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roosterforme · 8 months ago

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Sugar and Lace | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley had a hot wife. He went wild for you in your work clothes and his worn out shirts. You didn't need any bells and whistles to look sexy, and you never would. But now that he knew what you looked like in a little lace, he needed to have that version of you, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, drinking

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Check out my masterlist

Bradley looked at Jake over his beer, and Jake looked right back at him. The Hard Deck was virtually empty this early on a Saturday in the middle of the blazing summer heatwave, leaving the two of them very much alone together with their drinks.

"So..." Bradley said, tracing a line through the condensation on his half empty bottle. It wasn't that he disliked Jake. Not really. But he didn't know how many times he could be coerced into hanging out with him for the sake of you having a 'girls day'. It wasn't like he could complain about work to the person who annoyed the shit out of him at work yesterday.

"So..." Jake replied, picking up his drink and chugging it before signaling to Penny for two more. When he turned back, he had a smug little smile on his face that let Bradley know he was about to get annoyed again. "I'm assuming by the way your wife looks and how fucking pussy whipped you are that she has good taste in lingerie?"

Bradley sputtered, almost knocking his bottle off the high top. "Jesus fucking Christ, Hangman. What the hell kind of question is that?" He could feel heat rising in his cheeks at the memory of you prancing around the bedroom last weekend in a lacy tie dye bra and matching boy shorts. Everything you wore was sexy.

"That's obviously what they are out shopping for," Jake drawled, handing the empties to Penny as she dropped off fresh beers. Bradley waved two fingers in a half-hearted salute and then glared at Jake as he added, "Jessica specifically asked your wife to go with her. She told me she's picking out some things for the honeymoon, and you and I both know what that means. They are trying on lingerie." His smirk was back. "Together."

Bradley swallowed hard, digging his fist into his thigh. His teeth were clenched as he said, "Stop picturing my wife in lingerie."

All he got was a jovial laugh in response. "Tell me right now to my face that you're not picturing both of them wearing something tight, cropped and lacy, and I'll stop."

Bradley raked his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the mental image of you and Jessica in a cute little fitting room, laughing together. "God damn it, Hangman!"

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

You and Jessica were crammed into a fitting room together, trying not to laugh at the enormous stacks of cute things to try on. Your pile was on the left side of the decorative bench, and hers was on the right. You knew that Jessica Reed happened to collect lingerie in every color imaginable, but she was on a quest to find some unique things to take on her honeymoon. And you were on a quest to wow your husband with something more than a bra and boy shorts for once.

Not that he complained. Not that he ever complained. Bradley went absolutely feral for you in your damn work clothes and loafers. He about lost his mind when you wore his ratty, old tie dye tee shirt to bed. He often sounded like he was going to need CPR when you put on his bathrobe and nothing else. It was hard to contain your smile when you just knew that something in this fitting room was going to blow his mind to the point that he would be rendered speechless.

"Try something on," Jessica suggested gently, and you took a step closer to your pile. "Then you'll get a better idea of what you like."

There was red, green, black, white and pink fabric. There were nightgowns, thongs, bralettes and stockings. When you reached your hand out, you hesitated, confidence wavering. This seemed a lot more challenging than solving a linear algebra matrix.

Jessica whispered, "You'll look beautiful in anything, Advanced Calculus. I can promise you that." When you kind of shrugged in response, she said, "Do you want me to wait in line for my own fitting room so you can have more privacy?"

The two of you already agreed to help each other make selections, and the last thing you wanted was to keep opening the door so everyone else could see you wearing this stuff. "No. It's not that. I just... don't really own anything like this. I mean, I have a few things, but some of this is elaborate." You glanced at her over your shoulder and winced. "And this was supposed to be a shopping trip for you! For your honeymoon! Not for me."

She shushed you and then reached into your pile and pulled out a fairly innocuous looking nightie in a soft champagne color. "Start with this. Then you'll see how hot you look, and it'll be a gateway drug to you starting your own collection that will rival mine."

"I've seen your closet," you muttered, taking the hanger from her and holding the garment up in front of your body. It was pretty. The color even complimented your hair. It was a far cry from what you usually wore to bed, but you'd give it a shot.

When you started to undress, Jessica turned around and played with her phone, which you did appreciate. All of your bumps and lumps would be on display soon enough anyway, but at least you'd have a minute to straighten yourself out. The fabric was cool and slick against your skin, and you shivered as it settled high on your thighs. When you looked in the mirror and turned, you were pleasantly surprised with the result.

"It's not bad," you said, and she looked up and gasped, green eyes wide.

"It's perfect!"

"I wouldn't go that far," you muttered, smoothing your hands along your sides.

"Well, I would. And I'm sure Bradley would, too. Do you want me to take a picture on your phone?" she asked, and you nodded while she posed you with one hand on your hip. "Like I said, perfect," she muttered as she took the photo and then set your phone down again. "Try on something else."

"Okay," you whispered, reaching blindly into your pile and pulling out a black lace corset top.

Jessica jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "I love that one. I picked one up to try it on, too."

"I don't know about this," you said, holding it up in front of the nightie. "Not sure how Beer Boy is going to like it."

"You won't know until you try it on."

With those words of wisdom, you changed from the nightie to the corset, and your immediate thought was how cute this would look under your sweaters and tweed when you were at work. And it would feel amazing. It was snug and sexy, and somehow you felt like you could kick even more ass at work if you were wearing this thing.

"What the hell?" you whispered, and Jessica turned to look at you, clapping her hands once again. "I feel like I have super powers."

"Because you do! Look at you! Please let me take another picture of you to send to Bradley."

This time you posed yourself and turned so your tattoos were visible through the lace cutout on the side. Then you stood there and admired yourself before saying, "I'm definitely buying this. Catch me wearing it to work under my cardigans in the fall."

Jessica started digging into her own pile now as you changed from the corset into a bodysuit, but when she met your eyes in the mirror, she looked like she was going to freak out.

"What?" you asked. "The bodysuit looks that bad?"

She shook her head, and pressed her lips together before almost shouting, "When were you going to tell me you have a math tattoo?"

"Oh," you replied, not sure you'd ever heard her voice reach that octave before. "Euler's Identity? I've had it since I was nineteen."

"I love how you embrace your inner nerd," she said as if she was in awe of you, and you started laughing which made her laugh. "Now send those pictures to your husband and let that man worship you."

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

Bradley had just buried his face in his hands while Jake laughed when his phone went off. You hadn't even bothered to inform him that your little 'girls day outing' was a quest to make sure Jake enjoyed his honeymoon with Jessica. Honestly, Bradley kind of hoped the other man was correct in his assessment that you'd be shopping for something for yourself, too. Not that you needed it. Holy shit, you still looked like the girl he fell in love with over a decade ago whenever you wore his old Grateful Dead shirt or his robe around the house.

But now he wanted something special, too. Why should Jake get to have all the fun when it came to having his partner all wrapped up in a pretty package that was specifically meant to be removed?

"Sugar," he grunted when he saw that you'd texted him. Jake was rambling about something across the table, but Bradley couldn't hear him. He could no longer hear anything. He couldn't process thoughts or form words. All he could do was stare at the two photos you'd sent to him. "Oh, fuck."

In the first one, you were wearing a shimmery light gold colored thing that looked soft. Like maybe almost as soft as your skin. His heart hammered up into his ears as he examined every inch of it on your curves. Your nipples were pebbled against the fabric, and he could practically feel them between his lips. When he swiped to look at the second one, he abruptly stood from his stool with his phone gripped tight in his hand, eyes bugging out.

"Let me guess... your wife sent you photos?" Jake asked, clearly amused.

Instead of verbally responding, Bradley made sure his phone was tipped away from Jake as he zoomed in for a closer look. Holy hell. Your tits were being pushed up in the sexiest black lace he had ever seen. It was sinful, and now he was imagining you wearing it under one of your tweed blazers while giving a lecture. He swallowed hard, realizing he could see the tiniest bit of your tattoos through the little cutout on the side, and he actually whimpered.

"Yeah... she definitely sent you photos," Jake murmured as his own phone chimed. "Oh, Jess just sent me five."

"How did you get five?" Bradley complained, swiping back and forth, desperately looking for more. "I only got two!"

It was then that he noticed you texted him after you sent the pictures.

What do you think, Beer Boy?

Bradley laughed a bit maniacally. What did he think about the lingerie? Ha! He could barely think at all! He paced back and forth a bit, sweating as he wrote back.

You look fucking hot as hell, Sugar. If you don't bring that black top home, I think you'll break my heart.

Bradley cringed, because now Jake was the one who was whimpering. "They're sharing a fitting room," he whispered, and Bradley's eyes went wide with the realization that Jessica must have taken the photos for you. Then his eyes narrowed as he reached for Jake's phone.

"You better not be able to see Sugar in any of the pictures!"

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

You and Jessica were wearing matching fluffy robes and sorting through everything you'd already tried on.

"You have to get that thing," you told her, pointing to the garters and stockings. "It fits you like a glove."

She nodded and added it to her 'yes' pile. "And you have to get the thong and bustier," she replied.

"I'm already buying four things," you reminded her. The bustier was nice, and your breasts looked good in it, but you didn't love the color very much. Besides, there was one last thing you hadn't tried on for fear of looking or feeling ridiculous, but there was a part of your brain that just knew your husband would love it.

"Missed one!" Jessica said, pulling on the bright pink fabric like she could read your mind. Always the best cheerleader, she held it up in front of your body and nodded. "It's bold, but I think you can pull it off."

You took it from her, but looked at yourself skeptically in the mirror. "I don't know... it's going to look bad. Like I'm trying too hard. I don't know why I even picked it up."

But you did know. Bradley was attracted to you in that dumb tie dye shirt like you were some sort of exotic bird whenever you put it on. All of the bright colors swirled into something that just lured him right to you. Part of it was nostalgia, sure, but you felt like there was something more as well.

"Actually, I do know why I picked it up," you told Jessica, holding the chemise closer to yourself. "Bradley really likes it when I wear his old shirt that I kind of held hostage for ten years. It's vibrant and bright, and I think this is the sort of thing he might enjoy?" You pursed your lips and sighed. "But, maybe I'm wrong, because he also just seems to like me how I am. No frills, you know? He's always been that way."

Jessica smiled. "Yes, I understand. And I hope you realize that you just described a man who is desperately in love with you, not just how you look. Sounds like the kind of man you should spoil a little bit." She tugged gently on the chemise and added, "This is a far cry from a tee shirt, but you won't know how you feel about it until you try it on."

"You're right."

Once you were out of the robe, you pulled the stretchy lace over your body, and gaped at the deep neckline as Jessica tied the satin ribbons around the back of your neck. You hadn't noticed before, but there were some yellow and orange threads woven in, making delicate swirls in the fabric. Almost like a different kind of tie dye. It actually looked stunning on you, and as you turned from side to side, you already knew you had to have it.

"I'm obsessed," Jessica said, bouncing excitedly as she clapped her hands together. "Should I take one last round of photos for you to send to Bradley?"

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

Bradley was lightheaded. He sweat through his shirt, and he had his forehead cradled in his hand as he opened three photos of you wearing something so bright and pink and sexy, he wanted to lick it off of you. Everything was covered up, but barely. In the one shot, he could almost see your ass. In another, he could definitely see your pert nipples. In the other one, he could make out part of your titty tattoos.

It was a good thing Jake was staring at his own phone in amazement, because Bradley was pretty sure he was drooling and incapable of formulating a sentence. He had already written back to you, begging you to buy the pink thing. Telling you he needed it. Letting you know he wanted to peel is slowly off of your body in bed later. In fact, the last thing he sent was 'Buy everything in that whole fucking store, money is no object'. And he meant every word.

Bradley had been crazy about you for so long, and most of the appeal came from how smart you are and the fact that you weren't fussy. You let him dote on you in your work outfits. You wore his clothing around the house. You didn't need all the bells and whistles to be sexy, and you never would.

But now that he knew exactly what you looked like in black satin and colorful lace, he needed to have that version of you, too. He needed it.

"Since when does your wife have tattoos?"

Those words snapped Bradley out of his lust filled stupor, and his brown eyes bore into Jake's green ones. How did he know about your titty tattoos? When his gaze drifted back to his phone, he turned the screen toward Bradley with a grin. Apparently you had taken a photo of Jessica, in which your reflection was visible in the fitting room mirror. You were wearing a bra, and you were as covered up as you would be for a beach day, but Bradley loathed the idea of Jake having any sort of access to those tattoos.

"Hey!" Jake complained as Bradley snatched the phone and deleted the photo. "What the fuck, Bradshaw? I wanted that picture of Jessica! You could have just cropped it."

"Hey, boys!"

Bradley turned in time to toss Jake's phone aside as Jessica headed through the nearly empty bar with you following behind her. There were two enormous shopping bags in your hands, and you had a smile on your face as you asked, "Ready to go home, Beer Boy?"

"Hell yes," he murmured, closing the distance to your lips and kissing you hard. "Did you buy that pink thing? And the black one?"

His hands wound around your waist possessively, and he got even more excited as you tucked the bags behind your back and whispered, "There's only one way to find out."

Bradley started guiding you to the door. "Yeah. We're going home. Right now." He ran his nose along your cheek and gave you one more sweet kiss before shouting over his shoulder, "Thanks for the beers, Bagman. Oh, and Jessica, I need you to crop your photos better next time you take my wife shopping."

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I love Beer Boy for making Sugar feel so good about herself every day. She's a badass, and he knows it. I wrote this as a little wedding treat for @je-suis-prest-rachel Congratulations, Rachel! And thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls

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thepencilnerd · 2 months ago

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Right Place, Right Time

pairing: off-duty Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Doctor!Reader genre: crack meets cozy, meet-cute(ish), mutual pining summary: Your first day off in weeks was supposed to be quiet. Instead, you ended up chasing down a purse thief at the farmers market—armed with nothing but a butternut squash. Luckily, Abbot was right behind you. word count: 1.3k a/n: can you tell I watch kdramas - ft. vigilante vegetables, Abbot’s quiet awe, and one shared squash. also I just realized that Shawn Hatosy was in The Faculty, all childhood crushes lead to home

It was your first day off in weeks. The kind of day where you’d promised yourself you’d sleep in, stay in bed, maybe make pancakes. Instead, your eyes snapped open at 6:47 AM. No alarm, no notification, no reason. Just muscle memory and a brain that refused to shut up.

After 45 minutes of staring at the ceiling, three failed attempts at meditation, and a solid internal debate about whether watching trauma compilation videos on YouTube counted as self-sabotage, you decided to go for a walk.

The farmers market felt like a good idea—low stakes, decent people watching, maybe a loaf of bread or something overly artisanal involving lavender and eucalyptus.

You were about halfway through your second lap past the honey stand when you heard it: a woman’s shout, followed by a blur of motion out of the corner of your eye. A man sprinted past, clutching a purse.

You blinked. Looked at the stunned woman.

And took off running.

In hindsight, it was a terrible idea. You had no backup, no plan, and you were wearing your least aerodynamic hoodie. But something primal kicked in, motivated mostly by the audacity of men in today’s age, and your feet were already moving.

You chased him past a stall of heirloom tomatoes, down a gravel path, narrowly dodged a man with a stroller—and then, acting on pure adrenaline and chaos, you snatched a butternut squash from a produce display and hurled it like a missile. It hit him square between the shoulder blades—enough to knock him off balance without risking a lawsuit.

He stumbled. Went down hard. The purse skidded out of his hand and into a nearby pile of decorative gourds.

You skidded to a stop and hunched over with your hands on your knees, catching your breath. It was a Sunday miracle. Then something—or someone—slammed into you from behind. You went down with an undignified yelp, landing in the grass. A moment later, a familiar voice groaned from where he landed next to you.

"Damn..."

You turned your head. "Dr. Abbot?"

He was already pushing himself up on his elbows, hair a windblown mess, sweater askew, expression somewhere between sheepish and incredulous.

"Shit, are you okay?" he asked, voice laced with worry. "I saw you take off. I didn’t know what was happening, so I—"

"Chased me?"

He winced. "Yeah. I think I owe you a new sweater."

Crouching beside you, he scanned you head to toe, his voice weighted with affect. "Anywhere hurt? You took a hard fall back there."

Then, without waiting for your answer, he slipped an arm under your shoulders and another beneath your knees, lifting you with a quiet grunt. His arms were strong, steady, and his hands—warm, broad, callused—held you with the kind of care that made your heart question its rhythm.

You both looked over at the man groaning on the ground. The purse lay just beyond him, untouched.

The police were quick to arrive, picking him up and the purse off the ground and taking him away with practiced efficiency. Abbot raised a hand in greeting to one of the officers—apparently someone he knew—before turning back to you.

He carried you a few paces to a nearby bench, the gravel crunching beneath his running shoes, before easing you down gently like you were made of glass.

"Sit. Breathe. You good?" he asked, crouching again beside you, brows furrowed with concern.

You nodded slowly, then winced as your fingers brushed over a scratch on your cheek. "Just a scrape," you muttered.

Abbot’s hand came up gently, fingertips brushing the edge of your jaw as he tilted your face toward the light. His thumb was warm and careful against your skin, and you nearly melted right then and there.

With the kind of casual grace that only made it worse, he pulled an alcohol pad from the pocket of his zip-up—of course he was prepared—and tore it open. He dabbed it gently over the scratch, his touch featherlight despite the sting.

"Sorry," he murmured, brows furrowed. Then, he pulled out a bandaid, peeled it open, and added, "Hold still," before placing it just below your cheekbone with careful precision. His hands were steady, practiced—like he’d done this a hundred times, just never on you.

Between his firm but gentle instructions and the way he touched you—like you were fragile and fierce all at once—you were pretty sure you’d jump off a cliff with a smile if he asked you to.

"Thanks." You cleared your throat, voice quieter than before. "Are you okay?"

He gave a sheepish half-smile. "You broke most of my fall. I'm so sorry..."

"Well, next time try not to use me as a crash mat," you teased, suppressing a smile.

He chuckled. "Deal. But I still owe you a proper thank you. Maybe pancakes."

"Now you’re speaking my language."

Abbot glanced at you again, cheeks flushing. "You, uh... you have a mean throwing arm."

You snorted. "Years of chucking chart binders at interns and childhood taekwondo will do that for you."

The sound he made might’ve been a laugh, if he hadn’t still been breathless from the fall. He sat back, looking at you with quiet awe. "That was pretty badass. And kind of terrifying. In a good way."

You raised a brow. "You ran full speed through a market to back me up. I’d say that’s at least medium terrifying."

He looked down, suddenly bashful. "I didn’t really think. Just saw you running and... moved."

You blinked. Felt something flutter in your chest. "That’s kind of sweet. Reckless, but sweet." You looked him over then, really looked—noticed the zip-up, the moisture-wicking fabric, the sweat-damp hair at his temples. "Wait, were you out for a run?"

He gave a lopsided shrug. "Yeah. It’s kind of how I burn off steam after shifts. This is actually my usual route. Never seen you here before, though."

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. "Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d walk it off before I lost my mind."

Abbot's mouth pulled into something small and understanding. "Good call."

You chuckled. "Barely. This was supposed to be a calm day."

"Hey, you stopped a thief with a squash. That’s more productive than most of my days off. You realize you’re basically a vegetable vigilante now, right?"

You huffed a laugh and nudged him with your shoulder. "God, that was such a dad joke. Do you rehearse those or are they just built into your DNA?"

Abbot held up a finger. "A quality dad joke. There’s a difference. And no, I don't have a repertoire of jokes. Much like medicine, they come to me naturally."

Your eyes rolled out of habit but couldn’t stop smiling. It was the kind of smile that stayed in your cheeks, in your chest, even as the quiet settled again between you.

It wasn’t awkward. It was easy. Familiar. Like the start of something.

A beat passed between you.

Abbot realized he was staring—at you. The way sunlight caught in your hair, your stray baby hairs blowing in the wind, the calm still blooming behind your smile. Something about the moment made his chest ache in the gentlest way.

He blinked, cleared his throat, and finally glanced toward the street. "There’s a café a block from here. Good coffee. Even better breakfast. Want to walk with me?"

You didn’t hesitate. "Yeah. I’d like that."

Before leaving, Abbot stooped to pick up the slightly dented butternut squash from where it had landed. You walked with him to the stall it had come from, both of you still a little dazed from the chaos. The woman running the stand took one look at the scene, then waved him off before he could pull out his wallet.

"Don’t even worry about it," she said with a wink. "You two make a great couple."

Neither of you corrected her.

You laughed as the two of you turned back toward the sidewalk. Abbot cradled the squash like a trophy. "Well, now we definitely have to make soup or something."

"Or risotto," you added.

"Sounds like dinner," he said, grin tugging at one corner of his mouth—teasing, but a little hopeful too. "If you’re free tonight."

You gave him a sideways glance, lips quirking. "Depends. You helping or just bringing the squash?"

As the two of you started down the sidewalk, your shoulders bumped once—then again, but neither of you stepped away.

Maybe this day off wasn’t a total loss after all.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt spoilers #the pitt imagine #jack abbot #dr abbot #jack abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #dr abbot x reader #dr. abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine

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sweetstrawberryys · 16 days ago

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"Heavy Lifting"

Summary: Domestic life with Simon "Ghost" Riley is full of soft moments disguised as rough touches and teasing jokes that hold more truth than you'd expect. From new throw pillows to gym thirst traps, love shows up in surprising ways when you're sharing a home with a man built like a fortress—and just as soft for you.

Rating: Domestic fluff, suggestive themes, light humor, gym thirst, thigh obsession, established relationship.

Masterlist

---

Your apartment’s lighting has this warm golden glow around 4 p.m., the kind that makes everything feel like a memory you’ll miss before it’s even over. The couch is freshly vacuumed, the air smells like your pink grapefruit cleaning spray, and you’ve just come back from a small shopping spree. It’s stupid how happy you feel about the two new throw pillows in your tote bag. They’re fluffy. They’re pastel. They’re soft. They’re so you.

Simon’s boots are by the door, which means he beat you home. You feel your heart do that little lurch it always does before seeing him, even after all this time. Like it never learned he’s yours now.

You walk in, holding the tote like it’s a treasure chest.

“Si!” you call, kicking your shoes off and padding into the living room, where he’s lounged back on the couch in sweats and a black tank. Mask up, of course. He barely lifts his head from the TV when you toss the bag on the cushion next to him.

“Bought throw pillows.” You reach in and pull one out—soft pink with ruffles—and toss it dramatically into his lap. “Feel how squishy these are.”

He looks at the pillow, unimpressed. Then slowly shifts his hand off of it… and drags both palms straight to your thighs as you stand in front of him.

“Mmm.” His voice drops low, fingers sinking into your skin through your skirt. “Perfect.”

“Simon!” you squeal, laughing, shoving his shoulder. “I’m trying to decorate, not get groped.”

He pulls you down into his lap like you weigh nothing, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist. “You brought the thighs into this,” he says simply. “Not my fault the pillows didn’t make the cut.”

You roll your eyes, snuggling closer anyway, letting your fingers toy with the hem of his tank top. “Pervert.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” you whisper, soft like a secret.

---

Later that night, he’s gone to the gym and you’re curled up with a blanket and your newest romantic thriller. Your phone buzzes. You expect a grocery list or a meme from Johnny. Instead:

📹 Video Message from Simon 💀

You hit play.

The camera’s angled slightly upward—Simon’s massive body glistening with sweat, wearing nothing but gym shorts. He’s bench pressing something heavy enough to crush a civilian. His arms flex with every rep, but that’s not what hits you. It’s the eye contact. He’s staring into the camera the whole time. Like he’s looking right at you.

The caption reads: you.

And in the background, Johnny’s voice cuts in like an overly enthusiastic hype man.

“C’mon, mate! You said she sits on your lap heavier than this!”

Simon’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile.

Johnny again: “Get that wife-weight PR, yeah?”

Simon slams the barbell up with a final grunt, then turns the camera slightly to the side and mutters, “That one’s for you, sweetheart.”

You clutch your phone to your chest like a blushing teen. Your thighs aren’t heavy. You’ve said that to him before in insecure moments. He disagrees loudly every time.

You text him:

You: you’re disgusting. i’m obsessed with you.

also tell johnny i’m stealing his hype man energy

Simon replies instantly.

Simon 💀: he says “anytime, darling.”

Simon 💀: want me to lift you like that when i get home?

You: i expect it. i’ll be waiting on the couch. with the thighs. and the pillows.

Simon 💀: my two favorite squishy things 🖤

---

He comes home smelling like soap and steel. Scoops you up like you’re nothing. You don’t even pretend to fight it, just wrap your legs around him and let yourself be carried like a princess.

“See?” he murmurs, nosing into your neck. “Nothing heavy about you. You fit just right.”

And somehow, in his arms, on your squishy pastel couch with your dumb little throw pillows, you feel lighter than air.

---

This was heavily inspired from this post. Sorry couldn't help myself the prompt was so good.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty x reader #cod x you #cod fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon cod #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley cod #simon riley x you #ghost #call of duty ww2 #call of duty wwii

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sakuravalenp · 11 months ago

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A dream land - DP X DC Prompt

Okay, so I was thinking about that episode "Perchance to dream" where Bruce is trapped in a dream world and this, even thought really different, came to my mind.

Danny is king or prince of the infinite realms. He's been working on personalizing/decorating his castle in the infinite realms. When he feels someone walking just outside the castles walls. The thing is, that someone isn't a denizen, they aren't in a corporeal body, but he can feel that they are very much alive and feel distinctly human. He approaches the person to ask why and how they are in the infinite realms, but they fade away before he gets the opportunity.

Clockwork, who was with him at the moment, tells him that the visitor from the living, was just the soul projection of someone that was sleeping, and then refuses to elaborate further. Since it's something that was to do with sleeping, Danny decides to go and ask Nocturn, it seemed like a reasonable assumption that he was the one at fault for the soul projection.

Contrary to what he thought, Nocturn informed Danny that Sleeping soul projection was a natural phenomenon that he didn't control. The land of dreams, ("My domain" - Nocturn reminds him), was in the infinite realm after all, and those who have been close to death sometimes slipped they're whole soul instead of just their mind, and ended up all over the infinite realms.

It isn't too different from a lucid dream for them, the body gets all the benefit of the sleep, the mind feels rested if they had a good time in the realms. Except, if they hurt their soul too bad during their little trip, it would have real consequences. Loosing memories, abilities regression, migraine, pain that reflects the soul damage, all either temporary until the soul healed, or permanent and deteriorating, and in some occasions finishing in the persons death. In the latter, the soul is usually too damaged and cease it's existence, or have enough ectoplasm and emotion to form into ghosts with crack cores whose existence is instantly in danger.

Danny clearly didn't like the image that was painted to him, so he asked Nocturn if there was really nothing that he could do. It took a lot of talking and convincing, but eventually Nocturn admitted he could be able to direct the soul projecting to appear on a certain place, but he refused to babysit anyone. Which was enough for Danny, all he needed to do was make another expansion in his castle.

He decided to make a garden to receive their soul projecting guests. The garden was enormous, with all kinds of spaced within it. Playgrounds, picnic spaces, soft benches, tables with ghost and space teamed board games, fountains, and of course, the beautiful flowers that surrounded and decorated the place. Once he got ghosts with gardening, protection and caring obsessions on the place to look out for the souls, he was ready to receive them. It took him by surprise the amount of people that came, the garden was never crowded, but was never empty either, and souls of all ages and places were visiting at all times.

He kept expanding the garden as he heard of new things their guests wished for. He enjoyed spending time in the middle of the garden where souls passed by but rarely appeared, it was calm, but not completly quite with the background noice of the soul enjoying their dreams, and he could do the more mundane king/prince work. Until, he starts getting a regular visitor on his little space of the garden.

Choose the DC character you prefer, my idea is for people who hasn't died in the past but has been in the doors of death (so died and came back would be disqualified but you do as you prefer), but I'm going with Tim.

The soul of a boy around his age appears just in front of him, as usual when he greets new arriving soul, he welcomes him with a gentle smile and tells him he is free to explore the garden. A ghost taker is assign to him. The soul, as usual, seems confused and like he wished to asks questions, but seems content to ask them to his tour guide, and Danny continues with his own duties.

But then, the same soul continues to appear in the same place every two or three days, they exchange greetings and every time talk for a bit longer before the boy leaves to explore once more. It's rear to have multiple visits from one soul, even more so for said soul to appear in the same place every time. By the four time, Danny decides to take a break on his royal duties and accompany his new friend.

~ They get close, and have cute scenes, Tim asks a lot of questions and Danny answers and not-answers a lot of questions ~

One day, Tim shows up as usual, but he is in full Red Robin costume, and well, Danny wasn't expecting an identity reveal.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

On the Bats side:

There's an attack of some villain that's able to put Red Robin (or character of your choice) on a sleeping beauty type of sleep while carrying a serious injury, were he stays sleep until teammates or backup gets him out of it. The event affects his soul, making him disconnect partially from the land of dreams and making his soul sleep project almost every time he sleeps.

Tim starts sleeping more often. It's worrying at first, Bruce being paranoid does every test in the book, despite Tim saying he's just finding sleep easier now. But, he was just affected by sleeping magic and suddenly his sleeping easier? Seems like a side effect, and that makes it worrying.

Tim's health in general improve, just like he's concentration and productivity. Who would have thought that working rested actually was more productive than working on less than three hours of sleep and missing obvious details and clues due to how tired you are.

With everything not only being okay, but better than before, paranoia about Tim's new sleeping schedule soon dies, and instead is replaced with teasing about how he used to refuse to rest kicking and screaming, and now he may sleep more than any of them.

On Tim's side, he's loving being able to soul project so often. He knew from the start he was in a different dimension, and he just wanted to know the hows, whys, and everything else. So far, he seems to do it at least once every three days, and he's even gone two times in a row a couple of times.

The garden had a lot of things to do, but Tim doesn't care about that, he's more interested in all the information he's getting. The first 3 times he was given different ghost nanny's, who were more focus on entertaining him and didn't really answer direct question. But then king/prince Phantom decided to accompany him personally, and everything went smoother. He was going back to get to know more about this new world, and maybe to know more about the cute prince/king too. He might also have gotten some better looking pajamas.

Now, he has a mission that takes more than a couple days with some people in his team that hasn't yet sen his face. He didn't realize how difficult it would be to do all nighters after getting used to a sleep schedule. He would usually try to go as long as possible without sleeping, but he decides that he should take advantage of the safety of where they're staying and sleep a bit too. He ended up soul projecting in full Red Robin costume. He tried to play it cool, maybe Phantom wouldn't know it was him.

"Red Robin, even if you didn't appear on the same spot as always, I can feel your soul. I know who you are."

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mggslover · 6 months ago

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How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed.

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age.

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them.

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. Each of the bodies wore a smile, painted over their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with family photos, now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed everything that was dear to them.

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.”

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking.

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied.

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up.

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered honestly. Usually, Spencer never had to push. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?”

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words were soft and sincere, making your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to face him, noticing the proximity.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. It’s a lot for the brain to process, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. It’s not strange that it leads to emotional responses, like anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you.

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” your words were simple but your voice was full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat.

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he warned. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, his figure disappearing into the darkness.

You scanned the area. Everything was silent, beside the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peak inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

You could feel his rage, his plan ruined by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted.

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable.

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you firmly spoke. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, a flood of memories flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold.

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured soothingly. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips.

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again.

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin.

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more.

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure.

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth.

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips.

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.”

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you.

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart.

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for affirmation. He gave a soft nod, accompanied by an encouraging smile.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—inside was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed out, feeling a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he explained. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in.

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces.

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

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motorsportbarbie13 · 1 month ago

Text

Hurricane - Part Six

{Liam smirks as he watches Max slide the reformer bench back and forth experimentally. “I still don’t know how you got him to agree this, Emma. He hates doing these kinds of things for content.” “It’s because he’s fucking obsessed with her.” Lando crows, smug grin back on his face as he baits Emma on purpose. She gasps, smacking Lando’s bicep as hard as she can. Lando yelps loudly, “Jesus Christ, woman! You have an arm on you.” “Because I do pilates three times a week, you asshole!” “You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong though? We can all see it. He’s down bad for you, miss ‘I’m wearing this dress for him and he won’t pay any attention to me.”}

warnings/notes: no warnings on this one. as always, big thanks to @lestapiastrisgirl for keeping me from walking into traffic and listening to me beat a dead horse for being in my flop era with this story. pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (female OC) word count: 4.3k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

The jet engine hummed steadily, creating a blanket of white noise that settled over the elegantly decorated cabin of Max’s private jet. Towards the back of the plane, Emma sat curled up in one of the captain’s chairs, decidedly removed from the rest of the chaos that played out in the front of the cabin. She had chosen the spot in the back of the plane, as far away from Max as she could manage, on purpose. The pre-weekend notes and schedules on her laptop screen blurred into meaningless lines as she stared, unseeing, at a spot unseen in front of her, replaying the events of the night before with relentless, agonizing clarity.

She still couldn’t believe she had slept with Max last night. Well, not slept with Max in the colloquial of course, she corrected herself mentally, but the distinction felt flimsy and paper thin against the truth of the overwhelming intimacy of what had happened last night. The memory of waking up to the soft dawn light, the lingering warmth of Max’s body haunted her even now. The almost unbearable sense of peace that had settled over her as she had laid there, listening to the steady, even breathing of a sleeping Max, nearly lulling her back to sleep.

It had all been too much for her.

Too real.

So she had ran.

A shiver totally unrelated to the cool cabin air, fluttered down her pine. It wasn’t just the physical closeness that had her utterly distracted this morning, although the memory of Max’s arm pulling her close as she had slipped into bed in an attempt to calm her anxieties, sent a treacherous flutter through her stomach. It was the vulnerability she’d shown him, the quiet strength with which he’d held her as the storm had blown through the city center. He hadn’t dismissed her fear, hadn’t minimized her feelings. Max had simply been there, a steady, grounding presence in the face of her overwhelming anxiety.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? That was what had sent her spiraling into this terrifying cortex of confusion and panic. She wasn’t used to that kind of…care. That kind of soft, tender concern to ensure that she was okay instead of just brushing off her feelings as ‘too much’ was something that she was completely unaccustomed to. Her parents, with their detached disinterest and thinly veiled disappointment, had taught her that love was conditional, a fragile thing that was easily broken by the simplest mistakes. Even her past, (always very brief) relationships had been characterized by a cautious distance, a preemptive retreat before what she knew would be an inevitable rejection.

Max was different though. She felt that in her bones, even if she didn’t want to fully admit it to herself. He’d shown her a depth of kindness and understanding she’d never experienced before, behavior she couldn’t come close to being able to process. He was her boss after all and she was desperately trying to remain professional. She valued her job, her independence, the freedom that she had and if they crossed the line that had come so perilously close to smashing the night before, all that would be in jeopardy.

Emma knew, deep down, that Max had feelings for her. How could she not know? With the way he looked at her, the almost possessive protectiveness he’d displayed several times over the course of the time they’d spent together, albeit relatively short. The lingering touches, the way his voice softened when he said her name, the way he watched her for hours on end while she sat in his apartment playing the piano at night.

It was all there.

Undeniable.

And Emma?

There were feelings there for her too. How could there not be? They were all tangled up in a fascinatingly confusing blanket of attraction, admiration and a distinct sense of belonging. Like her soul was content when she was around him. Those feelings had become crystal clear last night when she had fallen soundly asleep to the sounds of a thunderstorm, tucked neatly into his side, the steady beat of his heart the thing that calmed her to sleep.

But Emma didn’t trust it. She couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust herself. Her past had taught her that she was unlovable. Unworthy. Her own parents, the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, couldn’t manage it why would someone who didn’t have to love her, choose to love her? Why would someone as successful and confident and strong choose her?

And if he chose her now, what’s to say he wouldn’t change his mind in a week? Six months? A year? And then where would she be? Without a job, right back at square one where she’d been when Max had first found her. Except then, she’d have no one else to come save her.

So Emma had decided in that early morning light, as Max had wrapped his arm around her middle so tightly her chest ached with the comfort of it, that retreating was the safest thing to do. It was safer to hide behind the walls of professionalism, to focus on her job and to keep Max at arms length.

It was easier this way.

Simpler.

Safer.

While Emma sat alone in the back of the plane, an island of quiet indifference to the chaos that was taking place near the front of the cabin, Max pretended that what was happening didn’t bother him. He tried to lose himself in the incessant chatter that was the lethally annoying combination of Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz, but even the mindless prattle about which golf course in Miami was the best couldn’t distract him from what had happened last night.

At first, when he woke to his alarm this morning, Max had thought it had all been a dream. The way that he had woken up to the storm and found Emma baking in his kitchen to sooth her anxiety, the way they had nearly kissed, lips barely touching in the lightest touch imaginable, the way he’d felt Emma relax into his arms and finally, finally he’d felt the way her breath had steadied against him.

It all seemed like some distant dream that he’s made up but when he woke up that morning, there were signs that he hadn’t conjured up the fantasy out of thin air. The way he wasn’t in his normal spot in the middle of the bed, the rumpled second pillow that was usually untouched, the smell of Emma’s cinnamon and vanilla perfume that lingered on his sheets. It was going to be hell washing them now, he realized. He didn’t want to lose that smell.

He’d woken up alone and stumbled into the kitchen, calling out her name to a silent apartment. For a brief, horrifying moment Max had thought Emma had packed a bag and left him completely. He’d found a note on the counter though, handwritten in her loopy, feminine half cursive, half printing handwriting, just as the anxiety of the possibility had clawed at his throat.

Went out to do some last minute errands before the flight this morning. Made some breakfast sandwiches for you, they’re in the fridge. Be back soon. ~ Em

As relieved as Max was that she hadn’t skipped town, the fact that she hadn’t even woken him up to tell him she was leaving grated at him. She’d been back with barely enough time to spare before they’d had to leave for Nice and with them driving with Lando and Carlos to the private airfield, there had been no time to talk.

Now on the plane, the silence that stretched between them was thick and tangible, a weight pressing down onto Max’s chest so heavily he was fighting to breathe. He kept stealing glances of Emma in his peripheral vision, not wanting to blatantly swivel his head towards her in an obvious way. She was practically curled in on herself, her gaze fixed on the laptop nestled in her lap, a wall of professional composure firmly held in place. Sure, it was Emma but it wasn’t his Emma. It wasn’t the Emma who leaned into their flirty banter, who knew exactly how to push his buttons to get him to do the exact thing he didn’t want to agree to, who knew how to soothe his frayed nerves during a difficult season full of challenges. She had become his comfort without him even realizing it and now that she’d distanced herself, Max was spinning wildly, desperate to be back into her gravitational pull.

Had he misread everything? Had the intimacy of her agreeing to try to fall asleep in his bed been a desperate attempt to do something to assuage her anxiety, only to seem too wrong in the morning light? Had he been so desperate in his desire to protect and be with her that it had colored his perception of everything? The thought sent a cold wave of dread through him. He’d never been good at this, at reading other people’s intentions and emotions but he had thought he’d gotten it right with Emma. Thought he’d read her correctly but as he sat pretending to listen to Lando and Carlos argue about the merits of using a 9 iron in the middle of a fairway, Max was beginning to question everything.

He felt Lando’s gaze on him suddenly, as if he was just realizing Max wasn’t all there in the conversation. A steady, knowing look lingered just a moment too long, like Lando was seeing the distress on his friend’s face for the first time that day. Max offered him a tight smile, hoping to throw him off the scent of his brooding. He didn’t want to get into this now, not with Emma just a few feet away and within earshot. He knew Lando meant well, but it just wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have at the moment.

Max was too trapped in his own head. A whirlwind of ‘what if I just…’ and ‘did I cross a line?’. He replayed the near-kiss over and over in his head, the fleeting brush of their lips, the way Emma had jumped back when the thunderclap had shook the entire building. Had he ruined everything but suggesting she sleep with him? He hadn’t meant for it to come across as anything but a genuine desire to make her feel better. Maybe it had been too far and she had felt forced into it. But at the same time, he knew what he had felt when she had slipped between his sheets. The way Emma had looked like she belonged there all along. The way that she had melted into him when he laid down beside her. He had been hesitant at first, not wanting to make her uncomfortable but it had been Emma that had shifted closer to him after a few moments. When he had taken the risk and wrapped his arm around her middle, she had leaned into him then and he thought it was okay. Thought it was what she wanted.

As he watched her far away stare pretend to focus on the laptop in front of her though, Max wasn’t so sure of anything any more.

Chaos seemed to be the order of the day Thursday morning. PR interns fluttered around the sleek, modern pilates studio, setting up various cameras, making sure the drivers were properly mic’d up, and getting some behind-the-scenes photos to share to various social media channels. Emma stood quietly in the corner as her now-favorite intern Laurie clipped a mic discreetly to her navy athletic crop top.

She wasn’t quite sure how she had ended up here, getting ready to be featured in a F1 video featuring the drivers from Red Bull, Racing Bulls and McLaren but, here she was. Sure, it had been her suggestion in the first place but the suggestion had been more of an off-handed remark while she’d been sitting in hospitality one way back in Japan after watching Max and Yuki film an even sillier video. Emma had thought it would be a fun way to showcase the drivers’ athletic abilities beyond the confines of the cockpit.

And then the media team at the F1 HQ had picked up on the idea and suggested that they turn it into a special feature video with three teams. It had been natural to pair Red Bull up with Racing Bulls, of course but the suggestion to add McLaren had been Emma’s idea, wanting to give Lando a little payback for teasing her relentlessly after she missed her pilates class after their night out the week before.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks this is going to be difficult.” Lando crowed from where he sat on one of the reformers, sliding idly back and forth on the padded bench.

Emma raised a brow at the smugness in his voice, “Have you ever done this kind of pilates?”

To his right, Liam chuckles. “Have you seen his lack of flexibility? There’s no way he’s going to make it through the entire class.”

Lando stood, frown on his face and hands on his hips, “What are you talking about? You’ve never done this stuff either.”

Liam shook his head, “No, but Hannah has been doing it for years. I did a class with her while I was in LA during the winter break. It’s no joke.”

Lando’s frown deepened as he seemed to second guess his enthusiasm. Before he can form a smart remark, Max and Yuki walk into the room, matching in their coordinated Red Bull athletic wear.

Liam smirks as he watches Max slide the reformer bench back and forth experimentally. “I still don’t know how you got him to agree this, Emma. He hates doing these kinds of things for content.”

“It’s because he’s fucking obsessed with her.” Lando crows, smug grin back on his face as he baits Emma on purpose. She gasps, smacking Lando’s bicep as hard as she can. Lando yelps loudly, “Jesus Christ, woman! You have an arm on you.”

“Because I do pilates three times a week, you asshole!”

“You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong though? We can all see it. He’s down bad for you, miss ‘I’m wearing this dress for him and he won’t pay any attention to me.”

Liam does a poor job of hiding his laugh behind a cough. Emma goes scarlet but recovers quickly, turning up her nose at the British driver. “Don’t be mean, I’ll tell the instructor to make the class more advanced just for you.”

Lando grins but there’s a definite touch of fear in his eye, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, Papaya Boy.” She hisses, wicked grin winking over at him.

Before Lando has a chance to make a retort, Max walks over to where the three are standing in the middle of the studio. Max runs his hand through his hair, eyes bouncing nervously between Emma, Liam, and Lando. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He asks. “Alone?”

Max looked a little worse for wear, Emma notices for the first time that morning. It wasn’t anything alarming, nothing that anyone else would’ve probably picked up on, but she knew. His eyes were just a bit red-rimmed, skin a touch paler than usual. It was like he hadn’t slept well the night before. Emma worried at the corner of her lip, conceded that his distress was because of her. She was supposed to make his life easier as his assistant. If she kept causing him problems, it wouldn’t be long until he let her go, Emma was sure of it.

Lando’s brows lift but he just smirks, memory of Emma’s threats curbing any smart ass remark he might want to make. Max looks pointedly at Liam and Lando, as if to say ‘get lost, you two’. Liam is the first to make a move, tugging on Lando’s elbow to give the pair some privacy.

Max shifts his weight as he searches for the words he wanted, his eyes darting everywhere but on Emma. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I can tell them you’re not feeling well or something.”

Emma’s gaze softens slightly at his unexpected concern, warmth blooming in her chest briefly before she quickly smothers it. They hadn’t said much to each other during the drive from the airfield to the hotel last night and she had stayed in her room until the very last minute this morning, preventing any awkward attempts Max might make at bringing up what had happened back in Monaco during the storm.

“I’m okay, really.” She says, but Max clocks how her voice lacks it’s usual playful edge.

Something inside him squeezes at how differently she’s treating him, the sudden distance a painful reminder that he crossed a line the night before and made her feel uncomfortable. He wanted to apologize for everything, for doing something that made her pull away but Max just hadn’t had the chance. Now wasn’t the time, not in the middle of all of this chaos going on around them. He didn’t want to push her away further so Max knew he had to bide his time. It was just too bad patience had never been his strong suit.

“Besides,” She continues, pulling Max’s attention away from his anxiety spiral. He lifts his eyes to look at Emma and his heart stutters. “I was the one who suggested this entire thing, got you all into this. I should at least participate, right?” She shrugs awkwardly, her movements stiff and automatic, nothing like how he’s used to her behaving around him.

The truth was though, the thought of being in such close proximity to Max, of the potential for accidental touches and shared glances, was making her stomach churn with a maddening mix of anticipation and anxiety. She craved his eyes on her, craved the way Max looked at her like she was someone special, someone that mattered. But she didn’t trust herself around him, didn’t want to ruin this opportunity he’d given her, didn’t want to lose him as a friend in her life because she’d come to rely on him even in such a short time.

“I guess someone needs to make sure Lando doesn’t actually break the equipment.” Max teases gently, hoping they can slide back into the easy banter that he’d come to expect from his interactions with Emma.

A wry smile touches her lips as she nods, “I do have a way with the little gremlin, don’t I?”

Max opens his mouth to respond but at that moment, Lucy, the PR person running the shoot steps into the room and calls for everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone, settle in, please!” Lucy calls as the camera crew slides into place around the studio, the camera lights flickering on. They had shot the intro earlier in the day when they had first arrived outside the studio with Emma being plopped right in the middle of the six drivers next to the instructor. She’d been nervous but hadn’t had to do anything other than stand there so it hadn’t been all that bad.

“Chloe here is going to guide you through a typical beginners class…”

“Beginner?” Lando scoffs from where he’s sitting on his chosen reformer. “We’re all professional athletes here, and Emma does this like it’s her job too. You can challenge us, Chloe.”

Emma chuckles, shaking her head. They truly had no idea what they were into. Chloe looks from Lando to Emma, whom she knows is a reformer regular. Lifting a brow in silent question, Emma answers it with a subtle nod of her own. This was going to be so fun.

“You heard him, Lando wants to be challenged.” Emma desperately hoped the cameras were rolling to capture those famous last words.

“I would just like the record to formally reflect that it is Lando and only Lando requesting to be challenged.” Liam mutters with a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Liam.” Emma claps him on the shoulder, struggling to hide the laughter in her voice, “If it’s to difficult for you, you can take a break. Chloe can show you some modified moves.”

Liam frowned at the chorus of chuckles that rippled through the room from the other drivers. “I didn’t say that I’d need help, I could totally keep up with an advanced class too.”

“Oh this is not going to end well.” Oscar mumbles.

“This is going to be so much fun.” Emma practically giggles.

“Okay, I think the cameras are all set up and ready to go.” Chloe’s eyes flick to Lucy, who gives her a nod, before she turns her attention to Emma. “Since you’re the most experienced, why don’t you take this reformer up in the front so you can demonstrate if needed.”

Emma nods, moving gracefully to the reformer Chloe had pointed to. She adjusts the straps with an easy confidence that does’t go unnoticed by the drivers, particularly Lando, who’s earlier confidence and bravado seems to be waning. Max follows her, choosing a reformer a few down from hers, gaze lingering on the effortless way she moves.

Chloe switches on some soft music, waiting to get the go ahead from the sound guys standing at the edge of the room. Once the mic’s adjust, Chloe begins. “We’re going to start with a simple foot press…”

The first bit of the class starts out deceptively easy. The drivers, encouraged by their competitive natures and a healthy dose of huge ego, all look relatively confident for the first few exercises. Lando in particular, starts hamming it up for the camera, exaggerating his movements and murmuring things like ‘see, this isn’t so hard.’ And ‘God, I wish she’d challenge us.’

Mumblings that don’t go unnoticed by Chloe.

As the class progresses, the smugness begins to fade. The controlled movements and emphasis on core strength prove to be far more challenging than anyone (anyone other than Emma, that is) initially anticipated. Yuki lets out a series of increasingly strained grunts, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by a pained grimace. Even Max, whose physical conditioning is usually top tier, is visibly working hard.

The only one who seems to be handling the class well enough to keep up with Chloe’s pace is Emma. She moves through the class with fluid grace that speaks of someone who has spent a significant amount of time perfecting the flow of the class and getting the most out of the equipment. She occasionally offers a quiet word of encouragement to Liam or a helpful adjustment cue to Oscar, her natural easy highlighting the drivers’ comparative awkwardness.

Lando, mid-attempt at a particularly challenging hamstring curl, lets out a groan that’s only half-acted. “Jesus.” He pants, face flushing a bright shade of crimson. “I might have underestimated this a little.” He glances over at Emma, who is doing the same move effortlessly, slight smile on her lips as she listens to the boys struggle. “How are you having such an easy time with this?” He groans.

Emma takes a deep breath before flicking her eyes to Lando in the mirror. “I’m not having an easy time, I’m just not being a whiney baby about it.”

Max snorts a laugh from his spot on the reformer and Emma grins under his attention.

“Okay, that was mean.” Lando whines.

“She wasn’t wrong though.” Max teases breathlessly. He wasn’t going to admit it but he was having issues keeping up too. This class was much harder than he had anticipated but he’d never say anything of the sort out loud. He’d managed to muscle through the most of the class simply by watching Emma. He allowed her to take up all the space in his head so he couldn’t focus on how badly his muscles were burning. It was a pretty good coping mechanism, if he was being honest.

Yuki, attempting a side plank on the reformer, wobbles precariously before collapsing in a dramatic fashion, “My core is dead.” He looks over at Emma, who is again, holding the position with perfect form, a serene expression on her face. “You are an actual machine.”

Despite his own struggles, Max can’t help the small smile that plays on his lips as he continues to watch Emma. Her quiet strength and effortless grace in this new environment is yet another facet of her that he finds himself magnetically drawn to. The contrast between her ease and the drivers’ comical struggles is proving to be the hilarious content the PR was hoping for when this idea was approved by the teams. For Max, however, it’s also a reminder of the determination and strength that lies beneath Emma’s seemingly calm and unassuming exterior.

The way that Lando is looking at her as she wraps up the cool-down moves Chloe is walking them through as the class winds down, doesn’t go unnoticed either. A familiar flicker of possessiveness stirs within him, a subtle reminder of the complicated feelings churning beneath the surface of their professional relationship that will need to be sorted out sooner rather than later.

YouTube Comments

User029 I love how Lando went from ‘this is easy’ to ‘someone put me out of my misery SO QUICK >>>user009 he was so cocky…and for WHAT >>>user111 and Emma reading him for FILTH calling him a whiney baby User444 I fear I am Stan now >>>user000 she put those boys to SHAME >>>User232 and those shy little looks at Max??? WE SEE YOU TWO User4333 I am OBSESSED with the way Max watches Emma. >>>user199 he is so smitten with her, its so cute to watch >>>user0054 its weird to look at your employee like that though >>>user423 not everyone is Christian Horner… >>>user9928 they’re obviously friends outside of work User566 I love a good workplace romance trope User888 I am DYING at how Emma put them all to shame User722 I have not laughed that hard in so long. Whoever came up with this idea needs a raise

#max verstappen #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #mv33 fanfic #mv1 fanfiction

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stariekis · 4 months ago

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pose for me.

pairing : non idol!jake + fem!reader . genre : fluff . cw : kissing and make out (kinda) . wc : 3.1K

check my other works ₊⊹⁀➴ masterlist

synopsis — late night ride with your boyfriend.

uri's note — had this draft for the longest time fr :| is actually inspired by the second pic ! he looks so good lord .. hope u enjoy babies <3

“Are we there yet?” — You asked while laying in the backseat of your boyfriend's car, Jake. Since Jake got his driver's license it was pretty common, more like a routine, for you both to go on late night drives through the city. You loved to watch the city lights through the car windows, when the sun had already seated and the stars decorated the sky.

“We are almost there babe, i swear” — He answered, watching you through the rearview mirror as you admired the scenery. Jake knew how much you love the night, that's why he started planning these kinds of ‘dates’. And he also loved seeing your smiley face every time he asks you to go on a ride. Both of you win.

Some time later Jake parked his car. The first time you both went on a night ride you found a kind of secret place and decided that, since then, that spot was your spot. It was kind of a lookout, there were some benches and a few lights that illuminated the space.

“Baby turn around for a second please” — You asked him, as you opened the camera app in your phone and pointed at him. You always thought that your boyfriend was the most attractive boy you've ever seen in your life, but there is something about tonight that made him three times prettier than he already was.

That night he decided to tie his hair up in a man bun and he chose a simple but cool fit. That plus the street light illuminating his perfect face created a prettier scenery than the one you've seen during the ride.

When you called his name he turned his head immediately, posing as soon as he saw you pointing your phone at him. He knew how much you loved taking pictures of him, it was kind of a muscle memory at this point.

“Let me see it” — He pleaded as soon as you put your phone down. “Not a chance, this one is for my personal enjoyment” — You answered, pressing your phone against your chest.

He smirked at you. “Since you won't let me see it i might have to take matters into my own hands” — and with that he jumped to the backseat of his car, trapping you between him and the door you were laying into. He started tickling you, trying to take your phone away from your grip.

But little by little both of your laughs and his attempts to see the picture died, you found Jake looking at him with the most lovestruck gaze that he's ever looked at you. He helped you sit correctly on the seats, and he took the spot next to you.

His fingers played with yours that were resting on your thighs, none of you able to take your eyes of each other. “How can i be this lucky” — He said, letting out a sigh. You blushed as his words, little did he know that you feel the same way.

How can a boy as magnificent as him fall in love with you, it was something that you would never understand.

You didn't answer, in fact you decided to close the gap between you two kissing him softly. Both of his hands were now placed in your waist while yours snaked around his neck pulling him even closer if it was possible.

He slowly guided you to sit on his lap, his hands were now placed on your hips tracing round shapes with his thumbs. The kiss became a bit intense, he bit your under lip letting it go with a plop.

You slightly pulled away, not wanting to make much space between the two of you since the last thing you wanted right now was being apart from him. “I am the looking one by the way. Imagine dating the most caring, loving and hottest guy in the world like — you clicked your tongue — I might win this one because of you” You took his face with one of your hands, squishing his cheeks and making his lips pout.

He chuckled and took the hand that was on his face. Not long after that he pulled you again into a kiss, it's been seconds since he last kissed you but Jake already missed your warm and plump lips on his.

Let's say this night drive was a success and now he is even more excited to drive you everywhere if this was going to be his reward.

tag list: @layzfy @laylasbunbunny @yuminako (open ; send an ask to be added)

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classicmemorialbenches · 2 years ago

Text

What are the specifications for benches?

Benches come in various sizes and designs, depending on their intended use and location. Here are some general specifications for benches:

✅Length

✅Width

✅Height

✅Seat and Backrest

✅Materials

✅Design and Features

When selecting a bench, it's advisable to consider factors such as intended use, location, durability, comfort, and any applicable local regulations or standards.

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ghostiesnightmare · 3 months ago

Note

Your writing is EVERYTHING - from the details to the plot, I cannot describe how you can do that !

Request ;Michael sparing your life when you do something that makes him curious and excited - like kneeling in front of him or something like that ! I writed something like this on another account, but you write so good you have to do something with this !

With blood, knife Play, choking, some very very brutal Mikey, Pain kink-

Sorry for my bad english, my first language is french 😘

Salvation

Pairing: Michael Myers x Female Reader Summary: You were never supposed to survive him. You could have fled and buried the haunting memory of that fateful night– yet something draws you back to the ruins of faith and blood. Back to a place where your fear turns into something more like devotion. TW: DARK content, heavy religious influences, dubcon, blood, gore, knifeplay, choking, foul language, BLASPHEMY, unprotected sex, rough sex, vivid descriptions of pain, power imbalance, abuse, and more. Read at your own risk Word Count: 8,081 MDNI-NSFW A/N: This fic is HEAVILY reliant on Christian influences, so please read at your own risk. I recommend listening to Christian Woman by Type O Negative, which I had on repeat while writing this fic. I really struggled with this one, ngl... enjoy!

-----

They say fear is the oldest and strongest emotion– primal and unrelenting.

It’s an instinct woven into every creature, the deciding factor between life and death. The fear of the unknown is the greatest thing of all, or so Lovecraft once claimed. Yet, something about the quote never sat right with you. Fear is a fleeting thing– it tends to lack depth. It’s a faceless ghost– the sensation of goosebumps prickling against skin, the jitter in your bones as you shiver from adrenaline.

But no matter how hard you tried to picture it, to show it, the emotion evaded you.

You groaned, fingers moving instinctively across the page of your sketchbook as you tried to capture the essence of the scene before you. The town square was buzzing with movement– costumed figures prowling through the streets, faces covered in an assortment of masks and bodies disfigured under layers of fabric.

Children clutched worn pillowcases, bounding from vendor to vendor in order to get their hands on a new sweet treat, parents following closely behind. Haddonfield’s annual Halloween Jamboree was nothing short of tradition, the mid-sized town throwing a lavish festival the Friday before the week of Halloween, something about being family friendly– as the mayor had said a few years back.

The event itself was always a hit, with college students flocking the scene from the nearby campus once the sun had fully set and the adults could come out and play. The festivities, as cheerful and decorative as they were, hid a much darker secret.

As Halloween approached, so did the threat of death.

As much as people tried to ignore it, no matter how close parents held their children, no matter the curfews or buddy systems– death always came to collect. A heavy exhale escaped you, thumb smudging the shadows of the sketched scene, darkening the edges– there, it almost looked real. Almost alive.

Gazing over the sketch of haunting figures parading down the sidewalk, something caught your eye. A frown caught on your lips, brows furrowing. Holding up the sketch to the darkened sky, you glanced upwards, comparing fiction from reality. A muddled shape etched into the background of the town square– had you meant to draw that?

A smudge… no, a figure, so faint it was nearly swallowed up by the charcoal shadows, standing just in front of the treeline– watching.

“You’re doing it again.” The sound nearly made you jump out of your skin. Whirling your head around, the sketchbook clattered onto the wooden bench, now forgotten. Tiffany leaned over your shoulder, brow cocked in amusement at your jumpy state. Rolling your eyes at her antics, you quickly scooped up the sketchbook, frustration bubbling in your stomach.

“Jesus Tiff, you scared the shit out of me–” Your gaze caught the shape of the charcoal pencil on the concrete, “–ugh, my pencil! You owe me a new one.” You huffed out, gingerly rolling the ruined utensil between your fingers. Tiffany mumbled out an apology while moving around the bench, the scent of cigarettes invading your nostrils as she collapsed next to you.

“Seriously babes, it’s almost Halloween– not some art critique.” Her nose scrunched at that, and you shoved her shoulder halfheartedly. She squealed at your assault, shoving you back before continuing. “...Can you put down the creepy sketches for one night? Jennifer and I skipped the callbacks afterparty to be here.” She pouted, those damn doe eyes burning into you, guilt gnawing in your stomach.

You sighed, tucking the sketchbook into your backpack. “I know, I know… I’m just–” “–Being a little weirdo like always?” Jennifer cut in, plopping into the open spot to your right on the bench. She grinned at you, pushing a beer bottle into your hand, the other gripped around another glass. You instantly took a swig, grimacing as the warm taste of stale beer invaded your senses.

“C’mon, this is like the last Friday we have together before rehearsals start! We have to do something fun.” She mused, Tiffany nodding along absentmindedly while she fiddled with her jeans. “This is fun!” you protested, but you couldn’t help but smile at them, knowing they had already won you over. Tiffany and Jennifer were your vices– they could convince you to do just about anything, no matter how much you disagreed with them. That’s what made your friendship so strong, they pushed you out of your comfort zone, and you kept them from going off the deep end.

Something about tonight, however, felt different.

The Halloween Jamboree was too loud, too bright, too crowded. The air buzzed with anticipation of an unnamed influence, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. Jennifer drained the last of her drink, tossing the bottle haphazardly behind her with a smirk. She straightened suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked you and Tiffany over.

“You know what we really need?” She questioned, and your stomach dropped a bit. The last time she uttered that phrase it resulted in you being banned from half the frats on campus after she stole the composite pictures from Lambda Chi Alpha. You chuckled slightly, the image of her drunkenly tackling a pledge like a linebacker with the picture cradled in her arms flashing in your mind.

Tiffany cocked a brow, apprehension coating her response, “What?” Jennifer flashed a wolfish grin, plucking the beer from your hand, ignoring your whines. She took a swig, contemplating her words before speaking, “–We need a real scare. I say we do something actually terrifying…”

She glanced at the costumed children in front of her, brows furrowing before she added, “-None of this kiddie haunted house bullshit.” Tiffany was instantly intrigued at the prospect, but you were less assured. “Like what?”, you questioned, yanking the beer bottle back into your hands and taking a sip.

Jennifer shrugged, but Tiffany’s eyes gleamed– an idea popping into her head and she grabbed your shoulder. “I mean… There is that old church just outside of town.” She mused, Jennifer quickly taking the bait. “That’s perfect! You’re a genius, Tiff.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. The church.

You had heard the rumors, the stories. Some said it had been abandoned for decades after the fire ravaged the building, leaving the charred remains scattered along the forest floor to rot. Others said it never had been abandoned, the decaying steeple housing something much more sinister.

Whispers of the couple that was brutally murdered earlier this year quickly fluttered through your mind, their warped corpses draped over the altar. “Demon worshipers”, the sheriff had said, but you weren’t so sure. The church was your secret– having been obsessed with the dark ruins that seemed to swallow you up every time you walked through the doors. You had sketched it from memory countless times, the skeletal archways and dusty pews burned into your brain.

Something about it always called to you.

Jennifer’s grin only widened, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. “What do you think, scaredy cat?” She mocked, the beer turning sour in your mouth at the taunt. “–Think you can handle it?” You swallowed thickly, debating saying something. You wanted to say no, the idea of having your friends trample around your safe space making your stomach churn. ‘It’s not safe’, you wanted to plead, ‘–it’s dangerous’.

Instead, you found yourself pulling your backpack over your shoulders. “Let’s go.” You mumbled, causing an excited squeal to erupt from your friends, who were hot on your heel. You quickly finished the beer, tossing it into a stray trash can as you passed, a heavy sigh building in the back of your throat.

Three girls exploring a haunted church a few nights before Halloween… what’s the worst that could happen?

The church was always grim at night.

Like an icon to broken faith, it loomed over the treeline– the charred steeple cutting through the horizon like a knife. The rusted iron gate stood ajar, the hinge groaning as you pushed it further open, like a mouth leading into darkness. The wind howled in the distance, whipping through the shattered windows– making the building sound as if it were breathing.

You shivered against the cold, braving onwards. Leaves crunched under your boots as you walked, Tiffany and Jennifer following closely behind. Weaving through the asymmetrical headstones of the cemetery, you paused at the entrance of the church, Tiffany tripping over her feet as she glanced upwards. The wood of the heavy doors had deteriorated over time, moss and mushrooms sprouting from the ground upwards.

You leaned against the heavy door, pushing one open with a grunt. The wood gave way, the rusty hinges screaming as you opened the door. Stepping inside, the three of you gaped upwards, taking in your surroundings.

“I need a cigarette.” Jennifer mumbled, eyes trailing the stained glass depicting different saints and angels. The moonlight streamed through the gaping holes in the ceiling– the rafters in various stages of decay as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Sidestepping a fallen pew, you made your way forwards, navigating through the familiar maze of stone and wood.

The air was thick with rot and dust, hanging heavy around you like a weighted blanket. Your hand traced the ornate carvings of a confessional booth, the wood now splintered and covered in graffiti. A place once considered to be holy– now desolate and abandoned. Jennifer rammed into the overturned pew, obscenities flying from her mouth.

Ushering the duo over, you pulled them to the back of the church, the cracked marble of the altar glowing faintly under the moonlight. The air stilled here, a chill seeping into your bones as you stared forward. Tiffany straightened, swallowing thickly. “Is... is that where–?”

You nodded, the gruesome crime scene photos from the newspaper flashing in your mind. Jennifer, ever fearless, moved forward. Brushing her hand against the altar, she hopped up, legs swinging as she sat on the resting place of two unfortunate souls. Your stomach boiled at the disrespect, but you held your tongue. “Ya know…” She started, fishing out a cigarette from her pocket. Lighting it, she took a drag before continuing. “Some say they saw the devil before they died. That’s why the police never found their killer.” Tiffany shuddered at the statement, eyes catching a drop of dried blood hidden underneath the altar.

You rolled your eyes.

“Their friends were drunk. I mean…” You gestured around yourself to the decaying church, “-Who else comes to a church to play the Ouija board? They were seeing things.” Jennifer pushed off of the altar, heels clicking against the dusty floor as she took another drag. She exhaled, blowing the smoke into your face– your eyes stinging as a cough ripped from your throat.

You snatched the cigarette from her fingers, anger building.

“Whether you believe in it or not, go smoke outside. You’re being rude.” Jennifer’s brows furrowed, an angry pout building on her lips as she glowered at you. “Jeez, someone’s got their panties in a twist tonight.” She huffed out, taking the butt of the cigarette from your hands and moving towards the front door. “I’ll be a minute…” She called over her shoulder, eyes meeting yours with a twinge of irritation. “–Don’t wait up.” Her footsteps retreated outside, and

Tiffany sank into a wooden pew– trying to steel her nerves. Your fingers twitched, itching for your sketchbook. You wanted to capture the essence of the church, something about it so harrowing it stayed with you every time you left. The cracked altar, the rusted candelabras, the splintered organ shoved into the corner– it whispered to you, begging you to explore, to dive into the depths.

You glanced at the altar once more, trying to imagine the final moments of those who came before you.

The hiss of spray cans against stone, the clink of beer bottles and the smell of cigarette smoke. The whispers to a wooden board, the shrieks of excitement as the planchette moved. An unexpected visitor– a struggle, a piercing shout– then nothing. Was the violence in a place deemed sacred the reason for your obsession? Or was it something darker, a force calling you from the bowels of the church?

Did they pray to a god they didn't believe in as they were slaughtered, or did they know that they were forsaken? Your mind spun with the possibilities, fingers burning to sketch the outline of the saints etched into the wall. They had to have seen, they had to have known, yet nothing saved them… why?

A gurgled scream tore through the stale air, causing your spine to stiffen.

Your head whirled, eyes meeting the frantic Tiffany, who shot out of the pew. You both turned towards the noise, fear settling in the pit of your stomach. Jennifer. Your throat dried, heart pounding in your chest as you called out– a piece of you begging, pleading for a response. Nothing. The silence seemed to swallow you whole, your feet anchoring you in place. God, that scream– the sound seared into your brain as you gaped at the door.

Tiffany bolted towards the front door, feet skittering across the assortment of debris littering the floor. Your brain yelled at you to move, to run and follow Tiffany, but you were frozen in place. Stumbling forward, she reached the expanse of the open door, darting out momentarily. Your heart leaped within your chest, mouth opening to speak– but any semblance of words died on your tongue. You looked upwards. The iconography of forgotten saints glaring down at you in the haze of night, solemn faces weathered by time.

Is this how it felt to feel the wrath of God?

Tiffany rushed back inside, slamming the wooden door with a force so strong it made the church tremble. Deathly pale, she stumbled over the debris, collapsing in a heap a few feet from the doors. The smell of vomit filled the air, and you flinched. The sight of her– broken, trembling, driven half mad– snapped you from your trance. You whispered across the darkness, arms beckoning her towards you, but she remained rooted in place.

“What… What did you see?!” Tiffany choked on a sob, breath hitching. Snot ran down her face, and she whipped her face with her damp sleeve. “Tiffany–” Your voice hardened, urgency rising like bile in your throat. “–Where is Jennifer?” At the mention of her name, Tiffany went rigid. She shook her head violently, as if the words themselves would summon something terrible.

“She’s…”, Her fingers dug into the floorboards, clawing for something solid. “Oh god– she’s dead.”

The words hung in the air– and a piece of you begged that it was some kind of joke. But nothing about the trembling girl in front of you seemed staged, it was all terrifyingly real. You swallowed hard, straining your ears for any sound of movement. Adrenaline began to flood your senses, your heart feeling like it was going to burst from your chest.

The church was quiet– too quiet– the only sound coming from the wind whipping through the rafters.

The heavy door shuddered slightly as it was pushed open once more, the shriek of the hinges catching your attention. The open doorway was a gateway to the void, no matter how hard you squinted darkness met your vision. Hope rose within your chest, pushing your shaking legs forward– one step, two. Maybe Jennifer had gotten hurt, maybe Tiffany saw the blood and panicked, maybe– just maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

A shadow passed through the threshold of the doorway, thick and oppressive.

Tiffany let out a pitiful whimper, shrinking further into the floor, refusing to look behind her and into the doorway. You squinted against the darkness, trying to make out the shape you swore you saw move into the entrance of the church.

The stale air in the church thickened, and you swallowed dryly, eyes tracing the doorway. A stream of moonlight broke through the battered steeple, cutting through the darkness– and then you saw him. That godforsaken pale mask you had only heard of in ghost stories, those hollow eyes that burned into your skull. Like death itself, the boogeyman of Haddonfield had come to pay his due.

Michael Myers.

A part of you knew, deep down that Jennifer wasn’t coming back. Whatever had made her scream had already decided her fate, and even worse– you were next.

The church seemed to tighten around you, the air growing suffocatingly thick. Your knees locked in place, fear crackling through your veins. You should have known better, that there was no salvation in a house of God– not here, not tonight. Michael stepped further into the church, breaching the line of sanctuary, and you knew– no prayer would save you now.

Tiffany tried to run, she really did– but nothing could keep her foot from catching on the edge of an upturned rock. She stumbled, a frantic yelp ripping from her throat as her twisted limb crumbled beneath her. Her fingers clawed at the floor, desperately trying to drag herself from the shadow looming over her. Gasping for air, she outstretched a hand– praying, begging for salvation.

Like a lamb sent to slaughter.

Your mouth went dry at the absolute irony of it all– hunted down in a revered sanctuary. Mentally you screamed at your legs to move, to give out, to do anything other than stand there and gape like a deer caught in headlights, but your feet remained rooted to the floor.

“God, please help me–” Tiffany sputtered out, calling out your name like a lifeline, tears streaming down her face as she writhed like an overturned bug. “... I don’t want to die–”. The pitiful words pounded in your skull, yet you couldn’t tear yourself away from the scene. Michael refused to stop, hand gripping the back of her hair and pulling her head upwards off the floor. Her eyes met yours, and the blood drained from your face.

The saints loomed overhead, their engraved expressions frozen in silent judgement, empty eyes watching, waiting. Their lips did not move to save her– for she was already damned.

The knife came down in a single, unceremonious slice, severing the fragile skin of her throat. Her prayer gurgled on her tongue, blood spilling over her hands as she clawed at her throat. Tiffany convulsed, her eyes bulging from her skull as she choked on her own blood before deteriorating to the dusty floor.

Silence fell over the church once more, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your knees buckled beneath your weight, a dull pain stabbing into you as you collapsed. The stone needled through the denim of your jeans, and your hands trembled, barely supporting you. Michael moved onwards, a shadow cast by the hand of God– silent, inevitable.

His gaze burned into you, scorching your flesh as you stared, unable to look away. The sickening dribble of blood, a calculated step, two. And then– slowly– you lowered your head. Your fingers curled into fists as your head dipped, breaths coming out in frantic huffs as you knelt, body possessed by something ancient, something primal.

His overwhelming presence bore down on you, the outline of his boots barely visible under the curtain of hair pooling from your head, obstructing your view. Another deep sigh came from Michael– your judge, jury, and executioner– the knife, your penance, gripped tightly in his fist.

“Please,” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself, voice hoarse, resolve shattered.

You couldn’t decipher what you were pleading for… the finality of your punishment– or deliverance? Your prayer echoed around the space, the weight of his gaze bearing down against you. The church walls stood, unmoving. The saints did not weep– the grounds did not split, swallowing you up into the depths of hell– just silence.

You remained frozen, head bowed to the floor like a deranged sign of reverence. You didn’t dare to raise your gaze, not when you could feel him standing over you, his presence practically suffocating. Michael did not move, motionless above you. You could have sworn you heard him breathing– slow, steady, somehow human– but everything else surrounding him embodied the unnatural. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, time itself faltering around him, heavy and stifling.

Then, footsteps– slow and calculated.

You squeezed your eyes shut as they receded, the jostling slam of the wooden door swallowing his form into the night. The cold rushed through your lungs as you gasped for air, shuddering as you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. Just as soon as he appeared, he was gone. For the first time since his untimely appearance, you forced your body to move– hands flattening against the floor as you shakily pushed yourself upwards.

Blood coated the soles of your boots as you stumbled towards the entrance of the church, and you forced yourself to look. Tiffany’s motionless body lay mere inches from your laces, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling– eerily mirroring the saints glaring down at you.

You knew Jennifer wasn’t going to be any better, another lost soul put in the wrong place, wrong time. Your fingers dug into the splintered wood of the door, and you pulled the door open, the frigid nighttime air biting into your skin.

They were dead, but you– you were alive. Your stomach lurched, a strangled sob ripping from your throat as you dry heaved against the doorway. Your body shivered, wracked with fear, with grief, and something much worse.

Something that burned in your chest like shame– something that felt like gratitude.

The funeral was a blur.

Jennifer’s family was a wreck, her mother sobbing openly as they lowered the casket into the ground. She clawed at the wooden box as if to drag her daughter back into the light– to life. Tiffany’s parents were more solemn, her father silently watching the scene unravel as he held his wife to his chest.

There’s a saying you read in a book once, that parents only feel true sorrow when they bury their children within their lifetime. Seeing it all now, however, the saying was all the more horrific. You stood at the back of the service, nails digging into the palms of your hands– leaving crescents in their wake. The questions from the officers interrogating you just days before still swirled in your head, voices muffled against the sobs of the funeral party.

We just wanted to explore, you had said. They ran– but I don’t know why I didn’t, too. You expected disbelief, the fragmented pieces of information you remembered painting a picture of the boogeyman you were sure had been blamed for many other crimes. In the end, the weight of two bodies– killed days before Halloween– seemed to be enough evidence that mirrored your claims.

You didn’t cry– you couldn’t, not when you had survived.

The guilt gnawed at you, clawing through your ribcage to the point where you felt like you couldn’t breathe. It was immeasurable, but there was something else growing within you– something darker. Michael had spared you, not due to mercy or luck, but from something you couldn’t quite place. He had watched you– stood over you with your life practically balanced between his fingers– and he walked away.

Your mind couldn’t let it go, replaying the moments like a broken record, trying but failing to analyze what could have been your saving grace.

You had stopped sleeping since that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, he would be there, towering over you– a silent threat. You dreamed of him, not as the brutal murderer that ripped the life from your friends, but as something far from human. He was always there, lurking in the back of your mind like a shadow. Throughout the restless nights, you would toss and turn, the events of that forsaken night playing in an endless loop.

The church. The knife. The screams. But most importantly, the haunting silence that followed.

The air always felt heavy during the night, as if you were being watched– the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up as you tried to force your bloodshot eyes shut. You tried everything to relieve the stress: chamomile tea, lavender lotion, weighted blankets, a noise machine. Yet the sweet solace of sleep never came, the only semblance of rest coming from the daydreams that followed your every waking moment.

You became withdrawn from school, the days bleeding together after the funeral into a mess of smeared memories. Your classmates assumed you were grieving the loss of your friends, the trauma uprooting your life in a way that left you… different. If only they knew the truth, the nightmares plaguing you at night, the guilt of it all, weighing down on you like a wet blanket.

He consumed your life, from the moment you dragged yourself out of bed to the second you shut your eyes. It was as if you missed him– the thought alone made you feel sick. But it was there, those dark thoughts crawling within your chest, feelings you could only describe as a fucked up gratitude. Michael had spared you, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions.

And no matter how hard you tried to push the feelings down and snuff out the curiosity, you wanted to find out why.

The darkness manifested itself within your work. At first, you didn’t even notice– mindless doodles on your notes as the professor lectured in class, sketches charcoaled in your notebook during the nights you dreaded sleep. Somehow, he always managed to take form.

The curve of the blade of the knife, the angle of his shoulders, the hollow outline of his mask.

As your mind wandered, the page would fill with details you only could have imagined– the sharp curve of a nose, a widow’s peak of dark hair, steely eyes. Fingers would haphazardly turn the page, having a mind of their own as you zoned out. One page, then two, then three. By the time you looked down, snapping out of your haze, the paper was riddled with him.

Your paintings began to darken– landscapes draped with shadows, an outline of a figure in the distance at the focal point. Images of the icons within the church became anything but saintly– empty sockets sunken into withered heads, the sight ghastly morbid. Clay sculptures related to broken bodies filled with deep slashes, hands outstretched for any semblance of mercy.

During class critiques, even your professors noted the sudden change in your content– casting worried looks your way as their eyes scanned your work. “This feels… heavy. Haunted, almost.” You brushed the comments off, lying through gritted teeth. Some bullshit excuse on the study of trauma– yet you knew that it was further than the truth.

But when you returned to your room, you found it transformed into a gallery of him. The paintings, the sketches, the sculptures burning holes within you– calling to you, taunting you. He was everywhere, like a stain you couldn’t scrub away. And although you hated to admit it, a part of you knew you couldn’t if you tried.

You started to confess.

Not to a priest or a therapist– but to your bathroom mirror, the warped reflection in the glass being your only comfort. Your fingers would trace the cool surface, hushed whispers filling the dim space. “I should have died–”, breath fogging up the glass as your dark confession echoed against the tiled walls. Voice shaking, you added: “... with them.” They were sane, choosing to scream and run in order to try and beat death.

But you, you had knelt– and for that, you lived.

Your nails dug into your palms so hard it drew blood, the dull needling through your skin in a way that made your head spin– the pain buzzing through you like a draw of a cigarette. You barely recognized the individual that stared back at you: skin flushed, hairline beaded with sweat, hands clammy. But the most unnerving was the look in your bloodshot eyes, swimming with a darkness you couldn’t quite place.

It was wrong– falling into the abyss of sin, playing back the memories of that night with an almost obsessive admiration.

You should have moved on by now, gone to therapy, maybe started medication and begun to pick up the shattered pieces of your life. Instead, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, chanting your own damnation like a prayer– fingers subconsciously tracing the shape of his mask against the glass. Images of you on your knees in the church flickered through your mind, and your chest tightened with something far more sinister than fear.

Something worse… something reverent.

You could still feel the weight of his gaze when he towered over you, encompassing you so thoroughly you could feel it in your soul. Tearing your gaze away from the mirror, the damp skin of your forehead pressed against the cool glass for comfort, mantras swirling in your head like a broken record player.

There is no salvation in a house of God.

You flicked your gaze to the bathroom door, an idea seeming a little too much like temptation sprouting within your mind. Maybe– just maybe– if not salvation, there was clarity found only in the place you had sunk to your knees all those nights ago. Pushing yourself away from the mirror, determination began to stir within your gut. You had to go back– to see.

You couldn’t run away from your demons, you had to confront them. Slipping into the night air, a chill settled within your bones, an unknown force spreading goosebumps across your skin. As you trudged through the dark, you thought back to the pivotal moment: the scrape of the stone against your knees, the sound of his ragged breaths, the crushing tension crackling in the air like wildfire. It had felt– holy, the sensation gnawing at your stomach, clawing into your throat in a way that made you question your own sanity.

No… not holy. But something dangerously close.

The church loomed over you, eerily identical to that night.

A sleeping beast– the rusted gate resembling a gaping mouth to the pits of hell, inviting you inside. You stepped through the threshold, the crunch of gravel the only noise as you approached the heavy doors. A part of you cursed your actions, the idea of coming back being nothing short than madness. You were chasing answers that were ghosts, fueled by trauma and grief– not by reasoning.

And yet, you pushed onwards, hands steeled against the heavy wood. In your peripheral a small pool of dried blood painted the stone walls of the church, hosting the last moments of your friend’s life. You refused to look, swallowing thickly as you finally pushed the door open. The church welcomed you with open arms, the pull so heavy you felt as if you were possessed.

Moonlight crept through the open ceiling, casting the interior in a ghostly haze. The church seemed frozen in time since your last visit– the cracked marble altar glaring back at you in an almost inviting manner. Your knees ache at the memory of kneeling there, a subconscious feeling of guilt burning against your throat, pulse quickening as you retraced your steps. Approaching the back of the church, the familiar scent of dust and rotting wood filled your nostrils– along with the undertone of something metallic.

Your jaw clenched at that, eyes wandering to the broken pew that resulted in Tiffany’s death. The stale air suddenly shifted, and then you felt it– the weight of a presence behind you. Your breath caught in your throat, yet you refused to turn, already knowing the source.

His boots scraped against the uneven stone, measured, calculated.

The sound sent an electric current down your spine, causing you to stiffen beneath his gaze, eyes trained forwards towards the altar. A small part of you had imagined this moment, the possibility of returning to the scene fueled by the same darkness invading your artwork, your life.

But the reality of him standing there, mere feet away from you was too much, consuming you whole. Your fingers twitched at your sides, forcing your body to move, to look– and there he was. Michael Myers stood behind the last row of pews, the moonlight casting his shadow across the church like death, untouched by time.

The mask that plagued your dreams caught the light, its hollow eyes drinking in your frozen form, the call of the void. The knife was gripped loosely in his hand, dangling at his side– a stark reminder of his sins. You should be terrified, but for reasons you couldn’t even begin to explain, you weren’t. Something buzzed against your skin like an unspoken prayer, and you found yourself speaking before you could stop yourself.

“I… I knew you would come back.”

Michael’s head tilted ever so slightly, silent at your words. He never spoke, you knew that much, but you felt his response– the action in itself almost mocking you. You could feel him, his presence so thick with tension it coiled around you like a snake, poised and ready to strike.

You swallowed thickly, body betraying you as your knees buckled under his gaze, and before you could stop yourself, you were sinking to the floor. The cool stone dug into your knees, the familiar sensation almost comforting against your skin. A trembling breath escaped you as you knelt before him, unable to do anything but watch.

Michael took a step forward, then another– the air thinning as he approached, boots halting inches from your knees. You craned your neck upwards, stomach churning as you gaped at the silent killer. He was so close you could feel his warmth, the scent of metal and something much more primal seeping into your senses. Your lips parted, but any semblance of begging died on your tongue.

Instead, you whispered a confession– one that would seal your fate.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You don’t know the things you do to me. There was a pause, a shift in the air as Michael looked down at you– studying you. The cold metal of the knife brushed your cheek, yet you did not flinch, your body rooted in place, entranced. You felt chosen– a sacrificial lamb that should have died all those nights ago, but somehow didn’t. But now here you were, offering yourself to him willingly.

The knife nicked your cheek, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the sting, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Your heart hammered in your chest, threatening to crawl out of your throat. Would he end it now and finish what he started? Or– your eyes shifted from the blade to that unholy mask– would he let you live? The decision was his alone, his cross to bear. The knife inched closer, pressing into the cut so suddenly a whimper bubbled in your throat, leaving you waiting– wanting.

The knife never strikes.

Instead, it traces along your cheek, the tip ghosting along your jaw. Your breathing is shallow, uneven puffs filling the cool air as the metal pressed ever so slightly into your skin– a warning. You tilt your head upwards, bearing your throat to him– your offering. The action causes the tension in the air to snap, you feel it in the way the air becomes too heavy you feel as if you were suffocating.

Michael doesn’t speak– he doesn’t have to, you know what he wants, what he has always wanted, and what the devil inside of you wants too.

Forgive her, for she knows not what she does.

Heat pools like hellfire in your stomach, and your tongue darts oh so subtly to lick your chapped lip. He moves at that, inevitable. A hand wraps around your throat, pulling you upwards with strength that seems far from human. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, fighting the urge to struggle against the touch as your toes scrape against the stone, begging for leverage.

His fingers wrap around your neck so forcibly your jaw groans from the pressure, thumb pressing against your hammering pulsepoint– beating for him. Your pulse flutters against his skin, throat bobbing as you try to breathe. You should be struggling, should be fighting, but something about the way his hold makes you feel owned ignites fire across your skin.

His hold softens ever so slightly, and you greedily gulp in a breath, thighs clenching as something sinful churns in your gut.

He leans down, mask scraping against your forehead as you drown in his gaze. The light catches, and a ghostly blue devours you, your blood turning to ice at the sight. His breath comes out in ragged huffs, escaping through the holes in his mask– washing over you like a baptism.

You were drowning in him, but it was anything but holy; it was something much worse.

You don’t know who moves first. All you know is that one moment you are gasping for breath in his hold, and the next he has his fist wrapped in your hair, dragging you towards the altar. Your scalp screams for relief under his hold, your legs struggling to root yourself as you are all but practically thrown on the altar. The marble is cold against your back, sinking through the thin material of your top– but not as cold as his touch.

His hand wraps around your throat once more, holding you in place against the altar as goosebumps erupt across your skin. The knife trails down your chest– and before you can protest, the blade is cutting through your top, slicing the flimsy material into shreds. Your nipples harden against the frigid air, chest heaving as you look helplessly upwards.

The tip of the knife traces over your left breast, tapping slightly against your pebbled nipple, causing a shudder to rip down your spine. The knife trails to the valley of your breasts before halting at the flesh above your heart, digging into the skin slightly. You grit your teeth at the sensation, a droplet of crimson rising to the surface from his ministrations.

It was so wrong– knowing you were mere inches from death, yet the fire licking at your stomach left you spiraling towards sin.

You clenched subconsciously, skin feeling suddenly too hot as the knife retreats from your skin. Thrown to the side, the knife clatters loudly against the marble, Michael’s hand cupping the abused mound roughly. His thumb dips into the blood, smearing it against your skin– tainting you. The hand around your throat squeezes teasingly, and your hips buck ever so slightly at the sensation.

Your breath stutters as he paws at your breasts, rolling the sensitive flesh beneath his fingers. You shudder, a whine building in your throat from the pressure, tears pricking your eyes at the needling pain. You had never felt this way before– the pain coating your skin in a way that left your head spinning, thighs clenching around nothing as you squirmed against his touch.

His fingers brush down your naval, crudely unbuttoning your jeans before ripping them and your panties down your legs, leaving you naked against the marble. Your breath stutters, spine aching against the hard surface as Michael slots himself between your parted thighs.

Your body is an offering– a sacrifice for the taking as your sins are laid bare.

Michael’s fingers dig into the fat of your ass, hauling you closer to the edge of the altar, pressing your flesh against the scratchy denim of his jumpsuit. Your jaw trembles as your clit scrapes against the jumpsuit, sending overstimulating sparks up your spine. You jolt at the contact, Michael brazing onwards, groping, prodding at you like an unwrapped gift.

His fiery touch was anything but gentle, his calloused fingers digging so hard against your skin you moaned weakly, wincing at the realization that bruises would be left in their wake. Michael let out a huff, seemingly pleased with your body laid out before him, hand retreating from you to unbutton his jumpsuit. Still held in place, you squirmed slightly, back screaming as you moved against the unpolished marble, chafing your skin.

Every movement resulted in an intoxicating pain that sent you reeling, your penance.

The worn stained glass cast a kaleidoscope of colors on Michael’s mask, the saints above watching in silence. Do the saints weep at your sin? Do they turn away? Your thoughts are torn away when the tip of his cock brushes against your folds.

You panic, trying to push yourself upwards, babbling nonsense with his hand around your throat. You aren’t ready, you don’t think it will fit– but Michael is undeterred. Jutting his hips forwards, his cockhead dips between your folds, stretching you uncomfortably. You realize that it’s pointless to reason with the devil– if he wants something, he takes it.

Your insides are screaming as Michael pushes onwards, driving into you inch by inch. The tears fall at that, stinging as they mingle with the blood on your cheek. You feel as if you are being split in two, thighs clenching so hard you worry you’ll snap. Michael’s hips meet yours, and you swear you can feel him in your throat.

Leaving you with no room to adjust, Michael bottoms out, snapping his hips forward and starting a brutal pace. All you can do is take it, fingers reaching out to clutch at the fabric of his jumpsuit, the only thing grounding you as his hips stutter forward. You gasp, the stretch feeling as if you were burning from the inside out, tits bouncing as your back scraps against the altar.

You openly sob now, the pace too intense, too rough– so full you feel as if there is nothing left but him. The denim of the jumpsuit brushes your clit again, sending an electrical current across your skin, tearing a broken moan from your throat.

You were melting, skin so hot that you already feel as if you are in the pits of hell.

Michael grunts, cock plunging into your gummy walls with such force your head spins. The sounds of your staccato gasps echo in the church, accompanied by the lewd squelch of your pussy sucking him in. If you were a better woman, you would have felt shame, yet the only thing you could feel was the ache between your thighs.

With every thrust, the signing pain began to subside, turning into something so intense your mouth gapes. You suck in a shuddering breath, eyes rolling as his tip hits that oh so sensitive spongy spot, causing your toes to curl. The hand around your neck tightens, his grip unrelenting as you gasp for air.

God, it's too much– your head spiraling from the shards of pain shooting up your back from the friction– yet you couldn’t do anything else but moan. “Michael–”, his name is a breathless plea, a wicked prayer as his weight sinks into you. Your body arches beneath him, a sinner consumed by rapture. A sheen of sweat coated your skin, dripping down the valley of your breasts.

Michael’s hips rolled against you like a man driven mad– but you knew better, he was no man.

The hand wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip released, hips abruptly leaving yours as he pulled out, causing your pussy to flutter around air. Fingers digging into the fat of your hips, you were flipped as if you weighed nothing, tits crushed against the cool marble as you were pushed face down onto the altar.

Your hair was quickly bundled around his fist, forcibly arching you against him as he realigned himself to your leaking hole– pushing himself back inside with ease. Your tongue lolled from your lips at the sudden shift in position, Michael’s cock delving even deeper within you.

Pain shot through your already tender scalp, white sparks flying across your vision as you stared into the abyss of night laid out above you. Stars poked through the gaping hole of the church ceiling, the heavens glaring down at your sin– mocking you.

Oh God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Your hips ground against the stone edge, your legs trembling under the weight of his brutal thrusts. You had long abandoned any semblance of sanity, openly weeping as you fell from grace, utterly corrupted by the way his hips rolled against your ass. You clawed at the altar-top, nails chipping from the force as Michael barred down fucking into you so roughly your breath caught in your lungs.

Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, pussy fluttering as the tension built within you– a testament to your sin.

The action was anything but holy, the scent of sex practically dripping from your shaking form as you were bullied into from behind. The taste of metal invaded your mouth, teeth gnashing against the flesh of your cheek as a pitiful attempt to stifle your moans.

You were his offering– his to take, his to taint, and you were falling fast. Your stomach tightened, tension becoming unbearable as your spongy walls were all but abused. The knife was still there– lying beside your head, discarded as if it was no longer needed.

Then you realized– it wasn’t, he owned you now.

And with that, the heavens collided.

A scream tore from your throat as you came, relief flooding your body as your brain short-circuited, toes curling from the force. Michael fucked you through the orgasm, balls slapping against your clit in a way that left you in a sobbing, overstimulated mess. You clenched around him, his pace beginning to falter as Michael climbed towards his own release. Your knees gave out, your hair being the only anchor keeping you from collapsing.

Michael’s breaths came out in primal huffs, a low growl slipping as he came– thick ropes of cum filling you to the brim. You shuddered at the feeling, mind blank with nothing but the sensation of the shallow thrusts of Michael stilling against you, pushed to the hilt. You struggled to catch your breath, heart practically beating out of your chest as you went lip under his hold.

Michael pulled his softening cock from your folds, the sensation making you whine. Your lips fluttered at his retreat, cum spilling down your thighs as the void overtook you. Your hair was freed from his grasp, scalp tingling as you limply pressed your temple to the cool surface of the marble. His weight abruptly vanished, yet you were too fucked out to care.

For a moment, you didn’t dare move, skin damp with sweat– with sin.

Every inch of your skin burned, scrapes and bruises coating every surface, the corruption sinking into your soul. You were ruined– and yet you found yourself blindly reaching for him, fingers swiping air. Confusion wracked your form, and you weakly turned, fingers gripping the altar for support– but he was gone.

The ritual was complete, the offering devoured. You had given him everything: body, mind, soul– and now there was nothing left.

Your discarded clothes pooled at your feet, a soulless reminder of the events that had taken place. A raw, broken sound escaped your chest– a laugh bubbling past your sobs. This was your penance, your punishment for offering yourself so willingly to something that would destroy you.

Now, you were alone– utterly and completely at the mercy of God himself.

A shiver crawled down your spine at the thought, knowing he had left you once before, yet you had returned. So what was stopping you from doing it again? Your lips parted ever so slightly, a single prayer slipping past– not to God, but to him.

“Michael…” You knew there would be no response, only silence. But as you slowly gathered the ruined fabric at your feet, you knew deep down that he was listening. He was always listening. And now that you had offered yourself to him, he wouldn’t have to come for you; you would go to him.

Because there is no salvation in a house of God, only him– and he is the only one left to worship.

#horror smut #slasher smut #slasher x reader #slashers #reader insert #x reader #smut #x you smut #female reader #ghostiesnightmare #michael myers smut #michael myers x reader #michael myers #halloween franchise #halloween michael myers

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tardisblueten · 4 months ago

Text

Missing You

Summary- You are away on a trip visiting family. The Doctor makes a brash decision in the midst of his pining for you.

Warnings/Tags: Pantie sniffing (Ten is a freak), male masturbation, Ten invading your privacy, afab!reader (but no/minimal gender specific pronouns), good old male yearning, all characters in all of my fics are adults!

-This is kind of on the kinky/taboo side (used pantie sniffing without reader knowing) so if that makes you uncomfy pls skip <3 all post interactions are appreciated- enjoy!

NSFW 18+ ONLY!

The Tardis seemed dramatically empty and lonely now to the Doctor. His hearts longed to hear your laughter echo throughout his now lifeless ship once more. He knew you would be back soon and that visiting your family is what you needed, but he just couldn't stop thinking about how he would do anything just to have you back by his side right now.

He ran out of things to do to occupy his mind while he impatiently waited for you. For a moment he considered just travelling forward in time to beat the wait, but he knew he shouldn't. He needed to teach himself patience. He laid down on the bench by his control panel while his mind played a melancholy loop of memories of you. Like the way you look at him with a huge adorable grin whenever you were having great fun on your adventures. He let out a heavy sigh as he screwed his eyes shut in frustration.

The Doctor was in too deep and he knew it.

The memories of you that stuck out to him the most in this moment were the ones where the tension between you was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Like the times where your hands or elbows would accidentally brush together when standing too close and it would send shivers down his spine, and the way your fingers interlocked so perfectly like puzzle pieces whenever he took your hand and ran. His body remembered too well how he felt in those moments because he started to experience the feelings again just by reminiscing.

He sluggishly opened his brown eyes and wistfully glanced to the corner of the Tardis- where just down the corridor was the bedroom that he so generously let you occupy during your trips together. He made it as comfortable as he could for you; giving you your own furniture like a bed and desk. He even let you bring a few personal decorations (sparse, however) to make it truly yours. Seeing your door cracked open made him compelled to do something he shouldn't. He wanted to go in.

The man hopped up off of the bench with an annoyed groan and compulsively let his legs find the way to your room. He hesitantly pushed the wooden door open ever so slightly. He knew he shouldn't be invading your privacy like this but he missed your presence horribly. He thought he could just have a quick, sneaky look around to try to fill the void somehow. This would be the closest he could get right now to being in your company again. You always attempted your best to be courteous to the Doctor and keep your Tardis bedroom as tidy and organized as possible. This was his ship he was letting you stay in, after all. You didn't keep a whole lot in there anyway, as most of your personal belongings were back in your Earth home- so it wasn't like he was prying too much, right?

He let his fingers gently graze the cold walls as he slowly walked around your small, cozy room. It was dim except for the soft yellow glow of a lamp on your nightstand. His head rushed as he was instantly hit with the pleasant smell of you. It brought him some comfort but also made his hearts ache even more. The Doctor made his way to your neatly made bed to view the small pictures stuck on your wall that you had taken yourself and printed out. He smiled fondly at the breath taking landscapes from your adventures together, and the adorable silly selfies you took together standing in front of exotic sights. He peered down at your bed and spotted your childhood stuffed animal resting on your colorful quilt. He chuckled warmly at it's quaint charm. It had you written all over it. He missed you. He wanted you back right this instance. A few days without you felt like eternity for him. He knew he was dangerously too attached to you, but he was far past the point of return now. In desperate need to feel something, he picked up your stuffed animal and got a closer look. He could smell your intoxicating scent radiating off of it; your fruity hair products- or perfume- and a hint of your natural essence too. His pants shamefully grew tighter. He yearned to hold you in his arms, but instead all he had was your well loved plush. He pressed it gently to his chest and deeply breathed in it's pleasant smell before finally putting the toy back where he found it.

As he continued to look around for a bit, the guilt finally caught up with him and he decided it was his time to stop snooping. The Doctor playfully said his goodbyes to your childhood toy and turned to exit, but noticed something out of place behind the door that he had left slightly ajar. Your entire floor was immaculate except for that one small piece of dark fabric by the entry. He assumed it was one of your clothing items that must have mistakenly fell out of your basket you liked to carry when washing clothes in the giant Tardis laundry room. He thought he would do you a favor and take care of it for you. He bent down with intentions to pick it up and throw it with the rest of the laundry pile on his way out, but he paused just before his fingers made contact. His cheeks blushed red hot when he suddenly realized what he was staring at.

A burgundy pair of your panties lay mere inches from his grasp. He jerked his hand back out of instinct and shock. He needed to just leave it alone and give you your privacy back, he thought. But still for some reason the man stayed frozen, battling his conscious. His horny mind was riddled with horrible, dirty ideas. He kept thinking about how nice your plushie friend smelled... The one that you most likely cuddled in your arms when you slept. He could only imagine what your panties- the ones that you had worn all day, that tightly clung to your cunt- must smell like. Heavenly, he guessed. He was curious to explore what all of you smelled like... He aggressively shook his head; a failed attempt at clearing his filthy mind. This is so wrong, he thought. Doing this would be the ultimate betrayal to your friendship and your privacy. But how would you ever find out though?...

The Doctor lost his fight with temptation. He fell to his knees and carefully picked up your used panties, inspecting them a little closer. The adrenaline rush he felt from knowing he should not be doing this made his ears ring. He turned the burgundy underwear over slightly, revealing a small trail of white. The man almost dropped the pair from surprise. His cock was now excruciatingly hard, begging for you. His hearts were thumping loudly in his chest as he apprehensively gave into his curious urges completely and brought your tainted panties to his nose. He took a slow breath in and then let out a deep groan. Your musky, organic scent completely took over his senses and he practically melted into the wooden floor beneath his knees. His erect dick helplessly twitched in the tight tent of his trousers. He tried to palm it with a heavy, shaky hand but it would never be enough.

He hurriedly rid of his belt and finally freed his stiff cock. He started to tug at it, while simultaneously pressing the used panties back to his flushed face and sniffing. His hips bucked into his trembling hand. He shouldn't be doing this. But it's too late now, he silenced his guilty conscious that tried to creep up in the midst of his all consuming fog of lust. With every inhale of your ambrosial, he imagined what your pussy must look like, or feel like, or taste like. He longed to experience the straight source in person, but he had to make do with this for now, even though it drove him crazy. His firm fist worked faster, but it could barely keep up with his desire that now started to pathetically leak down his thumb in small white drops. All of his shame was now shoved to the back of his being as he stuck his wet tongue out and flicked it into your stain. He moaned into the fabric, wishing with every fiber of his being that he was moaning directly between your pussy lips instead.

The panties muffled his desperate cries of your name while he continued to stroke himself faster. He would give absolutely anything to have the privilege of cumming in your presence instead of his own hand in this moment. He barely had time to come up with the closest substitution before he let out a loud abrupt gasp and quickly shoved the fabric from his flushed face down to his throbbing dick. His body trembled and heaved as thick white hot spurts of his cum stained your panties even more. He whined out your name pathetically, tears nearly forming in his tightly shut eyes, as his powerful orgasm finally started to die down.

His upper body collapsed to the hard floor in front of his knees as he gasped for air, the soiled underwear still tightly clutched in his left hand. He had never experienced an orgasm quite like that before. After a few moments of him laying on the floor and catching his breath, the foggy clouds of desire started to finally disperse. The sudden realization of what he had just done hit him like a freight train. He moaned as he reluctantly sat up, not ready to face his remorse. He lifted up his hand and slowly turned it over to reveal his thick load of cum that the panties had caught. They were completely soaked and he could only hope his stain would come out before you returned to him.

TYSM FOR READING! Please let me know if you liked it!

Part 2 is here.

#doctor who #10th doctor smut #fanfic #doctor who smut #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor smut #tenth doctor #smut

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 4 months ago

Text

back to life. l Joel Miller

Summary: an attempt to return to normality

Warnings: angst, a little bit of smut (+18), lots of bad emotions, tw: depressive episode; Tommy, Maria and Ellie; violence

A/N: it's a hard time for me. but I found a moment to write this. sorry that I'm still stuck in this series, it's comfortable for me

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The next few days were really hard. Joel felt like every cell in his body was hurting him, even though it was you who had been through so much. The wounds were healing, the bruises were fading, but you were quieter and less visible. If it weren't for his willingness for you to take a bath, which Joel thought was the best thing for you, you wouldn't have gotten out of bed at all.

But Joel experienced something else during that time. In addition to fear for you, he encountered incredible human kindness and empathy. The people of Jackson seemed moved by what had happened. Soon, when Joel was on his way to the clinic about his collarbone, an older man who owned a bakery pressed a fresh loaf of bread into his hands and said with a smile that it was for you.

Mrs. Russo appeared at the door the next evening, bringing with her a few of your favorite dishes. "I guess you don't have the head for cooking now. Take this, she's been enjoying it so much lately!"

Rory and his mother also showed up, and the boy handed Joel a bouquet of the first spring flowers, which he placed next to your bed. The small smile on your lips was worth everything.

Almost every afternoon, Ellie would sit with you, telling you that she absolutely needed help with her homework. Joel thought she was exaggerating and that she certainly didn't have that much to study for, but you were starting to get involved. Evenings were for the two of you, though.

Sometimes Joel would play something on the guitar, feeling your eyes follow his fingers as they struck the strings. He hadn't done it in years, but for you he'd pulled from his memory many of the songs he knew. Or he'd read books aloud. His warm, low voice carried through the bedroom, and you'd listen, clearly soothed by the sound.

Your bubble had to stretch, though, and it happened one evening. Joel came back later than usual, and then he convinced you to go downstairs. He led you out to the terrace and showed you something he had made for you. A wooden bench, very carefully crafted, with ornate armrests and fancy decoration. He had been working on it for a long time.

"It's so beautiful outside. I thought you might like to have your own place." he said, a little worried when he saw the tears in your eyes and your trembling lips. "You can spend time here, bask in the sun, read if you want."

"Nobody has ever done anything just for me." you said quietly.

And before he knew it, you kissed him, so truly. He hadn't felt the real you in a kiss for a long time, and now you were with him. In his strong arms, you were like a fragile creature, but Joel felt happy that you had achieved so much together. He believed that everything would be fine.

From then on, everything slowly began to change. You spent more time outside, and sometimes you went with him to the stables to take care of the horses. After a few days, Tommy and Maria invited you for dinner, and you showed up there too. When the dance was in Jackson, you went together, although you seemed hesitant about it, but Joel managed to talk you into a few slow dances with him.

"I want to take her out of Jackson," Joel stated when he and Tommy met up at the Tipsy Bison for a drink one day, "Just one day. We'll take the easy way out."

Tommy nodded, "It would do her good. Can she handle it?"

"She's tougher than we think. I can see she needs to get outside of those walls, even though she's still scared."

"And you're going to let her?" Tommy shook his head in disbelief, "What did she do to you, bro?"

"I miss her, you know... She's physically there, we sleep in the same bed, we eat together, we live together. But she..."

"I can see it in her eyes. What happened to her changed her... It would change anyone."

Joel took a sip from his glass. He didn't want to tell his brother that you hadn't slept together since then. No, Joel wasn't complaining. Your relationship had never been just about sex. But he still didn't know if he would scare you if he initiated it. You were sensitive and delicate, and although he knew you loved him, you didn't take that step yourself.

That day the weather was beautiful. The spring sun settled in the sky, and the forest and the surrounding area were beautifully green. You walked together, close to each other.

Joel told you what had changed in the area recently, that the attic in the permanent barn on the other side of Jackson had caved in, or that he had seen a family of foxes sneaking past the camp during a patrol. He spoke as if you had been sick for a week, not completely cut off from life for almost a month.

You felt good, especially since he was next to you, and the care and tenderness towards you emanated from him. You wanted to go back to him, completely, but you weren't sure how to do it. Every day, every attempt, cost you a lot of strength. Guilts of conscience were churning inside you.

"I'm sorry, Joel." You finally said when you stopped at the edge of the forest.

Joel looked at the horizon, trying to see if the area was still safe for you, and turned around, surprised.

"What are you apologizing for, darling?" he asked, taking a step towards you.

You seemed so small to him, as if many things were pressing you to the ground at once, and you were barely able to stay on two legs. You looked at him as if you were about to cry.

"For everything." you finally answered "For having to take care of me. For every day that is so hard for you. I wish things were like they used to be... I don't know if I can. Maybe... Maybe..."

"Don't do that." he interrupted you, approaching you and taking your face in his hands "Stop here. What happened to us, what happened to you, is neither of our fault. But we'll deal with it, right?"

"How? I thought I was strong, but this..." you closed your eyes, and tears flowed from under your eyelashes. Joel patiently wiped them away with his thumbs "I keep wondering... Every shadow, every rustle makes me tremble. I've become nothing but a problem for each of you."

His strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you tightly to his chest. You snuggled into Joel with all your might. His arms were your shelter, the beating of his heart soothed yours. If it weren't for him, you would have fallen to pieces a long time ago.

"You don't even know, silly, how many people care about you and want to help you. They ask about you every day. You're not the problem, but you can't be strong all the time either. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about, because I tried to be. You and Ellie hold me together. Now it's our turn, we won't let you fall apart." He kissed the top of your head and sighed deeply "You don't even know how much I love you..."

It was late when you got back. Your clothes smelled of forest and wind, just like Joel's. You felt tired, but you were also a little lighter, more confident. He saw it in your eyes and promised himself that soon you would go out together again outside Jackson.

However, Joel was most surprised when he felt your arms wrapped around his waist as he stood in the shower and the streams of hot water washed his body. You clung to his back, so gently as if you were afraid he would push you away. But Joel kissed your hands, and then turned around and looked at you with such love that you had never seen in his eyes.

So you surrendered to this moment, because you wanted to, because it was him, because you wanted to feel alive again.

And when you felt his cock moving deep inside you, when his lips caressed your neck, and the cool tiles imprinted on your back - only God knew how much life flowed in you again.

"Sorry, I wouldn't keep you from your work if it wasn't so important."

"Don't worry, the laundry will definitely wait for me." you chuckled as you and Maria headed towards the building that served as the city hall or headquarters in Jackson.

It was already late in the evening, Joel hadn't come home yet, and you were busy with the usual household chores. The following days were somehow easier and you were happy to have your strength back.

You went inside and Maria led you to the back. You noticed a few men in the rooms, who were also taking part in patrols. They seemed strangely tense to you, but Maria quickly drew your attention to herself.

"Listen, this could be an unpleasant experience for you." she said, her hand stroking your arm. "But we have to be sure."

"What do you mean?" you asked, frowning. "Did something happen? Something with Joel or Tommy?"

Maria shook her head, then pushed the door open and nodded for you to enter. It was a dark room and you noticed that the curtains were drawn tightly and the only light came from the lamps placed on the walls. In the middle, three men sat on chairs, they were not residents of Jackson. They seemed strangely familiar to you, but you couldn't...

Someone said your name and you noticed Joel and Tommy standing nearby.

"What's going on?" you asked quietly. "Who is it?"

Tommy cleared his throat. "We've been following them for a few days. We suspect that they attacked you. You, Sam and Anthony. One of them had Sam's private things."

You looked at the men again, now you understood. And they must have recognized you too, because they twitched nervously. Two of them looked away, trying to avoid your eyes, but one of them was staring at you wildly.

"I know that pussy." he muttered, a smile twisting his face covered with thick stubble "I thought you died in the woods. You're a smart bitch."

There was a loud impact, it was Joel who hit the man without thinking. His head tilted back, but after a moment his quiet laughter filled the room.

"Is that your pussy? How was I supposed to know that it already had its owner?"

"Don't you dare talk about her like that!" Joel growled and wanted to hit him again, but Tommy grabbed his arm.

He looked at you carefully. "Is that them?"

"He recognized her!" Joel hissed furiously "That should be enough!"

"I need to know!"

You weren't fully aware of it, as if your body had made the decision itself. Your head twitched in confirmation. That was enough.

"Get her out of here." Tommy ordered.

"Joel! No!" you groaned, but someone's arms grabbed you and forcibly led you out of the room. The door slammed shut with a bang. Even though you didn't see it, you knew what was about to happen.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #short stories from life

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tobiosbbyghorl · 3 months ago

Note

hyper and chill suggestion!!!

i came across a really cute couple mirror selfie on pinterest!!! andddd i was wondering who between them would keep making silly faces and instead of nice cute selfies it turns into a giggle-filled photoshoot with more bloopers

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 24:Photobooth

It started with a simple walk through the mall.

You were supposed to just grab snacks and maybe window shop for a bit, but then—

“Oooh! Lolove, look!” You gasped, grabbing his arm.

Sunghoon barely had time to react before you were dragging him toward the brightly lit photobooth stall near the arcade.

“Lolove, seriously?” He raised a brow, amused. “A photobooth?”

You pouted. “Come on, it’ll be cute! We don’t have any printed pictures together.”

He sighed, but the tiny smile on his lips told you he wasn’t actually against it.

“Fine, fine.” He let you shove him inside the booth, sliding in beside you on the tiny bench.

You excitedly picked a frame on the screen while he casually slung an arm over the back of the seat.

“All right, first one—just smile normally!” you instructed, already posing.

The countdown started.

3… 2… 1—

Click!

You smiled sweetly.

Sunghoon?

The menace was making the goofiest face possible.

Mouth open, eyes crossed, fingers doing bunny ears behind your head.

You gasped. “Park Sunghoon!”

He just grinned.

“Okay, next one, be serious!” you warned, trying to stop laughing.

3… 2… 1—

Click!

This time, he puffed out his cheeks and threw up peace signs, looking absolutely ridiculous.

You smacked his arm. “Sunghoon, I said serious!”

But he was dying laughing. “You actually thought I’d listen?”

You groaned. “I should’ve taken these alone.”

Sunghoon only laughed harder. “Nope, you’re stuck with me.”

The next two shots were no better—you tried to be serious, but he kept making silly faces, so eventually, you gave in and joined him.

By the end of it, you were both giggling like kids.

But then—

“…Okay, okay,” Sunghoon said, still catching his breath. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He put in more coins before you could even protest.

You blinked. “Wait, you actually want a redo?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, suddenly focused. “Let’s do it properly.”

And that’s when you realized—his entire demeanor had shifted.

Gone was the playful Sunghoon.

Now, he was serious.

The countdown started again.

This time, on the first shot, he smiled at the camera—a real smile, the one that made your heart do flips.

The second shot, he gently took your hand, intertwining your fingers on his lap.

The third shot—he turned to look at you instead of the camera.

And on the final shot—

He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

Click!

Your heart nearly exploded.

The flash faded, leaving you both in the dimly lit booth, mere inches apart.

You stared at him, stunned, cheeks burning. “…Sunghoon?”

He smirked, but his own ears were definitely pink.

“Now that’s a good set of photos,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard.

Yeah.

You were never throwing these away.

After recovering from the absolute meltdown Sunghoon just gave you in the photobooth, you both walked out with the freshly printed photo strip in your hands.

You stared at it, replaying the last shot over and over in your mind. Did he really kiss you just like that? So casually? So smoothly??

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was trying very hard to act like his ears weren’t still pink.

“Where to next?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You were about to answer when—

“Oh my god, look at this mirror!” You gasped, stopping in front of a cute boutique store.

Right at the entrance was a full-length mirror decorated with heart-shaped stickers and pastel doodles, with a little sign that said “Take a selfie, leave a memory!”

Your eyes sparkled. “We have to take a mirror selfie here.”

Sunghoon groaned. “Lolove, we just took a bunch of pictures—“

“But this is different!” You whined, already pulling your phone out.

Sunghoon sighed, but when you turned your puppy-dog eyes on him, he gave in instantly. “Fine.”

You beamed and dragged him in front of the mirror, angling your phone for the perfect shot.

At first, you both just posed normally—standing close, Sunghoon’s hand resting on your waist while you smiled at the reflection.

Then, just for fun, you made a peace sign while Sunghoon lifted an eyebrow at you.

“Do something cute!” you nudged him.

“Like what?” he muttered.

Without thinking, you turned to him and pressed a quick peck to his cheek.

Sunghoon froze.

You clicked the picture at the perfect moment—him standing completely still, lips slightly parted, ears burning red.

You cackled. “Oh my god, you look so flustered!”

Sunghoon immediately covered his face with one hand. “You can’t just do that!”

“Why not?” You grinned, scrolling to look at the picture. “You kiss me in a photobooth, but I can’t kiss your cheek?”

He huffed, still obviously shy. “…That was different.”

You giggled. “Aw, is my big, confident Sunghoon shy?”

His jaw clenched, and he snatched your phone.

Before you could protest, he suddenly leaned down and pressed a soft, slow kiss to your temple—his lips lingering for just a second.

You barely had time to process it before he snapped the picture.

You gaped at him.

Sunghoon smirked, handing your phone back. “There. Now we’re even.”

You stared at the new photo—him kissing your temple, you looking completely caught off guard.

Your heart exploded.

“…I’m printing this one,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

Sunghoon chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”

Neither of you said it, but one thing was very clear.

That mirror selfie?

Would definitely be framed later.

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @veilstqr

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rissierjie

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redcrowncafe · 7 months ago

Text

FANFICTION CHAPTERS IN SHORT

Here you will find a summary of the chapters so far, so there will be spoilers. There may not be all of them so I'll add them from time to time.

Be warned.. spoilers!!!

Chapter 1: Introduction

The chapter begins with Lambert arriving to Camelliatown in a taxi. They are freshly graduated from university and they're moving to a new city to spend some time alone and learn how to be independent on their own, working at a "simpler" job while looking for some more close to their study's field.

Once they clean and fix their new home, after stumbling into a certain three eyed mean cat who told em to fuck off, they start giving their CV to several places. They find Ratau's coffee shop and manage to get hired after Midas quits the cafe after he wins the lottery. Lambert is happy about it even if they find out that mean cat works there and will be their colleague.

When they come back home and look outside the terrace they meet their new neighbor: Ratoo. They think he's similar to someone they've seen, but they don't know it's Ratau's older brother.

Chapter 2: Gerberas for the café

After facing some insecurities due their memories of struggling to fit in back in university, Lambert starts their first day of work at the Red Crown Café. They arrive pretty early and Ratau shows approval, then expresses frustration towards Narinder, revealing he always arrives late and sometimes never shows up, without even warning him beforehand. He hints at some issues the coffee shop had to went through after its best era, but refuses to elaborate, leaving Lambert confused. The sheep then gives him the idea of renovating the workplace aesthetically and they all agree on getting some flowers to decorate the entrance.

Lambert goes to the flower shop to buy the flowers Ratau gave them and they meet the owner, who is Forneus, who also sells handmade things in the same place. In fact Lambert lays their eyes on a green sweater and Forneus decides to keep it aside for them so they can buy it whenever they want.

When Lambert comes back they find Narinder, who is receiving a lecture from Ratau for his being late, and when they show the flowers they bought he acts mean. Things get worse when Narinder spits in the drink that was preparing to a customer and Lambert takes it away from him, pouring its contents in the sink. Angrily, Narinder drags them in the storage room and pims them on the wall, insulting them and what they're doing for the shop, but when Lambert takes a stand he fails to sustain his point when Ratau interrupt them awkwardly.

Lambert gets to know one of Ratau's friends: Klunko, who is silly and kind. He helps them placing the flowers the sheep bought in the vases and leaves a good impression on Lambert. When they come back home, they don't realize someone is watching them.

Chapter 3: Fake cigarettes

Ratau is visiting his brother's house before starting the day of work. He knows Ratoo is depressed and when he doesn't find him in any room, he starts to fear the worse, but thankfully when he checks the terrace he finds he simply fell asleep on a chair outside.

Lambert meets the Fox in the café while Ratau is in the bathroom, and the Fox, after introducing his character with politeness, he starts to insult them without apparent reason while they are preparing their order and they don't find the strenght to fight back. After the Fox leaves Narinder arrives and sees Lambert leaving the coffee shop in tears.

Lambert is crying on a bench not too far from the café, and when they see Narinder reaching them and trying to comfort them in his own special way, by telling them they should never let someone step on their feet just because someone is a customer, they are pretty surprised by it and starts seeing him under a different light.

After Lambert comes back to the café with Narinder and Ratau comfort them too, they get to know the rest of Ratau's friends and they end up playing cards together. Narinder seems to adore Shrumy.

At the end of the day Lambert has a nice conversation with Ratoo, who gives them advices on how to befriend the mean colleague. Anyways, the following day Lambert will visit a new city since Ratau suggested them to take a day off because of the stressful day they had to endure.

Chapter 4: Abandoned Necklace

Ratau wakes up in Shrumy's bed and panics because he remembers what happened the previous night. He finds him in the kitchen and, after Shrumy insists on Ratau staying to his place for the morning, failing, they have a lovely conversation while the turtle prepares his horrible coffee. Ratau starts to feel nostalgic, remembering about how it was to be with him, and when Shrumy notices it he starts to get bitter and kicks him out of his apartment.

When Narinder gets to the café to work, before Ratau arrives, he finds the vases flipped over and the plants are a mess. When the owner arrives and sees what happened he seems shocked, but pretends to not to know what and why it happened, belittling the event and looking suspicious in the eyes of Narinder.

After a calm morning, Lambert visits the nearby city, that is bigger. They get to buy a new dress, even if it isn't the one they wanted to get in the beginning, they visit a park and they find a LGBTQIA+ bookstore café, where they meet Heket, Leshy and Shamura. Lambert doesn't get a good impression of the first two, due Heket's coldness and Leshys nervousness, while they're visibly having a crush on Shamura.

The chapter and with Ratau meeting the Fox for mysterious reasons at night and with Lambert finding a moon necklace on the beach.

Chapter 5: Vanilla Extract

Narinder wakes up from an unpleasant and confusing nightmare featuring Shamura and start their day in a depressing way. When he arrives late at work and Ratau lies him Lambert being already here to make him feel guilty, he explodes and tries to stab him with a soft straw. Meanwhile Lambert is visibly in love because of Shamura and both Narinder and Ratau fear they're high. Lambert works in a very distracting way because of their crush, ending up to pour too much vanilla essence in someone's order.

During the day, Ratau understands Shrumy is trying to avoid him and the only way he manages to get the turtle's full attention is when he mentions the Fox. Meanwhile Narinder manages to manipulate Klunko into telling them why Ratau and Shrumy are having a weird time thanks to reverse psychology, so Klunko tell them about the fact they were a couple once but broke up several years ago due Ratau not telling his parents about his gay boyfriend.

After work Narinder drags Lambert away again, but to tell them about the fact he's sure Ratau is hiding something and that he wants their help to investigate. Lambert agrees but at one condition: to hang out so they could at least get to know each other a bit more. Narinder agrees, and then receives an unpleasant call from his landlord.

Chapter 6: Mushroom pizza

After moments of gender dysphoria, self hatred and ADHD syntomps, Narinder arrives late at the restaurant with Lambert, who forgives him for letting them wait so long. The two get to know the owner of the pizza place, Sozo, who Lambert learns he is now happily married with another man. Meanwhile, Narinder and Lambert seem to have a nice conversation: they joke around, tease each other, but for a reason or another Lambert hit the wrong nerve and manage to piss Narinder off, turning that pleasant, casual dinner into an awkward and depressing one.

When they are going to come back home they see Forneus being cornered and attacked by hooded people who want her money. Narinder is paralyzed from the fear, but when Lambert sees one of them pulling out the knife they vocally intervene, trying to stop them. They manage to distract them and Forneus flees, but this makes the criminals pretty angry and start to chase them and Narinder. During the flight Lambert feels sick, and when Narinder takes a sigh of relief because of the danger they escaped, he sees his friend passing out in front of him.

Lambert wakes up in Narilamb's place, a very small apartment, and that's where they admit they have a congenital heart defect. Narinder tries to convince them to talk about it to Ratau, but they insist on waiting for the right time. The chapter ends with Narinder telling his friend to stay for the night and then he plays the bass in front of Lambert's sparkly eyes.

Chapter 7: Missed calls

Narinder wakes up near Lambert and disapproves the fact they're drooling over his pillow, having one of their sweet dreams featuring a certain person. After the two wake up and talk about the events that took place the previous night, the landlord enters the apartment to talk to Narinder, and suddenly shows disapproval when he sees him with another person, which is against the rules of his rent. He doesn't believe in their story while displaying his bigotry and ableism. When he leaves the two realize they're late for work and go together to the café.

When Narinder and Lambert try to explain what happened to Ratau, he forgives their being late but don't seem to take seriously anything they report, which brush them the wrong way, especially Narinder who is deeply disappointed. Shrumy doesn't approve Ratau's behaviour as well and brings him to the storage room to talk about it. The two have an argument but Shumy learns Ratau doesn't want to minimize what happened and that he simply wants to hide his secrets to protect them, then Shrumy explains that even if Ratau is doing so to keep the workers safe, he's getting the opposite result.

At the end of the day of work, Narinder leaves with an upset expression without even saying bye, which makes Lambert sad, but then Ratau explains them he acts like this because he's scared of rain, in fact it was very cloudy.

Ratau and his friends bring Forneus to the police station, where she reports the aggression of the previous day to the cops. They don't do much about it and she's so unhappy about it that she screams in anger mentioning a certain Delilah. Ratau and his friends are forced to drag her outside to avoid troubles with the police and after they bring her back home, Shrumy comforts Ratau who feels guilty and offers him to sleep in his house that night.

Chapter 8: Baggages

The chapter opens with Kallamar and Leshy interacting behind the counter. Kallamar comments the ugly color combinations worn by some customers, while Leshy replies with more creepy comments directed to him and taking advantage of his hearing impairment to not to repeat the mean things he said to him. Leshy also shows disapproval and frustration when Kallamar talks about removing a star that Narinder drew on the wall before leaving.

When Lambert enters the bookstore cafe Kallamar serves him and introduces himself in a very polite, almost dramatic way, also explaining his disability (hearing) and the ones owned to the other two colleagues. He looks a bit weird, but leaves a good impression on Lambert. When the sheep sees Shamura and they don't seem to recognize them they feel horribly embarassed, but then that's how they learn about their friend's memory impairment. The two happily chat again and Shamura lets Lambert give them their phone number, that is also secretly taken by Kallamar.

The following day, on Monday, Narinder manages to get to work on time, but he's particularly tired and silent. During their day of work anyways, Lambert catches Narinder being bullied by the same woman he tried to give her that drink in which he spitted during the first day of Lambert's work. She reveals to be transphobic towards him and it turns out that wasn't the first time she was verbally attacking him. So Lambert defends their friend and kicks the mean customer outside the café, surprising Narinder.

Once the day of work is over, Lambert meets Forneus again, who thanks them for the help they gave her when she was being attacked by those criminals and, as a gift, she gives them the sweater that kept aside specifically for them. Then, when they're about to come back home with the new sweater, they see Narinder being dramatically kicked out by the landlord because of his inability to pay the rent for more than one month. Lambert tries to comfort their colleague and convinces him to sleep in their home until he finds a new sistemation.

Chapter 9: Guns

Lambert welcomes Narinder in their home and he seems to be happy to not have to sleep in the streets. Anyways, he definitely changes attitude when he finds there is only one double bed and decides to sleep on the sofa, even if this one is terribly uncomfortable. Narinder also opens up about his mental health issues linked to depression before they go to sleep.

The following day Narinder punches Lambert in the face while he's sleeping because he doesn't want to be waken up, and after eating breakfast the cat finds Ratau talking at the phone, talking about someone meeting mysterious. The two manage to hear the whole thing and to not get caught by Ratau, then they decide to follow him after work to see what is he really hiding.

When the moment arrives, the two struggle to follow Ratau because of the not functioning street lights and Narinder seems to be concerned with his physical state. Anyways they finally find Ratau and they see him courageously facing the same Fox that insulted Lambert days ago. He lends him a empty envelope telling him he won't give him any more money, and the Fox starts to punch him in front of the two scared colleagues who get caught by Klunko and Flinky, who were here too. After the Fox tells Ratau he's not going to kill him, but attack the people he cares about just to see him suffer, Shrumy appears and immobilizes the criminal. Anyways, he finds himself surrounded by his sidekicks he finds himself forced to leave him go. When the evil guys leave Ratau invites everyone to his house so he can finally give Narinder and Lambert the explanations they deserve.

Chapter 10: Cracks

Once they all get to Ratau's house, Flinky starts medicating his wounds while he explains how he started to pay the Fox many years ago to protect his café because of issues and troubles unknown people caused. He is aware about the fact it was a mistake and he regrets it everyday.

After said explanation, Lambert sees Narinder looking at the raindrops on the windows with a tense expression, this is where Narinder expresses his illogical yet intense repulsion for rain. He gets melancholic and Lambert fails to comfort him.

The same night Shrumy and Ratau sleep in the same bed and they almost kiss, but Ratau steps back because he hates the Shrumy keeps being romantic with him even if he stated pretty clearly he doesn't want to be in a romantic relationship with him anymore.

The following day Forneus and her kits show up at the cafe, and when Baal sees Shrumy, recognizing him for mysterious reasons, he flees, leaving everyone confused but the turtle, who is feeling suspicious about it. When Narinder tries to serve the two customers he suddenly feels unwell and finds himself unable to move because of the tension. Lambert fears he's having a heart attack, but then it turns out Narinder suffers from panic attacks and that one of those was happening right now. Ratau and Kudaai, who is a doctor, manage to support Narinder, who is brought to Lambert's home after the attack.

At the end of that difficult day of work Lambert apparently receives a message by Shamura, but they don't know the person who is texting them pretending to be the spider is, instead, Kallamar.

Chapter 11: Masks

When Lambert arrives home, they find Shrumy entertaining Narinder with the bass and when they leave them alone, Lambert asks him how he feels. After expressing the fact they will do anything to help them in case another panic attack occurs, they gift him the moon necklace they found on the beach, telling him it's magical and brings luck. Narinder of course doesn't believe them but still apprecciates the gift.

This time Lambert lets Narinder sleep on the bed while they will sleep on the sofa instead, surprising their friend. Lambert struggles to sleep that night and they end up chatting with "Shamura", managing to get a date with "them".

The following day, while Narinder stays home, Lambert goes to work and gets to see Sozo and his husband, Helob, enter the café. They express how much they love each other publicly and Lambert feels inspired, wishing to be in such a cute and lasting relationship in the future.

The chapters end with another victim of the criminals who gets beaten after he explains why he can't give them the money. One of the goons runs away from the scene and, removing their mask once he's away, he reveals his tears. He is Baal.

Chapter 12: Comics or books

Baal comes back home pretty late and has a heartbreaking argument with his mother, who begs Aym to let her know whatever is going on with his brother once he finds out.

Lambert finds Narinder's secret: he keeps a gay comic and they decide to read it out loud to tease him. Once they're done Narinder ask them to give him some secret as well and that's how they give him an album filled with photos, the most embarassing ones as well. He starts to feel melancholic and pretty jealous because Lambert still has a family, but when a half burned photograph portraying Lambert and a lion person distract him, they explain that is their ex-boyfriend and that they left them because nonbinary. Narinder of course comforts his friend telling all those muscles and hair compensate for something else. When he suggests them to burn or destroy that photo to get rid of him on a deeper level, Lambert says they will think about it.

The day of the date finally arrives, Lambert waits for their date for almost a hour and when they see Kallamar arrive instead of Shamura they feel confused. Heartbroken even, when Kallamar says Shamura simply forgot about the date. The squid almost convinces Lambert to hang out with him instead when Heket and Shamura arrive on the spot and this is how they all find out Kallamar was pretending to be Shamura just to go on a date with Lambert instead. Heket drags him back to the bookstore café where he left Leshy working all alone while Shamura decides to hang out with Lambert.

Lambert spends a beautiful day with Shamura, buying books and comics for the bookstore, eating dinner together and they end up stargazing. Lambert is completely enamoured with Shamura, even if they don't understand their yapping about astronomy and physics, but then they found they spent too much talking and lost track of time. In fact, it is too late for Lambert to get the bus or the train and go back home, so Shamura suggests them to sleep in their home as a solution. Of course, Lambert accepts their offer, not realizing Narinder had been calling them for a long while due the late hour and them not showing up at home.

Chapter 13 - Pancakes and apologies

When Lambert arrives in Shamura's house they realize Narinder has called them several times because they planned to dine together and he was also worried because of their disappearance. After apologizing and reassuring him they're fine, they find Shamura live with the people they work with, Lambert even meets Kallamar who suggests them to sleep in his beautiful room because of a more comfortable bed, proposal that was kindly denied by the sheep before Heket dragged him away. That night Lambert sleeped in the guest room then than was revealed to be a room that belonged to a friend Shamura really misses and disappeared years before.

After sleeping and having a nightmare about being lost in a maze that looked just like Camellia Town and being eaten by the Fox, Lambert wakes up and hears someone playing the guitar. After they investigate on the sound they find Leshy and a yellow cat on his bed while he's playing the guitar for her. During breakfast the yellow cat reveals to be Felix, a friend Leshy never spoke about to the people he lived with and she leaves overall a good impression on everyone, aside Kallamar who finds her a bit gross.

After exchanging music playlists with Leshy and Felix, Heket invites Lambert for a Halloween party, and when they come back home to invite his friend Narinder he is just too offended by the carelessness Lambert showed the previous day to accept the invitation.

The day comes to an end as Felix brings Leshy back home after a karaoke night. She encourages him to practice his singing to get better and offers herself as a singing teacher since Leshy is already giving her guitar lessons and he gladly accepts the proposal even though he isn't convinced about the singing. She greets him with a kiss on the cheek before going back home, leaving Leshy embarassed and confused, snd that's when Kallamar intervenes saying that it's obvious that Leshy and Felix have a crush on each other, but when he denies Kallamar's insinuation he proceeds to say pretty aphobic things. Heket and Shamura interrupt the discussion before it devolves and Leshy flees locking himself in his room.

Chapter 14 - True Colors

The chapter continues where it was interrupted in the previous one: Leshy is inside his room after having an argument with Kallamar and Heket comes in to check how he's doing, communicating with him with a text to speech option on her phone. Leshy opens up about how Kallamar made him feel, but doesn't mention his doubt for what he feels for Felix.

As Halloween approached Narinder mantained a cold and detatched behavior towards Lambert, who felt a bit too awkward about it to try and actually speak about it with him. Anyways, after they dressed up as a vampire to go to the party, they find Narinder crying inconsolably in the bed. Lambert manages to let him open up for the first time and this is when he finally drops his lore trauma: turns out that he was kicked out from his biological family because he is transgender when he was 18 yo, that he was helped by a older friend who hired him at their bookstore café and that he accidentally caused his death in a car crash he fleed away from out of panic. In the beginning Lambert is disgusted by the latest revelation, but after seeing in much pain and shame he was because of the burden he has on his conscience they feels sympathy and comforts him, deciding to give up the party and stay with him that night so that he won't be alone.

Meanwhile, at the Halloween party, as Kallamar despairs after learning Lambert won't join the party, Leshy and Felix are chatting on the terrace. When Leshy explains her what is aromanticism and asexuality she expresses how much she finds that relatable, even though she doesn't think she's ace. Then she mentions the fact that probably the blame falls on someone who ruined her relationship with intimacy, and when he jokingly says it's because romance sucks, she clarifies that the person who ruined that for her wasn't a romantic partner, leading to an ominous change of mood.

Chapter 15 - Clauneck

When Narinder and Lambert wake up they get prepared to go to an autumnal fair in town, while at the same time Narinder finds the courage to remove a gacha game from his phone. The same morning Clauneck, who is getting prepared to go the same fair but as tarot reader, gets called by Kallamar, his most annoying customer who asks him for the upteenth future love tarot reading.

Narinder and Lambert spend a beautiful morning in the town when at the fair they see Clauneck for the first time, while hes having a fight with another seller who tried to sell a sick woman rocks to heal her cancer. They get a tarot reading from him that reveals the challenges and transformation they will have to face in the future.

Leshy dreams about kissing Felix and wakes up with a flower growing on his face.

Chapter 16 - Blooming flowers

This chapters begins with a flashback of a younger Leshy having his first flower growing on his face and his parents explaining that his body just started to change and telling him where do babies come from. Rest in pieces Leshy.

The current Leshy refuses to give any explanation to his roommates, who ifnore his refusal and check an anatomy book with him, unveiling the reason of Leshy's physical change: basically wormfolks like him bloom pink flowers in spring to signal their most fertile moment in the year, while when they bloom red flowers in any season it means they are in love. Anyways, Leshy seems to have a "Blooming syndrome" that occurs when a wormfolk refuses to admit their feelings for another person. If he won't admit his feelings for Felix it won't be fatal, but he will keep growing flowers non stop. He doesn't take it well.

The day of an important date with Shamura came for Lambert, but they couldn't stop thinking about their ex, so Narinder helps them burning the photo in the storage room, comforting them. After such bittersweet, touching moment Chad (Lambert's ex) enters the cafe and starts flirting with Narinder in a transphobic way. Narinder finds himself powerless and Lambert helps him by pouring boiling coffee on Chad's balls, who is also kicked out from Shrumy. When Lambert has to leave for the date, Narinder feels jealous while not knowing why, but in the end he wholeheartedly wishes them good luck, because he wants them to be happy.

Chapter 17 - Heartache

After spending a beautiful date with Shamura, Lambert finally finds the courage to confess their feelings when they're stargazing with the telescope on the roof, confession that ends up with a polite friendzone under the most romantic sky. Lambert's feelings are hurt but decides to not to take it personally and stay friends with Shamura.

When Lambert comes back in Camelliatown they witness the Fox's goons bringing cans of gas to their cafe to set it on fire, but thankfully Shrumy, who was there, knocks them out and Ratau, Klunko, Flinky and Narinder arrive on spot. The Fox and Helob appear too, and this one is revealed to work for the boss. The two criminals pretend to leave the group alone but, while they're in the car, the Fox tells Helob to shoot at one of the two coworkers, not to kill them, but to seriously damaging them. Helob is reluctant and refuses to do such thing, but the Fox physically forces him to do so and ends up shooting at Lambert's arm.

Everyone is in shock as they see Lambert collapsing on the ground and having a hemorrhage even though the bullet caused just a scrap, which confuses everyone aside Narinder, who knows that the bleeding is caused by the pills Lambert is taking for their heart condition. Ratau yells at Narinder for never telling him about their condition and him, Narinder and Shrumy, bring the wounded sheep at the hospital. When they arrive Ratau and Narinder have a confrontation in which the cat shares his feelings of guilt because of what happened and his fear of losing Lambert forever, Ratau reassures him and expresses he never hated him but felt sad because of how Narinder wasted his potential and hide his best qualities.

After that lovely conversation, the doctor tells them that Lambert is no longer in danger but that they will need to rest for some week at the hospital. Ratau goes in the hospital's garden to refer everything to the Klunko and Shrumy reaches him. When Ratau shares with him the profound guilt he feels and how he wishes to be more like him, Shrumy admitted he isn't strong and brave as he looks amd that he was scared that night, maybe even more than him. Then, they kiss passionately.

The following day Lambert wakes up in their hospital bed, with Narinder at their side. He brought flowers for his friends and they chat about everything that happened, including that disappointing date and the old men yaoi that Narinder silently witnessed last night. During the rest of the day Narinder doesn't feel hungry at all and when he comes back home and realizes he miss having Lambert sleeping next to him, he finally understand that he loves them.

Chapter 18 - Complications

The chapter starts with Sozo kicking Helob out of their house, throwing objects, clothes, and baggages from the balcony. Helob is visibly sorry about what happened, but of course it isn't enough to be forgiven by his husband. Meanwhile, as they pass Lambert finally heals and decides to write a fanfiction about Shrumy and Ratau.

One day at the red crown cafe, Narinder catches Lambert laughing at the fanfiction they wrote and shows disapproval, but he really can't get mad so they start lovingly teasing each other. Narinder then reveals to Lambert that he wants to face his fear of rain and asks them for help and of course, the sheep accept.

When Lambert has to leave the coffee shop to buy some ingredients, they meet Kallamar and find out he specifically came there to meet them without any warning. Lambert tries to avoid him politely but due his stubborness they explode and tell him how they dislike his disrespectful behavior. Kallamar unpromptedly asks them for their star sign and when Lambert reveals to be an aries, the squid rejects them and leaves.

Felix finally visits Leshy at home woth the purpose of explaining what she was talking about during Halloween. She tells him that she once was part of s group friends and that there was a member of her friends that confessed her feelings for her but after some days she rejected him, he forced her to kiss him, probably taking advantage of the fact she could be drunk, and she broke his nose with a punch as reply. Because of that her entire group of friends despised her and left her lonely. Leshy showed his closeness and sympathy to her after the revelation, and in those moments he realizes he's feeling both romantically and physically attracted to her, while she's telling him beautiful things. He tries to kiss her but decides to step back and hug her instead, profoundly disappointing his friend.

Chapter 19 - Gentle Rain

Leshy finds himself having an argument with Kallamar as soon as he wakes up: the squids accuses him of self sabotaging himself and that he can't stand seeing him losing his chance to be in a romantic relationship while he's still single at 29. Leshy refuses to listen to any of his advices and after he finds Kallamar has peeked in his room the previous night and saw his failure, he kicks him out of his room.

After Shrumy and Ratau finally admit in front of their friends that they're putting the past aside and trying to see if their romantic relationship can work out, Felix shows up at the café and asks Lambert and Narinder loves advices since the person she likes keeps driving her crazy. After Lambert encourages her to just be herself and follow her heart. In all of this Leshy's name was never mentioned, but Narinder already has a guess.

After work Narinder and Lambert go for a walk and once they're in the beach, the cat opens up and explains how he think his fear of rain probably started when he ended up being homeless under the car crash and about the fact he tried to rob Ratau's café with a visibly fake gun just to burst into tears in front of him after he asked him if he was okay. Lambert learns that Ratau hired Narinder out of sympathy and because he wanted to help him. After this revelation it starts raining and Lambert sustains and encourages Narinder to help him overcome his fear. When the cat is finally calmed down Lambert decides to kiss him for the first time, and the two end up confessing their feelings and romantically kissing under the rain.

Chapter 20 - Love Potion

After the Fox gives Helob new fake documents and a new home to avoid any more suspect, Narinder and Lambert wake up on the sofa and shows each other a lot of affection.

That afternoon, anyways, Felix finishes her shift at the tattoo store, after tattooing a beautiful moth on Heket's chest. Kallamar was there as well and decides to bring Felix to the shop where Clauneck works, so that he can buy her a love tarot reading, but when they arrive they find Chenmach instead, who gives Felix a love potion. As soon as she leaves the shop she throws it away, explaining to a shocked Kallamar that it is unfair to force someone to love her.

After she finally arrives to the cafe to go to the karaoke with Leshy, Kallamar locks them inside the workplace, where they are condamned to spend the entire night there. They have a pleasant night and after chatting, joking, singing and talking about deep stuff, Felix finds the courage to kiss him. After such action she fears she disturbed her friend ruining their beautiful friendship, but that is when Leshy kisses her with even more passion, and this is how they spend the rest of the night. The following morning, anyways, Leshy feels scared because of how things quickly developed and starts to have regrets.

Meanwhile, the Fox has a talk with Baal, who started to neglect and hate his job especially since he learned his mother was assaulted by the same people he works with. The Fox tells him he will help Forneus' job to flourish, but if he decides to leave his role his entire family will have to pay.

Chapter 21 - Petals in the sink

The following morning Ratau goes to visit his older brother, who is struggling with severe depression, and after he cleans his neglected home he promises him he won't leave him alone during wintermas holidays, that he likes it or not.

Later, in the café, the gambling gang notice how Narinder and Lambert are all cuddly and shit and they're happy about it. Forneus shows up with both of her kits and Baal decides to pay for all his family, while Shrumy still feels suspicious about him.

Meanwhile, the same morning Leshy tries to leave the café in which he woke up without telling anything to Felix, who quickly reaches him and hugs him. Leshy, heartbroken, tells her that while he enjoyed that night with her, he can't stop thinking it was a mistake, and that he wants to stay friends with her. She reacts by getting angry and accusing him of using her, telling him he is a coward and he reacts by saying that while no one can force Felix to love her, the same applies to everyone else him included. Felix feels offended and leaves, even after Leshy tried to hold her back, almost feeling drawn to kiss her again. When he goes to the toilet he notices all the flowers that grew on his head fell off.

Narinder receives a call from Ratau while he's watching a horror movie with Lambert and the old rat invites them for wintermas eve dinner, invitation that they gladly accept. Lambert also invites Narinder to their family's wintermas lunch and, after being a bit reluctant and insecure, he accepts.

Leshy comes back home in a horrible mood and when he's listening to the old recordings about him and Narinder playing their guitar and bass together, he feels incredibly lonely and regretful, crying his heart out all alone in his room.

Chapter 22 - Karaoke

After some days Lambert brings Narinder to dine out for his 28th birthday at the pizza place ran by Sozo. There they also check on him and turns out he's devasted by the revelation of his ex partner being part of the local mafia. He also feels very guilty for not realizing sooner and for what happened to Lambert.

Meanwhile Felix is dining with her parents and she's struggling to eat vegetables, in that case broccoli, because they remind her of Leshy. Since her parents want to force her to eat broccoli before eating anything else, she decides to go in her room with an empty stomach.

Narinder and Lambert go back home and they give him a frame with their photograph as birthday gift. The sheep feel a bit ashamed because they wanted to give him something more, but the cat reassure them that they are all he could've hoped for his birthday.

Felix is hungry and empties her fridge because she hadn't eat anything for dinner. Also, she's still stressed and heartbroken because of what happened with Leshy and she eats unhealthy food to distract herself from the pain. Anyways, since she knows this can bring serious issues on the long run, she decides to stop and to call her friends Narinder and Lambert to vent. They listen to her and when she invites them to go out the next evening, Lambert accepts.

That same night Shrumy brings a drunk Ratau home, and when they're in the car the rat vents about how guilty he feels because of Ratoo's psychological state. Turns out that Ratau feels responsible of his brother's dead wife since the Fox's goons set fire on their home while she was sleeping inside.

The next evening arrives and after their day of work, Narinder and Lambert meet Felix, who introduce them to her friends Amdusias, Valefar and Barbatos. They all go to a pub specialized in karaoke and they get their own room, there turns out Felix's friends know Leshy and that he's part of their friend group, and when the yellow cat vents about what happened they all decode to stand on her side. Anyways this is when Narinder gets the confirmation that both Felix and Lambert know Leshy and he's genuinely scared.

#red crown cafe au #cult of the lamb #cotl coffee shop au #coffee shop au #cotl

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