#save me 80 year old woman. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmatilda · 5 days ago

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𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: two years ago, completely by accident, you helped catch a serial killer. now, as mysterious events start to pile up around you, you begin to suspect that someone is after you, seeking revenge. terrified, you're willing to do anything to save yourself—even if it means reaching out to your ex, who wants nothing more to do with you.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: [these warnings only apply to part 2!] spencer reid x criminal(thief)female!reader, stalking, mention of dismembered bodies, serial killer targeting women, mention of abduction, reader kinda joking about killing an old man (i have no idea how to phrase it differently)

𝐚/𝐧: hi, my loves!! thank you for the feedback on the previous part, and as always, thank you to my dear friends from the server 👀 today especially @nachrosas who appears as one of the characters

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.3k

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

You were a bit embarrassed to admit it to yourself, but you didn’t leave your hiding spot until Spencer arrived.

It took him about forty minutes, though it felt like no time at all. In the dark, small closet, time moved differently. The human heart beats 60 to 80 times per minute—yours, however, was more than double that, which probably affected your sense of time.

You recognized his footsteps as he approached, and soon the door opened. For a brief moment, you two stared at each other in silence. He was wearing dark clothes again, with a burgundy shirt peeking out from under his jacket. His eyes no longer held the animosity they did the last time you saw each other. It seemed like everything that was happening had him so preoccupied that he'd forgotten, even if just for a moment, that he wasn’t supposed to like you.

"Hey," you managed to say, your brain only able to form this one word.

Spencer blinked at the casual greeting.

"Are you okay?" he asked, still holding the closet door open. He looked at you more closely, noting your slightly bent knees and expressionless face. Only then did he move with some hesitation, unsure of how to act, before offering his hand to you.

You reached for it, only catching the tips of his fingers. Still, you could feel the strong, steady grip. He helped you out of the closet as if you were a princess needing support to exit a carriage.

He released you immediately when your feet touched the floor, pressing his hand firmly to his body.

“What’s going on? Is… is this your apartment?” he asked, glancing around the room with confusion. “What were you doing in…”

“This is Rebekah’s apartment,” you cut him off, taking two steps forward to shake out your still shaky legs, and at the same time, to distance yourself from him. The bedroom was too small for a full walk, so you circled around, stopping at the edge of the bed. Your head was still spinning from the fear, but you forced yourself to straighten your back. You didn’t want him to think you were just paranoid again. You needed to appear confident about what you’d seen and what you’d been through.

“Rebekah…” he repeated the name aloud, thinking. You hadn’t expected him to immediately recognize who she was, but he added, “The woman you saved that time.”

“Right. Your memory,” you muttered, taking a deep breath. Your gaze landed on the empty bed, and the words Robert Miller escaped from prison echoed in your head. You quickly turned to Spencer, urgency in your eyes. “He was here. I came to check on Rebekah; I hadn’t heard from her for a few days. No one answered, so I came inside…and then he followed me…”

You stopped mid-sentence when you saw his expression. You had expected fear—not...disbelief.

“You called me, saying he escaped!” you shouted, crossing your arms angrily. “Do you have a reason to think I’m lying, or are you just doing this for the sake of it…”

“I’m not saying you’re lying,” he interrupted firmly, mirroring your tense posture. “I know you’re shaken up, and I know it really happened. The thing is, it couldn’t have been Robert Miller. The escape news reached us immediately. He wouldn’t have had time to get here, and how would he even know where she lives?”

First, you opened your mouth, about to say something, but then quickly pressed your lips together. Who else could it have been? At first, you thought it was just your perception, but then the memory of the scent that filled your nostrils as the man entered the room came back to you. You couldn’t shake the thought that it was him. Of course, you weren’t about to say that to Spencer—he already thought you were paranoid.

Maybe it was one of her friends? But then, damn it, why would he visit her when she wasn’t here? You lowered your head, trying to clear your thoughts and focus. You needed to figure out what had happened to Rebekah, first and foremost.

With that in mind, you bypassed Spencer and made your way to the kitchen.

“There’s something else you need to know…” he started, trailing behind you as if you were keeping him on a leash. You didn’t even turn at his words, heading straight for the fridge, bending down to peer inside. “Wait, are you seriously going to eat now?”

You pulled a bottle of milk out of the fridge, but before checking the expiration date, you shot him a look full of disdain. He crossed his arms defensively.

“Yeah, I’m starving. You want something?” you muttered, going back to what you were doing. “I’m trying to figure out when she was last here based on expired food. Instead of standing there like a statue, how about you help me out, Mr. FBI?”

He clearly had no response, so he cleared his throat and ventured further into the kitchen, carefully scanning it for any clues.

“I didn’t know we switched roles,” he added after a moment.

You shrugged.

“I’ve always thought detective work isn’t that hard. Just have to be observant”

Spencer snorted.

“Well, in that case, maybe you’ll take a look at a certain case for me. The guy was called Zodiac. Ring any bells?”

You could have easily come up with at least five sarcastic replies, but there was something more pressing on your mind than winning this verbal battle.

"Some of the stuff in this fridge is already expired, or about to be," you remarked, taking one last glance at the shelves. "If she’s missing, it was recently. Maybe...maybe today. And the person who did this came back to erase potential evidence. When I got here, the light was on. They must’ve turned it off. What do you think?"

He stood still, facing away from you, his back to the kitchen counter. He didn’t answer. You took a small step to the side, and that’s when you saw what he was holding.

"I don’t think they were here to erase evidence," he replied in an unreadable tone, a trace of tension in his voice. Only then did he turn toward you, holding up a piece of paper. "I think whoever it was, came here after you. They were following you. They wanted you to find this."

The piece of paper had a simple message written in bold black marker.

POLICE = SHE DIES.

For a moment, you stared at the words, frozen. You took the paper from him, light as a feather, yet somehow it felt as heavy as an adult elephant in your hands. Your arm dropped limply to your side.

"Now do you believe me that all of this is connected?" you asked, a hint of dark triumph in your voice. Spencer kept his jaw clenched. "The last murder? The faucet in my kitchen? Miller's escape, and now this?" you trailed off, struggling to swallow. "He's after me."

He stared at you silently, bracing himself with one hand on the edge of the counter. You tilted your head, unsure of what to make of the prolonged look he was giving you.

"You were right from the beginning," he said finally, the words clearly coming with difficulty. Before you could scoff at the obviousness of the statement, he added, "After you came to me, I took another look at the last murder. It turns out... we missed something important."

Normally, you would have thrown in some sarcastic comment about the FBI's incompetence or asked where your taxes were going. But you were too focused on his words, too eager to hear what he was about to reveal.

"One of the victims had, still attached, a piece of the rope they were tied with," he continued. "Paracord. A type of line used in sailing. All the other thirteen victims of Miller were tied with it. We never released that information to the public. We kept it under wraps in case someone tried to take credit for it. So...it couldn't have been a copycat."

This time, you were the one at a loss for words—or rather, the ability to string them together properly. You exhaled heavily, crushing the paper in your hand. The full weight of Rebekah’s situation had just hit you. She was being forced to endure all of this again. The note suggested she might still be alive. But even if you managed to save her—again—would she be able to piece herself back together after this trauma, again?

Despite the grim thought, one thing was clear: you had to do everything in your power to help her.

“You’re not telling anyone about this,” you snapped sharply, pointing at Spencer with the hand still clutching the crumpled note.

“I’m not telling anyone,” he agreed with a slight nod. “Except my team.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“Listen, every serial killer demands not to involve the police. And do you know what you’re supposed to do in that situation? Involve the police. We’ll handle this—”

“And I’m handling it with you,” you finished firmly.

This time, he looked like he wanted to argue.

“It’s inevitable,” you added before he could say a word. “He’s targeting me, so I’m involved no matter what. Instead of wasting time trying to convince me otherwise, let’s get to work. What do you think about all this? Miller had a partner the entire time, didn’t he?”

Despite your mixed feelings toward him, you couldn’t deny his knowledge and experience—things essential for tackling this case, things you personally didn’t have. Not that you hid the fact that your understanding of crimes went beyond that of the average person. Spencer placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head slightly.

“Seems that way,” he replied, adopting that deeply calculating expression, the one where most emotions vanished from his face.

You tried to reconcile that look with a softer one—like the way he’d looked when the two of you used to lie in bed in the morning, talking excitedly about something. But you couldn’t. That memory had already faded, blurred, replaced by an indistinct haze. You weren’t sure if you felt any regret about it. Maybe you shouldn’t think about it at all.

“At the time, we were certain these were crimes committed by just one unsub,” he continued, his voice steady. “And I’d still hold to that theory if it weren’t for…all of this.”

Something uncertain sparked in your mind.

“What if he didn’t commit those murders? Sure, Rebekah was found in his house, but…”

“He confessed,” Spencer interrupted, his tone leaving little room for debate.

“Yes, but—”

“The polygraph confirmed his statement too,” he cut in again. Then, after a brief pause, he admitted, “Okay, I know that’s not exactly reliable evidence. But after all the time I spent interrogating him…studying his body language, his facial expressions, comparing it to the profile… he is The Waterside Butcher. Or at least…” his voice dropped slightly, “he believes he is.”

You listened to him only partially, your gaze wandering painfully around Rebekah’s empty apartment as you tried not to imagine what she might be going through or feeling right now. And, above all, you tried not to let yourself worry about your own safety.

“So, an accomplice,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Someone we know nothing about. But if they teamed up for something like this, they must’ve meant a lot to each other, don’t you think? I mean, they must’ve known each other back then.”

Spencer gave a small nod—so small it barely felt like agreement.

“It’s possible. And since we don’t have anything else to go on, we should start there. Go back through Miller’s life. I should be able to access all the case files related to him without any trouble. And update my team about all of this”

The silence between you stretched, tight and uncomfortable. It took you a moment to realize his words meant you should leave and get to work. Still, you felt glued to the floor of the apartment, as though moving would make everything more real. Finally, you sighed and straightened up, forcing a sense of readiness.

“You’ve got my number,” you said, heading toward the door. “Call me when you’ve got the files.” As you flicked the light switch on your way out, the apartment sank back into darkness.

Spencer hesitated on the stairwell, pausing in front of a graffiti drawing on the wall— spray-painted dick. He was blissfully unaware of the masterpiece behind him.

“Be careful,” he said, his tone serious. You couldn’t quite tell if there was genuine concern behind his words.

Maybe a little.

You reached under your jacket, pulling your coat back slightly to reveal the handle of your gun. You kept your movements measured, your face calm—or at least, as calm as you could make it seem. “I’m good,” you replied.

“Still, just…be careful,” he repeated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Actually, you could just leave this to us—”

“So you can miss something important again?” you teased, your voice edged with sarcasm. You’d always been the kind of person who trusted your own instincts over anyone else’s, and right now, you didn’t feel like handing over control. “See you later. And hurry up. No naps on the way.”

Spencer opened his mouth, ready to snap something back, but you were already heading toward the stairs before he could get the words out.

Returning to the apartment was risky, but you had to do it.

Slowly opening the door, accompanied by the shrill barking of your neighbor's poodle, who gave his last, final concert every evening before collapsing on the couch, a strange calm filled you. And it probably wasn’t just because you were holding a gun. It didn’t seem illogical that Miller would show up here right after escaping from prison. If he managed to do that, if he and his accomplice were able to kidnap Rebekah, they must have been following some larger plan.

Soon, you would find out what it was.

Erika's dog kept barking as you double-checked the entire apartment. You were never the type to relax as soon as you entered your place, tossing yourself carelessly onto the couch. You always crossed its threshold warily, especially when you were involved in some major heist or making deals with someone from the darker side of the dark side of everything.

In any case, it was clean.

You shoved the gun behind your belt, hung your jacket on the hook, from which it immediately slid off, but you weren’t planning to worry about it. Instead, you made your way to your bedroom, to the cash album, to take most of it. You didn’t know how long Miller’s search would last or how the situation would unfold—perhaps escape would become necessary...but that would definitely not happen before you found Rebekah. Safe and sound.

You tried not to look at all the photos, from which your faces had been cut out. With a grimace on your lips, you skipped over those pages, jumping to the last one, the one with the money... when a photo fell out of the album, one that didn’t belong to you. At least, you thought it didn’t.

Because yes, there were a few photographs of family members, even ones you hadn’t been in touch with for a long time, who had passed away when you were a child. But this woman… you felt like you had never seen her before. She seemed young, the black-and-white photo with slightly bent corners, her hairstyle and makeup, indicated it must have been taken in another decade.

Slowly, you took it in your hands, analyzing her facial features with a furrowed brow. You might have thought it was just a photo that had been slipped in there, if it weren’t for the fact...that there was something familiar about her.

You stared at that face for a long time before you forced yourself to shut the album. Some time had passed, you had gone to visit Rebekah late in the evening, so it didn’t take long for you to realize it was the middle of the night. With no news from Spencer, you didn’t really know what to do, and it left you with a solid sense of helplessness. Closing your eyes wasn’t an option, so you leaned your hips against the damn expensive shabby chic island with a marble countertop, trying to make yourself some coffee. Many of the furniture pieces in your apartment were old, which made them stand out against the modern kitchen appliances. You hadn’t quite figured out how to work the espresso machine yet, and you were too lazy to, so you always preferred to grab coffee from somewhere in town. You spent an enormous amount of time searching through the cabinets for the user manual (spoiler: you’ll later realize you threw it away and hit your forehead against the counter in frustration) while wondering whether Spencer would ever contact you again.

Maybe he only promised to get back to you to push you away from the investigation, planning to handle it entirely with the help of his team. Maybe he considered you unnecessary in all of this and didn’t think you could help in any way.

Wow, were you really antagonizing your ex in your mind again as a way to kill time?

You missed the moment when Erika’s dog finished its performance.

In any case, you were wrong. Spencer had sent you a message early in the morning, skipping the commas he always diligently used, which suggested he had listened to your advice and hadn’t taken a nap on the way. Once again, with your jacket on your back, you jumped into the front seat of his car.

"I thought this would take you less time," you said with dissatisfaction, looking at his hands on the steering wheel and feeling the familiar scent of his presence. It had been a long time since you last shared such a small space. "You always said the first 24 hours after a disappearance are the most important. We’ve already wasted about a third of that..."

“That’s not a typical missing person case,” he cut in between your words, sounding like a lecturer, allowing himself a brief yawn in the process. There was always that little purple ring around his dark eyes that disappeared during vacations or work breaks, when you’d spend time together in the laziest possible ways. "It’s a kidnapping, and the unsub has given us a condition. If, of course, his words hold any value, Rebekah will stay alive as long as you don’t notify the police."

"Which I already did," you muttered.

"My team is quietly searching for her. For now, we need to focus on what we decided earlier. We need to go through Miller’s life again and maybe find a clue about his accomplice. Here are the case files..." Spencer suddenly stopped, holding a thick folder in his hand, slightly extended toward you but still in his grip.

You reached for it, but he pulled it away.

“Jeez, found a moment to play the kid, huh…”

“I just realized you’re not authorized to look at these,” he replied.

“Why not?” you asked, throwing your hands up, accidentally brushing against his shoulder. "Ugh, right, I know. Protecting the privacy of the man who killed thirteen women. Sorry, officer, for wanting to breach his confidentiality and treat him with a lack of respect..."

He handed you the folder without a word. You sent him a triumphant smile.

“I had the point, right? You could admit it out loud."

“That would be dangerous for your ego.”

“You assume that one compliment from you could seriously affect it? Bold.”

Spencer glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, not fully taking his gaze off the road ahead.

"Did you want me to admit you were right or give you a compliment?"

You opened the folder to the first page, immediately confronted with Robert Miller’s face. You barely managed to hide the small twitch in your shoulders. Spencer scrutinized you once more, and you tried to mask your reaction.

“So,” you began, clearing your throat. “We’re heading to his father’s house, the one still alive. Kinda rich guy, huh?”

“I’ll have to keep an eye on your sticky fingers,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

“What did you just say?”

He put on the expression of a gentle lamb, almost angelic.

“That we’ll have to talk to him,” he replied with a slight shrug. “As much as his health allows. He was showing signs of dementia two years ago.”

“A rich guy, not fully in control of his mind?” you threw in with a small smirk, deliberately trying to get under his skin. You had heard his first comment. “I’m drooling.”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

Silently, you studied the unsub's profile included in the file, refreshing information you already knew. That he and his father shared a passion for water in general, engaging in water sports and setting out onto the lake as often as possible. During one of their boat trips, he had pushed his mother overboard—she hadn’t been wearing a life jacket. Due to his young age, apparent remorse, and his father’s unwavering belief in his innocence, the incident had been ruled an accident.

In reality, it was the beginning of his murderous spree, directed exclusively at women. The first victim—the one who had given him life.

You arrived at a rather large estate, standing out slightly against the otherwise modest neighborhood. A typical American suburb, with an intensely green lawn that looked almost painted on. White walls, a dark roof, and untrimmed bushes hinting at a long-standing lack of effort in maintaining an illusion of perfection.

Spencer rang the doorbell and quickly shoved his hands into the pockets of his black coat. You stood side by side, the wait dragging on. You couldn’t help yourself—you nudged him with your elbow. He glanced at you, slightly surprised.

"When he opens the door, you're gonna do that power move with the badge, aren’t you?" you asked, your tone playful as you tilted your head to look at him.

Spencer chose to ignore the comment, pressing the doorbell again.

"Don’t be shy, I always thought that was kind of attractive," you added, watching in amusement as his expression stiffened ever so slightly.

He leaned in just a bit before speaking.

"And when he doesn’t open the door, you’re gonna pull your little hair pin trick, aren’t you?" he shot back, mimicking your tone—but with the clear intent to get under your skin rather than simply engage.

You snorted.

"You think I’m an amateur? I have actual tools for that..."

Both of you fell silent as the faint sound of movement came from inside. Someone was there, lingering behind the door, watching the two of you from the other side. After a moment of hesitation, the door finally opened to reveal a very young looking girl. A few curls had escaped from the loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, and her delicate face showed little enthusiasm at the sight of you. She was dressed casually—a loose button-up shirt thrown over a dark tank top.

For a brief moment, you struggled to place her. Was there anything in Robert’s file about a (significantly) younger sister?

Spencer introduced himself as FBI, and as he pulled out his badge, he made a very deliberate effort to avoid even accidentally meeting your gaze.

Understanding suddenly dawned on her face, and her lips pressed together slightly.

"You're here because of Robert," she stated rather than asked. "I heard he escaped. Well, I guess everyone in this country has heard by now. I've been careful about opening the door in case he… decided to show up."

There was tension—fear, even—in those last few words.

"And you are…?" you began, trailing off.

"His cousin," she replied in a strange tone, as if introducing herself with some kind of cruel nickname she'd been given in high school. "Rosas. On his mother’s side. I take care of my uncle—he’s not doing too well anymore. You want to talk to him, right?"

"May we?" Spencer asked. There was more behind it.

Will we be able to?

Rosas let you in, leading you to a small bedroom on the ground floor. What had once been a cozy space with gray walls now resembled a hospital room, with a fan positioned right next to the bed where a frail-looking man lay. His face was gaunt, his body thinned by age and illness.

He didn’t look much like Robert—or maybe it was just hard for you to see the resemblance through the years and the sickness.

As you stepped inside, the girl leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, watching your every move.

“He’s not very responsive,” she warned. “ALS. He can’t even breathe on his own anymore. And his mind’s been going for a while. He says things that don’t make sense, sometimes calls me by different names. I… I don’t know if this conversation will help you at all.”

Spencer moved closer to the bed, his sharp eyes already absorbing every detail of the room. You, on the other hand, needed a closer, more deliberate look. So, without shame, you started pacing, examining the framed photos of sailboats and ocean landscapes that lined the walls. Devoted to his passion until the very end.

You approached the dresser, where a small lighthouse figurine stood.

“That’s very generous of you,” you remarked, not turning around. “Taking care of your sick uncle.”

Rosas hesitated before answering, then scoffed.

“He wrote in his will that his entire estate would go to whoever took care of him in his final days,” she stated, without a hint of remorse.

A small smirk tugged at your lips.

“I see. And I appreciate the honesty,” you said.

Of course, you didn’t judge her. How could you blame a young girl for wanting to secure some money in this economy? In fact, you were almost certain that if you had a dying relative with a fortune up for grabs, you’d do the same.

As you stared at the photo of Robert embracing his father against the backdrop of a boat, Spencer was trying to communicate with Joseph—a task that wasn’t easy, given his condition. The man barely reacted, his eyes drifting somewhere beyond the two of you, as if he were stuck in another time and place.

Rosas decided to help, stepping into the man's field of vision and speaking to him in a voice that suddenly became soft and soothing. In an instant, her nonchalant attitude disappeared, replaced by that of a caring guardian. There was no denying it—he was lucky to have her by his side in his final moments.

“So you think Robert might want to visit his father?” you asked after both of you had seemingly given up and were now just staring at the man in silence, as if waiting for something. “You’re scared.”

“I know what he did to those women. Of course, I’m scared,” she said, her tone suddenly colder. Then she took a deeper breath, as if trying to calm herself down. “I think it’s possible he might show up. He broke out of prison, he probably needs money and…whatever else people who break out of prison need.”

Spencer nodded, confirming her theory.

“Don’t you think he might also want to say goodbye to his father?” he asked.

Rosas hesitated, considering the question.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted after a moment, shaking her head slightly. “My uncle got much worse after Robert was arrested. Especially after he found out that he was the one who killed my aunt. That…hit him harder than the other women.”

“That’s her?” you asked, pointing at the framed photo of a woman by the man’s bedside.

You froze in place as soon as you saw it.

Fuck.

Rosas confirmed it and went on talking with Spencer about her cousin. Two years ago, she hadn’t testified in his case—she was practically a new witness, a fresh perspective. Apparently, their families had never been particularly close.

You watched as Spencer listened intently, nodding with a thoughtful expression. Oddly enough, it filled you with a sense of calm. If he had pulled something important from this conversation, then this wasn’t a waste of time, and maybe—just maybe—you were one step closer to finding Rebekah.

You caught yourself realizing that you still trusted his mind.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the photo on the bedside table, lost in thought, until a sharp gasp yanked you out of your trance.

“Clinton,” Joseph Miller suddenly rasped, his voice hoarse yet somehow…tender? His eyes darted around frantically, taking in his surroundings with desperation, though they remained vacant.

Spencer and Rosas rushed to him, eager to seize this brief moment of lucidity.

“Clinton…Clinton…my poor boy…”

"Mr. Miller, can you hear me?" Spencer asked, his voice firm but gentle.

Silence. The man’s body went still again.

"Who is Clinton?" The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

Rosas adjusted the pillow under Miller's head, her movements careful.

"A family friend, you could say," she replied. "Well, I never knew him as a child because he was much older than me, just like Robert. But the Millers sort of took care of him after his parents died."

"Did they adopt him?" Spencer furrowed his brow. "We didn't know about that..."

"No, they didn’t adopt him," she corrected, shaking her head. "I mean... as far as I know, he grew up across the street. He was friends with Robert, and his parents weren't, well... the best. So he spent a lot of time with them. They’d take him on sailing trips, I think they even helped him financially when he went to school. By the time they died, he was already an adult, so there was no need for formal adoption. My uncle always treated him like his own son."

You and Spencer exchanged a glance, both of you frozen for a moment. You were sure your eyes were reflecting the same realization. You'd just found the partner you'd been searching for.

The air seemed to press heavily down on you, and you wiped your tired face with your hand.

"He was here a few days ago," Rosas added after a moment, reluctantly. "I didn’t like it much because... well, anyway, they talked privately for a while. At least, Clinton tried to talk to him."

She didn’t need to finish the sentence for you to understand her unease. The man who, as she said, her uncle treated like a son, suddenly appearing. A potential rival for the inheritance. A cold shiver ran down your spine, and when you glanced at Spencer, his expression mirrored yours. If your theory was correct... Rosas, just a few days ago, had let a serial killer into her home. Or at least his accomplice.

Spencer asked her for a few more details about him. After thanking her, she led you both to the door, but you hesitated for a moment.

"That's a very weak lock," you said, nodding toward the door. "It wouldn't be hard to break in. I’ll send someone to install a better one for you, okay? Since Robert is out there, it’s better not to take any risks. Maybe the police will offer some protection," you added louder so Spencer, walking toward the car, could hear you.

The girl smiled faintly. You couldn’t help it—you felt some sympathy for her. And you were scared for her safety, just as you were scared for Rebekah. And for yourself.

You were about to turn around when something stopped you.

"You know, you could just disconnect him from the respirator," you muttered. It wasn’t that you wanted to suggest it, but you were curious about her reaction, about her real feelings toward her uncle. There was a lot of tenderness in the way she treated him, and you didn’t think it was just for profit. "You’d save him from suffering. And get the inheritance faster."

Rosas stared at you, probably thinking you were joking. She likely thought you were also in the FBI. Then she shook her head, as if in disbelief.

"I don’t think I could," she said softly. "Besides, this job isn’t that bad. I’d rather wait than end up in prison if someone found out."

"Fair point," you agreed, your gaze drifting to the side, where Spencer stood with his hand resting on the car door, listening to your conversation. Curiosity was the first step to hell. You raised your voice just enough to make sure he’d hear. "Although, sometimes all it takes is having a guy in the police, and you can get away with anything." Rosas chuckled, likely understanding what you were doing. "I honestly recommend it."

You waved her off one last time, and she gave you a friendly wave back.

When you got into the car, Spencer was staring at you seriously.

"Did you just suggest that girl kill her uncle?" he asked, his disbelief evident in his voice.

You shrugged. You couldn’t be bothered to explain it.

“I was just making sure she knew all her options.”

“Options...?” he repeated, sounding confused. Then he sighed, shaking his head. “I used to think nothing could surprise me about you, that I knew absolutely everything there was to know about you, and now, here you are, showing up two years later, and...”

He suddenly stopped, his jaw dropping when he saw what you pulled out of your jacket pocket.

“Did you fucking steal this?”

“Wait, let me explain…”

“You stole a dying man’s photo of his dead wife?”

He stared at the frame in your hands.

“I had to, because…” you started, but he cut you off again.

“Let me guess, that frame is probably worth a lot, right? You just couldn’t resist. Honestly, should I start tying your hands every time we go somewhere...?”

You silenced him with your hand, forcing him to close his mouth. You were so close now that you could see his dark eyes widen in surprise. Your next breath was a little shallower for some reason.

“I need to show you something,” you said calmly, almost in a whisper. He was close enough to hear every word, no need to raise your voice. “At my apartment.”

His gaze lingered on your face, then briefly dropped, only to return to your eyes. You removed your hand from his face and, after a moment, pulled away. There was urgency in your tone, a sense of seriousness.

Spencer swallowed, nodding slightly in agreement.

He stared at the two photos. One, slightly damaged, was from your album. The other, framed in an expensive frame. Though they were two different shots, it was undeniable they depicted the same woman.

You watched Spencer closely, noting the expression on his face. His eyes fixed on one point in front of him, his lips pressed tight, his jaw more defined than usual. You both sat on the floor of your bedroom, facing each other, the album spread out between you like a campfire around which campers gather. Without a word, he flipped through the remaining pages of the album, all the photos where your face had been cut out.

He froze when he came across the photo of the two of you in Rome.

He carefully reached for it by the corner, staring at himself, because, well, you were there only from your neck down. Honestly, you were at a loss for words. Here you were, flipping through pictures of your once happy relationship with your ex. The atmosphere wasn’t exactly light, and the spacious bedroom suddenly didn’t feel so spacious anymore.

Suddenly, Spencer cleared his throat, forcing himself to look back at the photos of the woman.

"That's Robert Miller's mother," he said, his voice still hoarse. "In both pictures."

You sat cross-legged, bracing yourself with your hands on either side of your body for better stability. Your head was spinning a little.

"He showed me this photo because..." you trailed off, shaking your head as you searched for an explanation. "I remind him of his mother? The same one he drowned?"

"Maybe..." Spencer began, but suddenly hesitated, falling silent.

"It's okay. You can say it," you encouraged, trying to mask the tension building in your chest.

"Maybe he sees you the same way he saw her," he explained, trying to soften his tone, as if not wanting to scare you. It irritated you a bit; you didn’t want him to treat you like a victim—more like a partner in the investigation. "As a problem that needs to be eliminated."

Your face gave no expression. You already knew this, but hearing it from him made it sound more blunt. You took a breath, a little hastily, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.

"I think it’s been here for a while, I just didn’t notice it," you admitted truthfully. "It definitely didn’t show up yesterday. Which means Robert couldn’t have dropped it off, it must’ve been his accomplice. Probably that Clinton guy."

"We need to find him. Well, both of them, actually."

And save Rebekah, you added in your mind.

You saw Spencer’s gaze drop back to your album, and how he forced himself to look away again. You nodded encouragingly at him.

"Go ahead."

Spencer stared at you for a moment, sitting right across from him, before he slowly reached for the album, immediately skipping to the pages where most of the history of your relationship was captured. Many of the pictures showed just him, like the one where he was lying on the couch with reading glasses perched on his nose, absorbed in a book, while you sat opposite him, nudging his leg clad in pajama pants, forcing him to look at the camera. You told yourself in your mind that he was probably just curious about how he looked back then.

“I didn’t think you’d still have these,” he said, his gaze still on the photo. The corners of his mouth barely twitched, but he looked like he was holding back a smile. Then, finally, he gave in, and a small smile tugged at his lips. It had been so long since you'd seen it, and it was hard not to keep staring at him. “I didn’t even know half of these existed, but, you know… just saying.”

You let out a quiet chuckle.

“I move around a lot,” you said. “It’s harder to keep memories. But I like having them. Photos help.”

“Memories with your ex,” Spencer added, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

You studied him for a moment, then sighed.

“They’re still good memories,” you said. “You were...an interesting experience, you know. I loved you, even though we weren’t together long. In a way, I probably always will. It’s not like I look at you and feel hatred, or can’t even stand looking at your face in photos.”

You said it casually, a bit of a smirk playing on your lips. Spencer raised his eyes to look at you, a strange expression on his face that you couldn’t decipher. This time, in his hand, was a photo showing only his back as he walked a step ahead of you at some festival or event, reaching back without looking to grab your hand.

You shrugged, not quite understanding.

"So what?" you asked. "Do you just hate all your exes?”

"Of course not," he denied.

Both of you stayed quiet for a moment.

"Just me, huh?" you asked.

Spencer’s face twitched as he reached for the next photo in the album, not answering right away. It was one of the few that showed both of you together, and it was a good one. It had been taken in a slightly spontaneous moment when you had just returned to his apartment from a restaurant. His shirt sleeves were slightly rolled up, visible as he cupped your opposite cheek with his hand, holding it gently while kissing you on the cheek, the kiss a bit chaotic because of the small smile on his lips. His eyes were closed.

“Can I keep this one?” he asked softly, lifting the photograph so you could see which one he meant. He held it so gently, as if it were something sacred.

His question caught you off guard, and the answer slipped out before you could stop yourself.

“No,” you replied curtly. Then you quickly shook your head, almost as if to bring yourself—and both of you—back to reality. What were you even doing? You were dwelling on the end of your relationship when you should’ve been fully focused on finding Rebekah, tracking down Robert, and hunting for the mysterious partner. You rose from your seated position to kneel, gathering the photos.

“Listen, we should focus on locating this Clinton guy. Somehow. From what Rosas said, he’s not exactly a clean guy. I’ll ask some of my contacts…”

“Oh, I’m sure my team will find him soon enough,” he cut in confidently.

He handed you the photo and stood up, adjusting his position. His shirt slightly pulled out of his pants as he moved. His face still wore that tired expression, and after your strange exchange, it seemed more tense than ever. You felt a bit weighed down by the situation yourself, but you quickly shook off the thoughts. It didn’t matter if he hated you or not.

Both of you paused for a moment, each with doubt written on your face.

"We'll see, so the people will be first," you said with a hint of sarcasm.

Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully, then gave a nod.

"Alright. The one who wins gets to keep the photo."

He didn’t need to specify which one. You raised an eyebrow, surprised that it mattered to him that much. Maybe he just needed some kind of stake for the bet, and that was the first thing that came to his mind. He stared at you, waiting for an answer, which came in the form of a simple shrug.

"Fine."

He looked at you for a moment longer, then seemed to realize he was probably planning to leave the apartment. His eyes blinked a little faster, as if he reminded himself of that. When he crossed the threshold, a strange feeling filled not just you but the entire apartment. Well, your previous interactions, your past conversations, never carried such honesty. Not once before had you both lowered your guards, revealing a little more of yourselves. Through the constant teasing and not-so-pleasant remarks, it was easy for you to miss the kind of longing that had been lingering between you.

You closed the door behind Spencer, but you didn’t lock it. You spent a long moment suspended in emptiness, leaning over a single sentence you had said to him, the one that had made him so uneasy. I loved you, even though we weren’t together long. In a way, I probably always will.

It wasn’t that you were ready to throw yourself into his arms or go back to him. The meaning lay in the fact that his presence would always carry some sentiment, an enduring nostalgia, and a collection of fading, good moments and feelings. Maybe you wouldn’t tell your grandchildren about him, but if one of them asked about him, pointing at a photo in the album, you wouldn’t frown—you’d smile.

A few minutes passed, when you heard...footsteps in the hallway.

Irresponsible, but you immediately opened the door. Somehow, you recognized them right away, knew that it was him, coming back to your door, even though he had just left. You almost laughed at the sight. Almost, because instead, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that made his entire body lean in.

You didn’t know what wild impulse was driving you, but it was definitely nothing rational, nothing justified. Spencer remained still for a second or two, before his hand landed on your cheek. You almost forgot how he could kiss, the intensity of it making you take a step back, of course, pulling him along with you.

For a moment, you were out of breath, not opening your eyes as you pulled your face away from his, letting out an uneasy sigh. But then your lips didn’t find his again. Instead, you cracked your eyelids open, noticing that strange expression on his face—embarrassment, despite unspoken tension, a hunger he couldn't hide, even though he tried.

"I was going to say..." he started, quickly losing his train of thought and furrowing his brow to try to get it back. "I came back because my friend, Penelope, already tracked down Clinton’s apartment. And...and..I just wanted to tell you that."

Oopsie.

part 3 (last one) soon

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony @heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith @i-padfootblack-things @honestlyloving @fromsaltandsea @kwonhoeshi @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sleepysongbirdsings

*part 3 will be so freaking long get ready pls

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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fuckyeahisawthat · 3 months ago

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Dune: Prophecy episode 1 thoughts, tried to keep it vague to avoid major spoilers:

Wow there is a lot of exposition. Like a LOT of exposition, especially in the first 10-15 minutes when we're not invested in any of the characters yet. I hope this is a first episode problem.

Ah they went the coward's route and used "Great Machine War" instead of "Butlerian Jihad."

There's an interesting "history is written by the victors" thread there right from the beginning that I hope they pull on some more.

I love how they did the Voice, which appears early in the episode, because both the actor's performance and the sound design of it are slightly different from the films. It really feels/sounds like the character using it is straining to access a new and unfamiliar power, in contrast to the effortless, overwhelming assertion of control it comes across as in the films.

Salusa Secundus looks so green and lush in comparison to how it looks at the time of the films.

I realize this is probably an unfair complaint for something made on a TV budget (even an HBO TV budget), but imo the production design doesn't quite measure up to the films. I think the best work is on the props. The key to the genetic index room, the little slides that Valya and Tula are looking at with students' info on them, the Emperor's projection table--those all look great and have that feeling of "future filtered through the past" that I think is key to the Dune aesthetic. Many of the location exteriors are gorgeous, too. Some of the interior sets are quite striking and others are underwhelming. The costumes are...mid imo; there are some beautiful elements and others that look too identifiably modern. Including Princess Ynez's red gown unfortunately which looks like a department store prom dress. I realize it's a high bar--the films were really really good at making everything look both futuristic and ancient, layered and textured--but you do notice the difference.

So! Many! Women! Pretty racially diverse casting too. But also omg so many characters and I already forget half their names. I'm gonna need Dune: Facebook for the next episode.

Emily Watson and Olivia Williams are already very compelling, even if you don't quite know their characters' full agendas yet. Heckin ready for some Machiavellian women scheming.

Love some of the more fucked up shit that just slides by and the information it gives you about the world. Adult (? idk maybe she's supposed to be in her late teens) woman getting engaged to a 9-year-old. Practicing Truthsaying on prisoners, some of whom have fresh bruises on their faces.

Arrakis is...the same. This one is honestly fucking me up. I know time scales in Dune are absurd and really kind of incomprehensible in comparison to real Earth history but can you imagine your home being passed around various imperialist powers for resource extraction for ten thousand years?? FOUR HUNDRED GENERATIONS. 80 years of Harkonnen rule seems like nothing. We're talking about whole eras of colonial control and resistance here. Like damn. No wonder so many Fremen have come to believe that only a messiah can save them. Imagine being someone like Chani and feeling the legacy of not decades or even centuries but millennia of struggle on your shoulders. It is gonna take me a while to fully absorb this one. Holy fuck.

Travis Fimmel's character has an...ability that we haven't seen in the Dune universe before and I'm super curious to see where they're gonna go with that.

Overall it feels like this episode was mostly setup but there's a lot of potential? Like there are a lot of potential threads that could develop into something cool and twisty and interesting. I'm not sure where any of it is going yet but I'm ready to find out.

#dune #dune prophecy

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dangermousie · 1 year ago

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2023 Kdramas I am excited for

We have only a bit over two months in the year left, but it looks like kdramas saved the best for last. Here is the list of kdramas I am excited for...

Boyhood/Once Upon a Boyhood (November 24) - Siwan hasn't done a bad drama and I am in the mood for a nostalgic 80s piece. I am a little amused that a 35 year old is gonna be playing a high schooler, but in a fond way.

Castaway Diva (October 28) - I am very fond of Park Eun Bin and if anyone can sell the whimsy of a tale about a woman who was a castaway and then becomes a pop star, she will. Not fond of the new trend for 12 eps but it is what it is.

Goryeo-Khitan War (November 11) - my most anticipated for the rest of the year. Every casting and crew choice, every promo makes it look like an old school politics and war heavy sageuk that does not cater in the least to youth or even fusion sageuk subgenres and I am here for it so so so MUCH!

Gyeongseong Creature (December) - not a big fan of netflix originals but I am there for the cast and the setting.

The Matchmakers (October 30) - looks like a wacky period romp with Rowoon and Cho Yi Hyun. I don't have high hopes for it because I like my period stuff angsty, but whatever else, it's gonna be pretty pretty pretty!

Moon In the Day (November 1) - except for GK War, my most anticipated for the rest of the year. Reincarnation/time travel story that flashes back between modern day and Silla - GOD YES!

My Demon (November 24) - sounds like shoujo crack about a demon who loses his powers and enters into a contract marriage (of course) with a human. Done many many times before but I am always a sucker for the trope.

Perfect Marriage Revenge (October 28) - first of all, I have a huge weak spot for Sung Hoon. He's a limited actor but between New Tales of the Gisaeng and his role in Faith, he won my heart forever. But also, this plot is so old school melo the way they don't make it nowadays. Our FL is betrayed by her sister and her husband and dies. But she wakes up before her marriage and decides to do things differently and get revenge. She gets married in a contract marriage to our ML, a chaebol (of course) played by sexy Sung Hoon and...doesn't it all sound like those delicious transmigration novels made flesh?

The Story of Park's Marriage Contract (November 24) - I love time travel/time slip stories and the fact that this is a woman who ends up in the modern day where she comes across the dead ringer of her deceased husband makes it high class Durian, plus Lee Se Young is a wonderful actress who rarely picks wrong.

Tell Me That You Love Me (November) - a remake of my favorite jdrama of all time, Aishteiru to Ittekure, this story about the relationship between a deaf painter and an aspiring younger actress is going to give me the adult love story I crave. The fact that the legend that is Jung Woo Sung is back in dramas, and is playing the ML, is just the perfect thing. (His last proper drama was Padam Padam in 2011!!! He is mainly a movie star.)

Vigilante (November 8) - I am just here to see Nam Joo Hyuk kick people in the face.

Welcome to Samdalri (December 2) - Shin Hye Sun and Ji Chang Wook in a romcom mmmmm. I don't have any pics so have:

#kdrama #welcome to samdalri #vigilante #tell me that you love me #goryeo khitan war #moon in the day #my demon #castaway diva #perfect marriage revenge #The Story of Park's Marriage Contract #the matchmakers #Gyeongseong Creature #boyhood #once upon a boyhood

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musette22 · 2 months ago

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My favourite scenario is that when Steve wakes up in the future he realises that the Barnes sisters are still alive but he doesn't go to see them because be thinks he won't be welcome, that they might he angry with him for not saving Bucky or because he survived and Bucky didn't.

But one day Jarvis notifies him that there are 3 old ladies in the lobby who are refusing to leave until they see him and they're saying that they are Bucky's sisters. Steve allows them up thinking that if they're going to tell him to stay away from their families he might as well get it over with as soon as possible only for him to be nearly strangled to death by the force of their hugs (they sre very strong for women in their 70s and 80s) and they scold him for even thinking that he wouldn't be welcome when they've spent so many years mourning him just as much as they mourned Bucky. And Steve is invited over for their weekly Sunday family brunches and he meets all his 'nieces and nephews' and of course he loves them immediately

Just Steve having a family when he wakes up is very important to me

Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh nonnie, my feelings 😭😭😭 Oh, this is so beautiful. Kind of heartbreaking too of course, but also heart mending, if you get what I mean ❤️ I love the idea of the Barnes' sisters considering Steve one of their own, meaning they mourned him just as they mourned Bucky and were overjoyed to learn that he was still alive 🥺 And of course they would track him down and refuse to back down before they'd spoken to him, that seems very in character for a Barnes woman! God, Steve must've been so relieved and emotional to find people he knew from Before - and not just people, but Bucky's sisters, and people who love him and missed him and know him, and who bring him into the fold with open arms 😭

I'm pretty sure I read a fic like this once, and then Bucky also came back and they all reunited and it was beautiful ❤️ Love this idea so much, thank you for sharing it with us, darling!

#steve rogers #stucky #minnie answers

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honestlyspookytyphoon · 2 years ago

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Moving In And Moving On

Summary: After months of being for sale, the house across Pascale’s is sold to a young woman, Y/N. When summer comes, both women have grown close and Pascale tries to set her up with her son, Charles. However, unbeknownst to Pascale, Y/N happens to be the woman who broke Charles’ heart not so long ago…

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female reader, but Pascale turned out to be the main character lol

Warnings: Angst (fed by a cruel thing called reality) – Brief mentions of loved ones passing away – The ending sucks, but I could not come up with anything better for now

Word count: +/- 2.5k

Author’s note: This piece was initially written as part 2 to ‘Cake, coffee and…Charles’, but it can also be read as a standalone. English is not my first language, so please forgive me any grammar mistakes and incoherent writing.

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

Pascale was surprised when the ‘For Sale’-sign disappeared out of the front garden from the house across hers. The house had been empty since the elderly owners – Philippe and Lydia, two 80-plussers who had been together for over 65 years - moved to a care home several years ago and after both of them passed away, the family decided to sell it.

For the entire 15 years Pascale has been living in the neighbourhood, the house has been there. She warmed up to the elderly couple living across her quite soon and since then, Pascale had been there many times to chat or to help Philippe and Lydia with gardening or housekeeping when they were having health issues. In a way, the house was a part of her life. That is why, in a fit of nostalgia and melancholy, she decided to get the spare key and cross the street to visit the house one last time, before it would be teared down.

Pascale starts her tour in the small garden at the back, in which rare flowers used to blossom. She lively remembered the times when Philippe and Lydia brought her a small bouquet of these flowers to thank her, just because. Now, these flowers are all gone, overgrown by weed. From the garden, Pascale spots the small balcony at the side of the house, from which you have an amazing view of the surroundings. Philippe would sometimes serenade Lydia from below, knowing these romantic things riled her up the wall. Another fond memory of ancient times.

When Pascale enters the house, it is pitch black and musty. She tries to open the blinds but they are rusted. The power is out as well, so she uses the flashlight of her phone to get one last look of the interior. Despite the deck of dust and the fact that it surely is outdated – the house was built somewhere in the 1960’s –, the interior still creates a feeling of coming home, a safe haven. This feeling also appealed to Pascale’s three sons, who visited Philippe and Lydia from to time when they were young as the house looked like their grandparents’, who passed away too soon. When reminiscing the fond memories of her sons with ‘Phi and Ly’, she spots a picture of the five of them on the dresser. She remembers taking the picture during one of the many cookie-baking sprees on Wednesday afternoon: Lorenzo’s eyes were shooting daggers at Arthur for eating all the cookies, Charles was nickering and Philippe and Lydia were looking fondly at the three menaces in front of them. She gifted them the picture on their 60th anniversary and she never forgot their heartfelt reactions. Feeling tears welling up in her eyes, Pascale decides to take the picture with her before exiting via the back door. It was a house full of memories and history and Pascale hoped that the new owners could feel that too.

A few days after Pascale’s visit, the new owner arrived: Y/N, a 26-year-old woman. Since the house Y/N bought was old, much work needed to be done to meet current requirements and increase the comfort. As Y/N is just at the start of her career and many of Y/N’s savings were used to buy the house, she could not afford professional contractors to renovate the house; with the help of her parents and family, she is doing it all by herself. However, as she has a full-time job, all work needs to be done during the weekends and after work, disturbing the peace in the otherwise quiet neighbourhood. Hence, to make sure her neighbours do not hate her already, she decides to visit them all to inform them on the upcoming works and to discuss planning.

Pascale was the last neighbour she visited. Y/N had knocked on Pascale’s front door a couple of time during the past weeks, but to no avail. The other neighbours had told Y/N about the special bond between Pascale and the previous owners, so she knew that this talk could be hard; she had to be delicate. Not that she held any accountability to Pascale – Y/N bought the house after all – but she had felt similarly when her grandmother’s house was sold; it takes time to accept that a place one grew accustomed is no longer there. Hence, Y/N wanted to show Pascale what the house would look like in the end and ensure her that she did not expect Pascale to accept her immediately. Taking one deep breath, Y/N rang the doorbell of Avenue Paul Doumer 5.

--- Three months later ----

The construction works were in full swing. The facade stones were taken away, cleaned and reused, the house’s insulation was improved and the windows were replaced. Today, Y/N and her nephew were removing the roof tiles to check and repair the underlying woodwork. Pascale watches both of them through her window. In the past months, she and Y/N have grown close. Pascale needed some time to get used to the new situation, but Y/N had been very understanding and an absolute sweetheart. The construction works never started before 7 a.m. and always ended at 10:30 p.m. sharp as agreed upon with the neighbourhood, she informed everybody upfront when there were any changes in the schedules, and she insisted to pay for the water, electricity and utensils she used. Pascale and Y/N always had a small chat when they saw each other and Lorenzo and Arthur, who visited their mom every month, also grew fond of her. Y/N was yet to meet Charles though, Pascale’s middle son, due to his busy racing schedule.

If he only met her, Pascale thought, she is the type of girl he needs. With the F1 summer break just around the corner and the final phase of the construction works nearing, an idea popped up in Pascale’s head.

---- August -----

The day of the street BBQ had come. Pascale had been preparing this event for weeks: doing a tour around the neighbourhood to fix a date, visiting the town hall to get permission to close the street, rent the tables, seats and parasols, making decorations and, of course, preparing the food and drinks – it has been hectic, but she was determined to make this day perfect.

It was now 3 p.m. Charles parked his Ferrari at the small parking lot at the church and jogged his way over to his mother’s house. He knew he was running a bit late - something that his mother always told him was disrespectful - but he was met with a little fan on his way to the BBQ and he just could not refuse the small boy’s request to sign his drawing. When he spotted Pascale on the street, a small smile grew on his face; he loved his mom so dearly and it has been way to long since the last time they saw each other.

Pascale has been chatting with Y/N for almost 30 minutes now, only interrupted by her two sons – who told her that Charles would arrive a little later – and some other neighbours. Y/N was dressed in a loose floral dress that came a little above the knees, paired with white sneakers. She was wearing very little make-up and, much to Pascale’s relief, no wedding or engagement ring. Together with the fact that she had never seen any men at the site except for family members and never saw another car in the driveway than Y/N’s, Pascale was convinced that Y/N was single. She knew Charles was too but not wanting to be too intrusive, she decided to just plant a seed between Charles and her new neighbour today and see it from there.

When she heard the deep sound of Charles’ Ferrari, Pascale told Y/N that her third son had arrived and that she would be right back. Y/N’s hands became sweaty. Ever since she found out Pascale was Charles’ mom, she had been dreading this moment. There was no turning back now though.

---- Flashback ----

When Y/N visited Pascale for the first time last winter, her eyes quickly landed on all the family portraits hanging on the wall. It were paintings of a family of five, probably made by her sons in preschool, and pictures of Lorenzo, Arthur and Charles in different periods of their lives. In the middle hung a beautiful black-and-white picture of her husband, Hervé, who sadly passed away when the kids were still little. “There has been no other man in my life ever since”, Pascale said, the love for her deceased husband still evident in her voice. Looking at the paintings and pictures, Pascale could not help but be proud of where her family was now. Arthur and Charles were professional athletes and Lorenzo was active in finance. Both Lorenzo and Arthur had a lovely girlfriend, the eldest already thinking about children. Charles, however, was less steady when it came to love. After two long-term relationships, Charles got a bit lost; it was not easy for Charles to maintain a relationship given his hectic and public life. Although Pascale was sceptical and warned her son many times – as there are always people who try to surf on other’s success –, it hurt her to see him like this, trying to erase the loneliness inside him with alcohol and volatile love. At the end of last season though, a little spark returned in Charles’ eyes. He did not disclose much to his mom, apart from that he met a girl in France whilst being out with Pierre and some other friends and that they were texting each other very often. She had not heard him talk about her since the new season started, so she assumed that she was just another fling.

“That’s Lorenzo, this is Arthur and that’s Charles. Aren’t they beautiful young men, Y/N?” Pascale asked.

“They are, Pascale, they are”, Y/N replied. She was still looking at the picture of Charles, all memories of last winter hitting her like a truck.

It was almost a year ago when Charles and Y/N met each other in a small café in the south of France. Charles was out with his friends, unwinding from the previous season and enjoying a short get-away to prepare for the upcoming winter testing. Y/N happened to be in Nîmes that week for work and that is how they met. She had been quite bold that afternoon, handing her number to Charles when she left the café, fully well knowing who he was. She never expected him to do something with it – he was one of world’s eligible bachelors after all – so she almost fainted when he called her the next day, saying how much he liked talking to her. They kept texting from that day onwards, throwing in the occasional FaceTime-call late at night. Despite the fact that they were both busy and lived in other countries, not a day passed without contact. Long story short, Y/N and Charles were falling for each other, hard.

Pierre did not stop teasing Charles about it, relieved to see his best friend happy again. The people at Ferrari knew that there was something going on, sensing that the fast laps Charles was setting were not only due to the changes to the car. His brothers noticed he was mentally somewhere else when he did no longer weep the floor with Arthur during their weekly tennis matches. The presence of Y/N in Charles’ life changed him, but in a good way. He was glowing.

Y/N grew fonder of Charles by the second; he was such a sweetheart. While she was not into F1 that much before she met him, she was learning about the sport and following the testing sessions in Bahrein, such that they could talk about it without her sounding like a complete and utter fool. She found a renewed motivation in her work, supported by Charles who was amazed by both her beauty and brains – and he told her that, every day. She got back into learning French such that she could – or, at least, try – to talk to Charles in his mother tongue. In return, he gave her cute, French nicknames that made her blush, which Charles found incredibly endearing. She was glowing.

However, when it hit Y/N that the F1 season would be starting soon, she started to think. She loved Charles, she was sure of that, but a long-term relationship would not work. She had her responsibilities at home and Charles would be busy travelling, training and racing - she had been in a similar relationship before and things ended badly. The media would focus more on him too after he finished 2nd in last year's championship, attracting the attention from (new) female fans. Not that Y/N was the jealous type or that she did not trust him, but she knew there are women out there who are better suited for Charles, beautiful women who are willing to make sacrificies. Women Charles deserves. Therefore, before Y/N would move to her new home and Charles would start the season, they met in Turin to talk about it all. Y/N told Charles about her sorrows and although he wanted to deny it, despite him wanting all her reasoning to be wrong, despite him wanting to tell her to listen to her heart instead of her head, he knew she was right. Therefore, Charles and Y/N used the rest of that week in Turin to feel what it could have been; they had date nights in cosy restaurants, strolled through the city, went on hikes together and made the sweetest love. After sharing one last kiss at the airport and promising each other to never forget what they shared, Charles and Y/N parted ways.

For good.

---- Present -----

Pascale swiftly disappeared to find her son. The local cover band Pascale hired was giving it all on the small stage and people were chatting away and enjoying the delicious pastries from the local bakery shop just a few blocks away. Y/N started mingling with Sebastien and Amélie, a young couple that was also relatively new to the neighbourhood.

Once he greeted everybody at the party, Charles was finally able to give his mom a proper hug. After a preach on how she does not see him enough and once made sure that he does take care of himself and eating enough, Pascale started updating him on all the latest gossip. Charles loves to gossip, especially with his mom because he loves how invested she is in it. After 20 minutes or so, when she decided she told Charles everything he needed to know, Pascale started to look around. She spotted Y/N a few tables further away, entertaining little Kasper. “I want you to meet our new neighbour, Charles. She is there with Kasper and Amélie. Come on.”

Although Charles did not know his mom’s new neighbour, he felt like he already did based on the stories Lorenzo and Arthur had been telling. From what he heard, she seems to be a lovely young woman. When he looked into the direction of little Kasper, he spotted her. She was wearing a white dress, which contrasted nicely against her bronzed skinned. Her hair was up in a messy bun, showing the delicate skin of her neck and shoulders. When he heard that the neighbours’ name was Y/N, his thoughts instinctively drifted back to his Y/N, his lost love, the woman whom he shared to best week of his life with. However, he never thought it would actually be her but now that he sees her, her petite frame, he knows it is her. The woman whose body he knows like the circuit of Monaco. The woman who still owns his heart. The woman he said goodbye to in Turin.

For good.

At least, that is what they both thought. Pascale gently taps Y/N on her shoulder. She turns around. “Y/N, I want you to meet my son Charles. Charles, this is Y/N, the new neighbour I told you about”.

Their eyes meet, for the first time in months.

Should they act as if they never met?

Should she tell him that she moved on?

Should he tell her that he has not?

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

#f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc angst

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idyat · 5 months ago

Text

As of now, I'm going to compile palestinian fundraisers sent in my askbox here, with edits and updates as time goes on.

There are also many fundraisers and other masterposts on my reblog account @idyat-but-reblogs, and you can see every fundraiser I've answered/reblogged here with the tags #important, #signal boost and #palestine

Please donate if you can, and share if you cannot!

@mohammed-gaza - (ONLY 40/70 000€)

@noor12stt - (ONLY 32/70 000€) https://gofund.me/f5998a4d

(ONLY 2591/50 000£) https://gofund.me/d2ed7294

@hilles-abed - (ONLY 611/35 000€)

@ehabayyad23 - (only 2,675/50,000€!)

@supportgaza - (goal almost reached!) https://gofund.me/483c5474

@mahmoud201191 - (only 15€ reached!) https://gofund.me/4ea606d9

@salmagaza - (only 10€ reached!) https://gofund.me/7767bb14

@alaakhaled0 - (only 129/20 000€!) https://gofund.me/90501cc4

@reemygaza - (only 452/50 000€!) https://gofund.me/4cb82142

@ahmadwaleed55 - https://gofund.me/944ddd9b

@majedgaza1 - https://gofund.me/abbc2759

@yasermohammad - (over halfway to the goal!) https://gofund.me/b8705606

@karamalmadhoun0 - https://gofund.me/903d0086

@save-amal-family - https://gofund.me/11774d84

@mohammedmatat - (only 1 015/15 000€!)

@helpmohammed2024 - (Onny 2 752 /50 000) https://gofund.me/27a0d136

@kareeem-sd - https://gofund.me/70501154

@ahmedomer9 - https://gofund.me/315b0b3c

@abdmusab - https://gofund.me/e6a1e1e9

@yasermohammad (less than 300€ left!)

@osama-family - https://gofund.me/71c9635a

@kareemalnakhala 's friend (8 510/80 000€)

@khadiga22 - https://www.gofundme.com/f/save-the-life-of-an-innocent-child

@wajihmadi - https://gofund.me/94fc30d8

@leenakhamiss - https://gofund.me/cafe04f6

@safaayasserang - (only 1 321/50 000€!)

@lamahourani7 - https://gofund.me/cd29b3ea

@emanabosedo - (Only 544/50 000€!!) https://gofund.me/245416d9

@mahmodsy - https://gofund.me/463cbf01

@keensaladbanana - (extremely low funds, only kr6,671/kr350,000 NOK!) https://www.gofundme.com/f/please-help-and-donate-quickly-for-the-sad-family-of-gaza

@zainsami - https://gofund.me/107a8322

@anasalshrofa - (only 1,607/50,000€!) https://www.gofundme.com/f/7fn48y-gaza-palestine

@yahyaahlbil - (only 296/50 000€!) https://gofund.me/2dec49e4

@savepalestineinfamily19 -

@kahlilahmad45- https://gofund.me/da2a8b83

@ahmedhells-blog - (only 14,933/80,000!) https://gofund.me/d4e07901

@abdelmutei - https://gofund.me/04ffec47

@YASMEN5M on twitter -

@fatma-anqer -

@khalid-sisters - (only 1,570/15,000$!)

@odayalanqar-2002 - https://gofund.me/7fc8a826

@d-imtthal - (only 5,932/50,000€ !) https://gofund.me/ce4f39d0

@bshaeromars-blog - (nearly halfway to the goal!) https://gofund.me/c0fb7b5f

@shadowyavenuetaco - https://gofund.me/ba5b76e9

@springbutterfly37 - (low on donations!) https://gofund.me/4c412abb

Twitter thread of sudanese fundraisers

@hanangaza - (ONLY 125/100 000€!)

@hanan-gaza23 - https://gofund.me/d40dbab5

@heba-baker - https://gofund.me/7a794018

@mahmoudalmasrifund - https://gofund.me/28651f56

@emanabd_2001 on twitter - gofund.me/e3183a96

@BasharInshasi on twitter - http://gofund.me/db117389 - gofund.me/b90972fb

@zinh_1 on twitter - https://gofund.me/535d5423

@kareem-family2 - (halfway to the goal!)

@helptahanii -

@mohmoud-j - https://gofund.me/363ae8ca

Twitter thread to sudanese and palestinian gofundmes

@abdelmutei - https://gofund.me/a5b2fc20

#important #signal boost #palestine #gofundme #go fund them #go fund him #go fund her

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dysfunctional-doodle · 8 months ago

Note

Hello. I hope I'm not bothering you, but I was wondering what's your personal headcanons on the Bayverse Turtles? I may have spelled headcanons wrong, so correct me if I am wrong.

(Dude I always spell headcanons wrong I got you)

Oooh hc time! Random stuff really, but:

Mikey has ADHD and Autism. I mention it very briefly in my tmnt chat fic, but I read a fanfic with this idea and it just fits so much for me. Especially the ADHD, which I think the creator of the movie confirmed somewhere anyway?

Donnie has chronic pain in his upper back/spine area, specifically where the shoulders are. To me, he just seems to have a more awkward, uneven build compared to his brothers - he is thinner and taller, yet his shell is still huge. So i kind of had this hc floating around. Idk if other people like it but eh. Cant be a nerd without a bad back I guess

Mikey and Donnie are definitely the younger brothers. Mikey being almost a full year after Donnie, and Donnie being about half a year after Raph and Leo (who are the same age)

Raph knits. Basically confirmed anyway. Specifically he learnt to knit after they were struck by a particularly harsh winter and needed blankets - Raph, being the only one that wasn’t too weak/in hibernation mode at the time, learnt how to knit to try and protect his family when he couldn’t fight the enemy with punches and kicks. He still knits blankets for them every year when the winter grows cold. They keep every one, so they have the comfiest beds

They share a room. 4 giant turtles crammed into one room with rickety bunk beds and hammocks is very funny to imagine

Leo loves romance movies. In particular the TV movie ones.

Leo had a similar attitude to Raph when he was a child until Splinter went missing for a few days whilst scavenging for food (he was fine in the end…mostly. A hasty escape from a warehouse caused him to injure his leg and be forced to hide until he could gain enough strength to return to his sons). When seeing his brothers grow hungry and scared over the few days he took charge, becoming much more of the Eldest Brother figure.

Mikey idolises Leo. He wants to be just like him one day. He thinks he’s the coolest. (It makes Leo’s comment about his head “always being in the clouds” hurt so much more)

Mikey gets a Klunk eventually, saved from being drowned. Her siblings were not as lucky (yes, I am very much writing a fic for this)

Donnie’s favourite pass time is computer science/programming/IT based activities, like how 2012 Donnie seems to enjoy chemistry the most and 2003 Donnie leans heavily towards engineering.

Leo loves house plants

Raph hates house plants

Donnie is blind as hell without his glasses and spent a lot of his younger years unable to see much. Once he could finally see he suddenly was given a world with endless possibilities and potential

Leo is terrible at technology. I’m talking 80 year old woman bad. He always clicks on scam ads and blows up computers. Something just doesn’t click with him and technology

They all have heavy turtle instincts due to them, like 2003, being just turtles rather than a mix of human dna. This causes them to have instincts and qualities turtles have such as retreating into their shells, brumating (at least partially), chirping, etc.

Donnie has a major sweet tooth

Raph can’t stand most sweet things

As kids, they would spend most their time looking at the human world and pretending they were with them.

Donnie is autistic, and has a lot of stims when he is happy that involve chittering and chirps.

Leo cheats at every video game/board game they play due to the eldest sibling advantage

Mikey loves to draw his own comics

Their Christmas hip hop album is fire

Raph is actually the cook, and is quite good at it. Mikey always burns things or they are undercooked because he’s too impatient, Donnie experiments and Leo blows everything up

That’s all for now!

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt asks #asks and replies #tmnt hc #tmnt headcanons

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ein-shtink · 11 months ago

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Sometimes I think about the fact we’re neighbors. There are more things that bring me and a Palestinian woman living in Gaza together than things bringing us apart.

We grew up watching the same sunsets, the same sunrises. If there were no borders, it would take about an hour for us to go and visit one another. We grew up listening to the same music. Our parents did, too.

Our grandparents read poetry in the same language, watched the same Egyptian movies. The foods are similar, the hobbies are, too. When I was in high school I met a girl my age, who grew up in Gaza but relocated with her family to an Arab village within Israel, a five minute drive from where I used to live. We made movies together. We joked a lot. We were one and the same, more often than not.

I can’t stop thinking about the Palestinians in Gaza. I can’t stop thinking about the horrors they endure. I can’t stop thinking about Palestinian men, women and children, having to fight for food. For hygiene products. For water. I can’t stop thinking about them having no time to hide before a bomb hits, about them not being allowed to evacuate. I can’t stop thinking about the ones who died protesting for a better life, long before this war started. They are my neighbors. We watch the same sunsets.

I can’t stop thinking about the hostages, either. I can’t stop thinking about the desecrated bodies of innocent women paraded around Gaza’s streets. I can’t stop thinking about the sisters who were raped and murdered together, aged 13 and 16. The older one was my sister’s friend. I can’t stop thinking about Shlomo Ron, the art-loving 80 year old man who sacrificed his own life to save his wife and grandchildren. He looks just like my grandpa. I can’t stop thinking about Thomas Hand, who was told his little girl was dead and cried tears of joy, because being dead is better than being taken hostage. I can’t stop thinking about the fact Emily Hand didn’t die, and actually was taken hostage. Ever since she was released, she only whispers, too afraid to speak up.

I can’t stop thinking about the suffering. About the loss. About the mothers on both sides of their border who had to watch their children die. About the pain.

Their faces haunt me.

I don’t understand why the West is calling for a ceasefire when they should be calling for peace. I don’t understand why the West is calling for the destruction of Israel when they should be calling for a solution that will allow both people to live side by side, in peace. I don’t understand why the existence of Israel is a bad thing. I don’t understand why the West refuses to call out Hamas, for the crimes of October 7th and their gross mistreatment and neglectful leadership of the Palestinian people ever since they rose to power. I don’t understand why the West views this decades old conflict through a one sided lens, amplifying the voice of one people’s crying and shutting down the other’s.

We deserve better. Palestinians and Israelis deserve better. We deserve to prosper, we deserve to live long and proud of our heritages in the land we both call home.

Maybe one day nations around the world and our own corrupt leaders will stop making us paint one another as the enemy. Israelis and Palestinians, we’re not each other’s enemies. We’re each other’s neighbors.

We deserve to let our children play.

#israel #palestine #gaza #i/p war #I don’t know. just had to let it all out #I’m sad and I’m angry and I’m frustrated and I’m so fucking scared #I just want this war to be over already #am yisrael chai #non Palestinians/israelis can rb but as I mentioned before idc about your opinions on the matter

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hopefulstarfire · 1 year ago

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Do yall wanna know my actual favorite butterfly effect?

Two people fucking on a mountain indirectly lead to my favorite comic of all time, Under the Red Hood.

Let me explain.

Joseph Hugo married a woman named Sophie Trébuchet in 1797. He was a general in Napoleon's army so they moved around quite a bit. In a letter he would later write to his son, he and his wife had been on a trip on June 24th 1801 to get from one post to the next and he believed this, on the highest peaks of the Vosges Mountains, is where he believed they conceived their son, who would later become the Ocean Man and famed author Victor Hugo.

(Fun fact: Jean Valjeans prisoner number, 24601, is absolutely in reference to his believed conception date)

Victor Hugo grows up and obviously is responsible for many works, such as Les Miserables and The Hunchback of Notre-Dame and was never one to shy away from political commentary. Thus, he was exiled from France and sent to living on the Channel Islands. It was here that he wrote a novel titled The Man Who Laughs.

Like many of his works, this one does have different adaptations. One in particular came out in 1928 starring Conrad Veidt as the character Gwynplaine, or the Man Who Laughs.

Fast forward about a little over a decade later in 1940. A comic book writer comes into work to be greeted by two artists he worked with, one who did significantly less work than the others. These three men were Bill Finger, Bob Kane and Jerry Robinson.

Now the details of this meeting are...well, up in the air. Each man had their own account to it, and Bob Kane especially is the most unreliable given that he took credit for literally everything and we went over 70 years without Bill Finger getting any sort of credit to actually creating Batman. But what we do know is that there was a drawing of a playing card and a face for the joker card; and Bill Finger said, "Hey, that looks like Conrad Veidt in the Man Who Laughs."

They pushed further with that angle in making the character, a new villain for their hero; the obvious, Joker.

Some years later we get a little bit of an origin story in 1951, in the comic The Man Behind the Red Hood! (ALSO written by Bill Finger) Some college students are trying to solve this decades old case of a burglar in a red pill helmet that was called the Red Hood and trying to figure out who it was. Teaming up with Batman and Robin, they find out that the Red Hood was in fact Joker's old alias. He used to be a lab worker that was stealing from a playing card company with that alias. He was caught by Batman and threw himself into some chemical waste to escape, thus becoming the Joker.

This origin has stuck around in some form ever since. The moniker was unused for quite a long time after this, but would eventually find a new home in a different character.

See, in the 80s, Batman's second sidekick, Jason Todd, was killed off in a very brutal fashion after a fucking poll that people could call two different numbers to decide if they were going to save him or not. I will get into why I have so many frustrations with everything surrounding this story another day, but the important thing to know here is that the Joker killed Jason while Jason was trying to save his mother.

And for a good period of time there, Jason became a character that you did not bring back to life. Until they did.

A storyline running from 2005 to 2006 came into life, called Under the Hood. In it, Batman has to fight a new foe taking on the mantle of Red Hood, only to discover its Jason Todd, brought back to life from the Lazarus Pit, and taking on the mantle of the man that murdered him to go fucking murder the Joker and take control of crime in Gotham and do what he believes Bruce couldn't, all while dealing with trauma and feeling replaced.

So yeah. We wouldn't have my favorite character or story if it wasn't for Victor Hugo's parents fucking on a mountain and conceiving him there where "The elevated origin seems to have had effects on [Victor Hugo] so that [his] muse is continually sublime". That is a quote from that letter. Victor Hugo's mountain conception where he got a great muse is the reason for the Joker and Red Hood. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

#kenz musings #dc #dc comics #red hood #jason todd #batman #bat family #joker #victor hugo

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aziraphales-library · 1 year ago

Note

Heya!

I've read a LOT of GO fics in my time, but I can't remember if I've seen crossovers/AUs of the following movies with Aziraphale/Crowley, can you help please?

So my favourite rom coms of all time are the following, and I'd love GO versions (if they don't exist I may have to write them)!

French Kiss (Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline)

You've Got Mail (Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks)

When Harry Met Sally (Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal)

Runaway Bride (Julia Roberts and Richard Gere)

Never Been Kissed (Drew Barrymore)

I won't bother asking about Pretty Woman because I've read so many versions with either of them in either role lmaooo (and I have loved Every. Single. One.)

Or basically any late 80s/early 90s rom coms with Meg Ryan (except Sleepless in Seattle because I find it incredibly boring) or Julia Roberts!

Thank you so much for everything you do! You've helped me discover so many amazing fics and writers and it is much appreciated!!! 💖💖😇😎

Hello there!

Did you know there is a whole collection from the Good Omens Rom-Com Event that was run a couple years ago? You might find what you're looking for there! (Some of the fics are unfinished so keep that in mind)

We have previously recommended a bunch of You've Got Mail/She Loves Me fics HERE, so check those out.

As for the other ones you've asked about:

French Kiss AU:

A Bit of Crumpet by Fyre [E]

With a handsome, successful fiance and a respectable home in Manhattan, Aziraphale Fell thought his life was more than adequate. He never expected to be jilted in a long-distance telephone call and so he sets out for England to find out exactly what's going on and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

When Harry Met Sally AU:

it had to be you by curtaincall [M]

“What I’m saying,” said Aziraphale, looking fixedly ahead, “and please don’t take this as a personal insult in any way, is that an angel and a demon can’t be friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” said Aziraphale, firmly. “It’s against the order of things. You’re supposed to tempt. I’m supposed to thwart. We can’t go being friends.”

A canon-divergent AU inspired by When Harry Met Sally.

I don't know of any fics with your two last wishes but there is also:

Notting Hill AU:

Soho by Lurlur [E]

Aziraphale lives a quiet kind of life, running a quiet specialist bookshop in one of the liveliest districts of London. He's content with his lot, happy with his friends, tolerant of his probably-human housemate, living vicariously through the gossip pages.

One day, a chance encounter with Anthony Crowley, lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Demons, threatens to turn his whole world upside down.

Music and Lyrics AU:

pop! goes my heart by attheborder [E], WIP

When has-been musician Anthony Crowley is recruited by pop singer Anathema Device to write a song for her new record, he jumps on the chance to resuscitate his career with a hit. There's only one problem: he can't write lyrics to save his life.

But a chance meeting with a stranger by the name of Aziraphale, with a poetic streak that's a perfect fit for the song, changes everything for Crowley. Together, they'll create something beautiful, fight the forces of the music industry, and perhaps even find a way back into love...

A Music and Lyrics AU for the GO Rom Com Event, complete with all-new original songs written and recorded by the author!

Kate & Leopold AU:

Until by Nadzieja [T]

“I don’t want to go home.” Half-asleep Aziraphale murmurs into his ear and Crowley's heart clenches. His grip tightens reflexively around the warm soft body in his arms, around the smell of old books and sandalwood.

“Then don’t.” He’s trying not to sound like he's pleading, but his throat is tight and his voice hoarse.

Crowley lives his average life, working in a high-end advertising company at London that pays just enough to get him a room in a shared accommodation. That's just his luck that he ends up living with a literal witch. One day she brings home an even more eccentric man that has a taste for 19th century fashion, as if Crowley didn't have enough things to worry about. Little he knows that the man will turn his world upside down. Literally. And that's just the beginning of his problems.

~Mod N

#good omens #ineffable husbands #rom com #human au #canon divergent au #adult omens #mod n

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despicablebisexual · 2 years ago

Text

I Saw You Close Your Eyes | Jotaro Kujo x Reader

An angsty fic that reviews your and Jotaro's relationship through the years leading up to and after your divorce. Slight Stone Ocean spoilers

warnings: afab reader, unplanned pregnancy, jotaro is bad at feelings srry

wc: 2340

a/n: loosely based on I Saw You Close Your Eyes by Local Natives

crossposted on my AO3 account despicablebisexual

Jotaro stared down at the infamous photo in his hand. It was the one all of them took the first time they met Iggy back in the late 80s. He laughed at the irony of it all. He worshiped this picture of him, his grandfather, his closest friends, and the woman who would go on to become his wife– it was the most valuable thing he had, yet he did nothing to honor the sacrifices these people gave for him.

He couldn’t even honor his vows he made to her when they were in their 20s.

----------

“Yeah… Turns out my period wasn’t late. I’m pregnant after all.”

His face was hard as stone as he took in the information. Jotaro, one to never reveal what he was thinking, scared you with his silence. He slouched in his chair as he took off his signature hat and played with it, thinking quietly.

“Let’s get married.”

“What?”

“Tsk, don’t play dumb, y/n. You heard what I said. Let’s get married.”

He knew it was a dumb thing to do at twenty-one. His father had yelled it was almost as dumb as knocking up “some girl” at twenty-one, but Jotaro was always one to walk to the beat of his own drum. Regardless of what his father said, his mother and grandfather had a soft spot for you, so you and the baby were going to fit right in with the family. Besides, you weren’t some girl, you were his girlfriend, who before he was even dating had risked your life to defend him during that journey to Egypt.

----------

“How can you act like this is nothing at all?”

Jotaro tucked the framed photo into a box of other random junk and picked it up, turning to walk away from you. You two had silently been packing up his office for the past two hours, but it appears the silence had finally gotten to you. Jotaro closed his eyes as he brisked by you, unable to handle being on the receiving end of your glare. He had always admired the feistiness aspect of your personality, it’s what made you a strong stand user. It was reflected in the personality of your stand, Pantera, as well. He used your quick temper as an excuse to divorce you, not wanting to admit the truth.

“We were supposed to be a team. You promised me. You always told me, ‘I’m on your side, y/n.’ What happened to the guy who saved my life back in Egypt?”

You followed him as he exited the house and placed the box in the trunk of his car.

“Have your lawyer send mine a list of everything you want. Don’t worry about fighting for the house, you can have it. I don’t plan on staying in Florida for much longer.”

You should have been taken aback at his callousness. He had deliberately bypassed your question just to make his own demand. That was how Jotaro usually rolled, though. He lived by his own rules, free from any societal expectations or imposed obligations.

You scoffed at him. “Who am I kidding? Of course, this is nothing for you. All you know how to do is run away from your problems.”

Jotaro screamed inwardly as he took the full brunt of your harsh words. You think this is nothing at all for me? He wanted to shout at you, his own quick temper bubbling to the surface. The walls around his heart that you knocked down all those years ago had returned, now fortified even more. The craving for nicotine came back suddenly, even though he quit smoking years ago. He was walking away from the love of his life and thirteen-year-old daughter, no it wasn’t fucking easy. Jotaro would rather have millions of knives thrown at him by Dio again then ever do this. But life wasn’t fair and neither was this.

----------

The landline phone rang abruptly in the dark of the hotel room Jotaro was currently sleeping in. The massive man rolled over to look at the clock. 4:33 AM.

“What?” he snapped as he answered the phone.

“Er- hello. Is this Mr. Jotaro Kujo?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Ariana, I work at Tampa Bay Hospital. We have your wife, y/n Kujo in here as well as your daughter Jolyne. Your wife was in a devastating car accident and our team is preparing her for surgery.”

Jotaro sat up in his cheap bed, his heart sinking into his stomach. You were hurt? He felt like his lungs could no longer expand.

“What the hell happened?” he screamed into the phone.

“It appears your wife was driving and a reckless driver t-boned the driver’s side of the car. Her left leg is shattered, sir, and she’s got a concussion. There was also glass lodged into her body, which they’ll be surgically removing… Miraculously, your daughter has no injuries at all, save for a rash from the seatbelt dragging over the skin of her neck.”

This had stand attack written all over it. A crash that bad and yet Jolyne walked away unscathed? You must have protected her with your stand. He glanced over at the clock again, mentally berating himself. If it’s 4 in the morning here in Australia, where he currently was searching for stand arrows, then it was the middle of the day back in Florida. You must have been out getting groceries with Jolyne.

“Mr. Kujo?”

“Huh?” he was snapped out of his calculations.

“I asked if you would be making your way to see Mrs. Kujo soon. Our team had to sedate her, she was in extreme distress as she demanded we call for you.”

Fuck. “I’m in Australia right now for work.”

“Oh. Would you like us to notify another family member?”

Jotaro groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The next closest family you guys had was the old man and grandma Suzi Q in New York, and in their old age they couldn’t do much. Both of your parents still resided in Japan. “No. I’ll make arrangements to get home as soon as I can. Do whatever you guys need to do to save her.” Jotaro hung up on the woman and began throwing his stuff back into his suitcase.

He made it back to Tampa late the next day, absolutely exhausted from the jet lag. He stormed his way into the hospital, not even caring to count as he threw a large wad of cash at the airport taxi driver who had rushed him here.

“Where is she?!”

The poor nursing staff all jumped as he roared. The receptionist at the desk timidly waved him down.

“Y/n Kujo. Where. Is. She.”

“R-room 3172, sir.”

Jotaro marched down the hallway and took the elevator up to the floor your room was on. When he finally located the room, his heart broke as he stared in through the glass window. You laid on the bed in what looked like a comatose state with a leg propped up and in a cast. Your face looked like you walked to hell and back. It was beaten black and blue, and you had an array of stitches on your forehead. This confirmed his suspicions, you had to have been fighting an enemy stand user.

“Mr. Kujo?”

Jotaro turned to the woman approaching him.

“Hi.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m the lead physician overseeing Mrs. Kujo’s care. Let me tell you what we’ve done so far…”

After a brief talk, Jotaro finally slipped into your room. Immediately, your stand manifested and jumped out to snarl at whoever dare try to hurt its user while you slept.

“Easy, Pantera, it’s just me.”

The large blue panther stopped snarling and stalked over to Jotaro. Star platinum appeared without Jotaro’s request and began petting its fellow apparition. Jotaro bypassed the two stands and walked to the side of your bed. The sound of your heart monitor filled the silence of the room as he stared down. Jotaro’s hand pulled itself from his pocket and drifted towards you. It hesitated before coming down to move a piece of hair out of your face. The gentle action woke you up.

“Jojo…” you whispered, a battered smile forming on your face, “you came.”

“Of course I came. We’re married.” And I love you.

“Where’s our Jojo?”

“I talked to the doctor. She’s in the kid’s ward right now, they think she might have a concussion after all.”

You hummed, clearly still in a daze from all the medications you had been given. “I bet she hates that. You know she’s got a big fear of the doctor.”

“I know, but she’s gotta get over that. She’s almost nine now.”

“She needs her dad,” you reminded him, finally looking directly into his eyes. His breath was stolen away as he stared at piercing e/c eyes. They brimmed with tears.

“I’m scared too, Jojo.”

He stroked the side of your face. “Don’t worry. Nobody will hurt you ever again. Not while I’m here. I’m on your side, always.”

You nuzzled into his palm, eyes fluttering closed as your body threatened to fall asleep.

“Now lay down, woman. You need to rest.”

“Okay, Jojo. I love you.”

You were knocked out before he could even respond.

“What have I dragged you into, y/n?”

----------

You signed the final paper in the large stack.

“There,” your lawyer smiled, “you’re now divorced from Mr. Kujo. You can change your name back to your maiden one, if you’d like.”

You gave a sarcastic laugh. Yeah, let me erase the final part of him that belongs to me, the only indictor that he was ever mine to begin with. You gathered up your belongings and made for the door.

“Oh, y/n.”

You turned back to your lawyer. He held up a business card in his hand.

“I know you said Jolyne has had some issues in the last few weeks, so take this. I have a good friend from law school who would be willing to take her on as a client if the need arises. You never know what could happen.”

The sharp smile on your lawyer’s face unnerved you, but you reached for the card nonetheless. Who knows, you mused to yourself.

----------

“I’m checking in to see Jolyne Cujoh, please.”

“Alright Mrs. Cujoh, we’ll need to confiscate all personal belongings for the remainder of the-”

“Its Ms. L/n. Kujo is her father’s last name.”

“Right… Well, we’ll need to take your personal belongings for the remainder of the visit as well as have you go through those metal detectors.”

After a thorough inspection, you were guided to the visitation room.

“The prisoner will be out soon, ma’am. Please wait inside as we prepare her.”

Your nose crinkled in disgust as the guard referred to Jolyne as prisoner, like she wasn’t a human being who had a name. You said nothing though, not wanting to get the visitation taken away from her. It had been hard enough to get this, since Jolyne had apparently been causing quite the ruckus in prison. As the guard pushed open the door, you stepped in.

“Finally, I’ve been wanting to talk to-”

“Jotaro?”

“Y/n?”

You startled as your ex-husband of now six years came into your line of sight. Never in a million years did you expect to see him here. He had consistently run away at any given chance, especially when it came to Jolyne. She had a life threatening fever? Gone for the Speedwagon Foundation. She stole a car? He fucked off to Japan. She was sent to juvie? He didn’t even care to send bail money.

As your heart thumped in anxiousness at the thought of the three of you all being in the same room, you recalled a question you had long ago asked yourself: what would it take for Jotaro to finally step up and become a real father? It appears Jolyne being sent to prison for manslaughter was the answer to that question. Always with the extremes for the Joestar family.

“What are you doing here?”

You put on a brave face, gripping the straps of your purse. “I’m visiting my daughter. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to bust our daughter out.”

“Haha, very funny, but now’s not the time for jokes.”

“I’m serious.”

“Prisoner FE40536, get your ass in there!”

The door opened to reveal Jolyne. Her eyes immediately lit up at the sight of you, but quickly turned furious as she saw the larger-than-life man behind you.

“Mama!” she cried.

“Jojo, I’ve missed you so much.”

Jotaro gave you two a moment before interrupting the heartfelt greeting.

“Listen… We need to talk. All of us.”

----------

One long talk later and both the Joestars had revealed important information to you: 1) Jolyne had a stand, and a powerful one at that, and 2) she had been framed for the entire murder.

“Would have been useful if you had told me all this during the trial,” you grumbled.

“I didn’t find out until afterwards. Plus, I couldn’t get ahold of you.”

“Yeah, well I changed my number and got a new job, so.”

“You’re not a dentist anymore? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You closed your eyes so they wouldn’t look at him. Damn his sparkling eyes and the way they sought to make eye contact with yours.

“It’s not like you would have cared.”

“I’ll always car-”

“Can you please wait to flirt with mom when we’re not trying to bust out of prison?”

There was an awkward, pregnant pause.

“... Let’s go, Jolyne.”

“How are we going to defeat Johngalli A.?”

Star platinum appeared at your ex-husband’s side. Your eyes widened, having not seen the stand in a long, long time. “We’re getting to that submarine and getting the fuck out of here. It’ll be fine, I’m on your side.”

You rolled your eyes, Pantera now manifesting at your side.

Liar.

#jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro x reader #part 3 jotaro #part 6 jotaro #angst #jjba #jjba x reader

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