sugar or low pressure, maybe." The nurse grabbed a cuff to latch around my arm. "Well, get you something from the cafeteria, and you should be good to go—unless you want to take the rest of the day off." Yes.

"Mom?" I knew if I asked her, with her worry, she'd say it was okay.

"She'll come home with us today." She stuck up for me. I couldn't be in school anymore. I had too many thoughts and questions about him. After all these years he pops up in school? Why? Most importantly, how?

"That's fine. I'll go email your teachers." The nurse smiled and walked to her desk. I couldn't understand why he looked just like Matt or Nick or why his eyes were void and emotionless. I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't believe he was really him. My Chris left. He left me behind and never bothered to explain. My confusion was slowly turning into anger. The more I thought about the past and how long I held onto him, the more the anger bubbled inside of me.

"All set?" My dad asked the nurse.

"Yup. Try and get some rest Sienna." She smiled softly at me. I walked out to the car with my parents.

"You have never passed out before. Have you not been eating for a while?" My mom asked.

"What?" I was confused.

"Are you not eating to become, like, skinnier?" Dad tried to ask in a way I'd get it.

"What? No! I just missed breakfast today." I lied again. The car ride home was short.

"We have to go back to work. You gonna be alright?" Dad kissed my forehead while I lay in bed.

"Yeah. I'm just going to take a nap." I covered up.

"Make sure to eat something when you wake up." Mom left the door open a tiny crack even though I'd be home alone. I listened to them go and stared off at my wooden white door. I tossed and turned, just thinking about him. I sat up and looked out my bedroom window- the tree house. Surely, if it were him, he would meet me there. I got out of bed and slipped on my short furry boots. I gripped my phone in my hand and walked out the sliding glass door. I couldn't believe it, not until I knew for sure. Having the name Christopher could have been a complete coincidence. I also don't recall my Chris ever having any brothers. They never played Transformers and Barbies with us. I looked up at the rotting platform, neglected for years after I gave up. I felt a lump in my throat slowly forming. I gulped it down and gave the rope ladder a little tug to ensure it wasn't rotting. It was firm. I stepped on one rung and waited for the snap, but it didn't happen. I looked up again and sighed.

"Fuck this," I muttered, getting angry. Chris just disappeared and then suddenly reappeared, and for what? I started ascending the ladder until I got to the hole to enter. "Fuck him," I whispered angrily. I climbed up in the tree house. My eyes were closed. I was almost afraid he would be here. What would I even say to him? What would he say to me? I slowly opened my eyes and was instantly met with more disappointment. "Typical." I sighed. The inside of the tree house was dark. The weather-warped wood was molding and rotting in a few spots worse than others. The once bright pink fuzzy shag carpet was now matted and sun-bleached. All the vibrant colors I remembered were now ghostly grey versions of themselves. Everything changed the day Chris left. My whole life lost its color, and I was fine pretending up until now until he came back just to remind me of what he took when he disappeared. The lump in my throat breached the surface, and I let out a little sob. My eyes followed the emotional train I was riding being back in the tree house, our tree house.

I blinked fast a few times, feeling the tears slip a little quicker. Once my vision wasn't bubbly, I looked around again. I saw her. She was sitting in the corner where I had left her that night. I crawled over and picked her up. I pinched her pink frilly dress. I looked at my attire and noted that the plaid pajama pants and white shirt I changed into for the nap I was supposed to be taking right now didn't match. My tears started falling again. I tasted the salty, warm water on my lips. I threw her hard to the other side of the tree house. "Why did you leave?" I cried a little louder. I heard a strange buzzing noise and immediately closed my mouth and halted my sobs. I glanced around to see a Transformer struggling to light up. I crawled over and picked it up. I noticed my Barbie, who disturbed Bumble Bee's slumber. I picked her back up, feeling instant guilt for throwing her. Nine-year-old me would have never mistreated her like that. I clutched them both to my chest and continued to cry. "Please, be him." I quietly sobbed to our childhood toys. "Please be my best friend."

A/N She did it. She went back.

TreeHouse Taglist:

@trevorsgodmother @mintsturniolo @wysmols @chriss-slutt @middlepartmatt @blushsturns @shadowtheism @fratbrochrisgf @forgottxen @loveparqdise @courta13 @sturniolo-fann @verstarkey @chrissweetheart @bluetalia

This fic is TAGLIST SPECIFIC, meaning in order to be tagged in this, you HAVE to be on the list. I'm doing this because of TRIGGERS.

REBLOG INSTRUCTIONS: I don't mind just please stress the trigger warnings so no backlash comes back to me!

[aves-rook-laidir]

My Veilguard Headcanons so far

I'm rewrinting the big post I made in the first few days of release, now better written, edited and tidier, in no particular order:

SPOILERS ALL

Zeia Ingellvar and Aves Laidir were both thrown back into the stone wall when Solas’ ritual was disrupted. Zeia’s horns had broken their fall, significantly reducing the damage. They had patched their horn up as best they could, but by the time they got back to the Veiljumper base, it was so badly cracked and throbbing that Zeia walked up to the first medic they saw and got him to cut it off at the base. That medic had been Ise Aldwir, and once he saw the state the group was in—Aves displaying various concussion symptoms, Zeia’s horn situation, and Harding’s god-awful attempt to stitch her face back together—he decided he had better tag along for a while. Strife was still pissed off at him anyway.

Harding was freaking out in the Ossuary. Dwarves and masses of ocean water tended not to mix well. Even though they had only just met, and been living in a nightmare for a year, Lucanis still made an effort to reassure her.

Lucanis was so horrified and overhwlemed for missing the killing blow at Weisshaupt that, when they got back to Lighthouse, he separated himself and had a full-blown panic attack.

Mournwatch training, which often began as young as 12, included combat and self-defense classes. Emmrich had initially shown little interest in physical training—until, in his first week, another apprentice had hit him so hard on the left side of his head that his hearing had never fully recovered. After that, he had thrown himself into the training out of spite, surprising even himself with his natural gift for fighting...when it was necessary.

Davrin had always pushed off Bellara’s attempts to talk about faith because it was how he coped. How could he think about his clan’s patron goddess, Ghil’anain? They had lived and breathed her worship: his youth caring for Halla, his Vallaslin—it had all been for her. It meant nothing. He couldn’t open that door.

Fighting that dragon in Treviso together mere hours after meeting had cemented a close bond between Rook (Aves) and Davrin that had remained for the rest of their lives—a baptism of fire.

Ise’s father was deaf, along with a handful of others in his clan and the surrounding clans. He would teach Manfred a new sign to use whenever he could, much to Manfreds delight.

At night, alone with her garden, Harding’s mind would go back to The Hinterlands, and those earliest weeks of the Inquisition. How she had assumed Varric and Solas had been old friends, the way they would walk together through the camp, chatting about…nothing in particular. She missed who she had thought they were then. She missed who she had thought she was then.

One night, while they had played cards by candlelight around the dining room table, the topic of how Neve had lost her leg had come up. She had insisted that everyone must guess, leading to each person telling more and more elaborate stories of Venatori, demons, and dragon fights. At last, it had been Ise Aldwir’s turn—the elven medic—who had guessed correctly that she had never had it to begin with and that it was simply a circumstance of her birth.

After Solas had told Aves ‘Rook’ Laidir the truth about the Archdemons’ connection to the Evanuris, she had been so stunned and distracted while trying to gather everyone to tell them that she had fallen down the stairs and cracked her rib.

Taash carried a small sketchbook with them as they traveled, filled with details and drawings of the different dragons they had encountered.

Neve enchanted her manicures so they wouldn’t get scratched or damaged during fights.

The Iron Bull had actually been in Minrathous just a week before the dragon attack. Dorian had been one of the few mages on the ground during the fight, casting ranged attack after ranged attack, his muscles aching with the memory of past battles, wishing Bull had been there with him again.

Taash brought Emmrich tropical fruits from Rivain as a peace offering.

Manfred was obsessed with Taash’s hair and they could often be found sitting and drawing while Manfred plaited it.

Lucanis is extremely dyslexic, he managed to skirt under the radar for most of his life due to his high intelligence and ability to bullshit. He was self-conscious about it, his apparent inability to learn something so simple for everyone else. He had nearly quit the book club and run for the hills when it had taken him three times as long as the others to finish a novella. He couldn’t explain why someone like him, who had access to the best tutors in Antiva, couldn’t get through a simple book. The group made it clear they weren’t judging him. Emmrich picked up on it quickly and wasted no time telling Lucanis that he had taught many students whose minds worked the same way and that, if his upbringing hadn’t been so isolated, he might have learned that sooner.

It had taken weeks to get Rook out of the Veil prison. Emmrich had stayed up for the last three days, in a fluctuating state of high magic as he worked to deconstruct the locks of the Veil prison in which Rook had been trapped. Based in his office, he had cast great strobing circles and cuts of magic above him, opening different locations around the Fade. He had been joined by different companions at different times.

Davrin had stayed close but felt entirely useless, often leaving the room for his own sanity. 

Bellara had stayed for hours at a time to provide support and temporarily take over so Emmrich could rest. 

Ise had brought half the infirmary to the entrance of Emmrich’s room, constantly worried about Emmrich’s endurance and the state Aves would be in when they finally got her out. 

Lucanis had brought food and drink, though most of it went untouched.

Neve and Taash had occasionally popped their heads in. They, along with Zeia, had gone back and forth to the Veiljumpers, who had helped craft the dagger and were helping them grieve.

Emmrich got Bellara to talk about academic theory with him whenever they had gone out together, using it as a way to distract her mind because he had known she lay awake at night, trapped in a never-ending crisis of faith.

Harding grew elfroot to smoke it and shared with the others. They would lie in her garden, looking up at the giant flowers and smoking.

They trained and practiced magic in the large open space outside the dining hall, often one-on-one, while the others sat on the steps to watch. Neve had encouraged everyone to place bets—for morale, of course. The group’s favorite combination had been two mages attacking offensively while trying to hit the third mage defending. The most dramatic match had been Neve with her ice magic and Aves with her fire magic, trying and failing to land a hit on Emmrich, whose barrier and dispel magic had proven impenetrable.

One member of the Veil Guard had always woken up to find Assan sleeping nearby in their bedroom, though they never knew who would be next.

It had been Morrigan who had made her way through the blight and destruction, weeks after the defeat of Elgar’nan, to retrieve Harding’s remains. She wasn't going to let a fellow daughter of Ferelden be lost forever so far from home.

[revenge-of-the-assbutt]

i feel sick

[yngai]

today's the anniversary of john's last letter to ada written knowing he is already infected & begging her to go public with everything they uncovered together at arklay, turn on the lab's self destruct & to put him down if she ever saw him turned. she never read his last words, they were many on a list of letters sent to her & burned after her transfer to NEST where she was light on her feet beginning to befriend annette birkin (a relationship that eventually led to an affair), she forgot about john as quickly as he fell in love with her, happy july 8th everyone