#shut the fuck up and let this man grieve

[gilmores-glorious-blog]

if i see anyone on here complaining that orym brings up his MURDERED HUSBAND AND FATHER too much, i’m going to become violent

[anxiously-sidequesting]

Asshole Things Ambrose Has Said/Done #8: Describe Cyrus' relationship with Malistaire as "odd" then sends a child, essentially a stranger to Cyrus, with no business with being involved in their family issues, to extract information out of Cyrus on how to kill his brother (a grieving man)

[soullessjack]

hi im tired and in a teeny bit of pain and I’m fed up with jack being used to fix and absolve dean so heres them mutually getting their shit together like they actually should okay goodnight send tweet

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

because i liked a boy - spencer reid x fem!reader

somehow a reporter finds out about reader's relationship with none other than her coworker, dr spencer reid and shames her for it during a press conference

genre: flangst wc: 1355 warnings: medialiaison!reader established relationship, slut-shaming, feminism talk, upset spencer, morgan mention, mentioned case involving children

"This is a rough composite sketch of the UnSub. If anyone sees him, please call us using the number on the screen. Any questions?" you speak clearly, eyebrows raised and back straight.

It's a tough case this time, not that any are easy. The ones involving children–like this one–are the worst. You know that. It’s yet to hit you this hard, though. You're used to being in front of a camera all fake smiles and airbrushed to look porcelain but you're struggling to hold it together today. It’s never been easy to see grieving parents begging for their kid’s life on national television.

It also doesn't help that you haven't seen Spencer much these past two days. Ever since HR found out about you two, he’s been trying to keep his distance for professionalism’s sake. You appreciate it, of course, but you wish everything could be normal again. You miss working alongside him, sneaking tiny waist pinches every little while. Maybe you’re codependent.

One of the male reporters holding a microphone asks plainly, like it isn’t rude, “how do you expect this case to go to trial with your ongoing relationship within your team? Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest?”

Now, how did they find out about that?

Luckily, Hotch steps in before you need to form a response. You’re left flushed and out of sorts, needing some water or something. It’s not like you’ve never had a bad press experience but nothing that came after you specifically. Why do they even care in the first place? Are you really that interesting? Is your love life really that interesting? His mustn’t be.

To Hotch, he spits, “it’s a valid question, Agent, you can’t expect no one to comment on one of your unit’s members sleeping her way to the top or… sleeping her way to getting a case dismissed.”

You want to stay, fight, cry, maybe even guilt him into apologizing, but, to your dismay, you’re pulled away by Morgan who looks just as upset as you do. If there weren’t a room full of people stopping him, you’re sure he would’ve hurt the guy. You don’t want to be dragged away by the action figure that is Derek Morgan so you try to pour your feelings into words. “The conference– the case–!”

Morgan stares at you in a way that very clearly says are you done? And, yes, you guess you are. You sigh, nodding reluctantly.

“Hotch will figure it out,” he assures softly but firmly.

You’re escorted to the break room where you watch the television only to see that very same reporter, spewing his nonsense again. Low and behold, he’s still stuck on the topic of you.

“An anonymous source discloses the identities of two FBI agents with the Behavioural Analysis Unit that are in a relationship of hidden rendezvous.”

The pitter-patter of your heart is louder than usual as he reads out your names along with the loving message, “I guess this proves that women really can’t be trained. What a shame, she’s certainly got–”

With that, you shut off the disgusting noises coming from someone claiming to be a man. You’ve never been good at taking insults but this was something else entirely. Your chest burns. You’re being perceived as a person you’re not. Everything you’ve tried so hard to build could all come crashing down at this very moment if you let it.

All because you liked a boy?

It feels ridiculous, like a step in the wrong direction for all womankind. That’s dramatic, you’re sure, but this is so twenty years ago. What happened to feminism, for fuck’s sakes? You wouldn’t give Spencer up for anything less than solving world hunger, but you wish this whole ordeal could’ve never happened. What if you lose your job? What if you lose this case because you’re too sensitive to male attention for your own good? Unfortunate circumstances led here and you wish it could be simple. It’s a tall order, but you wish UnSubs and all the people who enjoy pinning others down would simply cease to exist. You wish Spencer was here.

As if reading you all the way from canvassing the neighborhood, he’s suddenly visible, walking towards the doorway with quick Converse-sounding steps, Morgan’s hand on his shoulder. He looks worried. What worries you, though, is that he looks guilty. That hurts.

Familiar arms wrap around you as he kneels on the floor in front of the couch. “Hey, I heard what happened. Are you okay?” Spencer whispers, lips pressed into the fabric covering your shoulder.

You ponder the question for a moment before nodding. You’re not quite sure how you feel, if you’re being completely truthful. Criticism was never something you’ve taken well. Not ever. Maybe you deserve it, though. After all, you are sleeping with a coworker. You’re an agent, it’s not appropriate of you in the least. You should’ve kept to yourself, been the good girl the world wanted you to be. Female agents in the big bad FBI are already seen a certain way. You just happened to worsen it with wide-eyed affection.

How he always does, he mutters an explanation, “people like that don’t have anything going for them, you know. They report on others because their own life is insignificant.”

It’s wildly the wrong time to laugh but you do, flushed cheeks plumping from a happy smile. He pulls away and your hands find his face like they always seem to do. “I know.”

He nods. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

He’s so unbelievably pretty that it almost makes you want to cry. Those same somber eyes that you’re sure mirror yours stare deep.

“It just sucks… you know?” you say so very quietly.

Nodding, he chews on his lip. “I know.”

“It’s like… I thought slut-shaming was over,” you laugh bitterly.

You can tell he feels bad. It’s not like this is his fault. You know he believes it is, anyways.

“It should be. It’s ridiculous. This isn’t your fault. That useless guy should be spending the night in a cell for harassing an agent not on the ten o’clock news airing out our personal matters.”

It’s really not often you see him like this, upset and wielding pain-filled threats. It never fails to amuse you. You’re not sure why. Something about the juxtaposition of his usual sweet demeanor and this annoyed ranting one, you suppose.

“It’s kind of funny.”

“Funny?”

You smile and nod, your thumb tracing his lower lip. “A little. We’re the most enthralling news in all of small-town-Colorado.”

While Spencer doesn’t find it quite as giggle-inducing, he mimics the pull of your mouth’s corners and shows his reluctant agreement with a bob of his head. “That is… silly, I guess.”

“We’re basically stars,” you shrug.

In honest disbelief and certainly awe for your ability to brush off the event with humour, he shakes his head, curls falling out of place. Your fingers rush to correct it. The golden eyes you love stay stubbornly put on your own. Breaths mix together in the close proximity despite you not recalling how you got so close. It’s proven difficult to care when his plush lips find yours. Carefully and with love, he kisses you. With no intent, no desire other than to make you feel better. It breaks stickily, the shimmer that once was on your lips now ghosting around his mouth. You grin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Spencer tenderly mutters.

Gently, you answer, “I’m sure. I mean, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

You believe yourself. You’d never doubt your relationship with Spencer. It just sucks that they had to poke holes in your safe place. That safe place being Spencer. Your home. You know because of your profiler-by-association background that he was right about the reporter being not fulfilled enough in his own life that he had to insert himself into yours. That didn’t make it drastically better, anyway. Perhaps your personal life should be kept away from work.

But it’s not your fault that work happens to include Dr. Spencer Reid.

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Let's balance out the end of kinktober with some toottthhhhh-rotting levels of sweetness. We'll make up for it tomorrow!

CW: Afab reader w/GN language. Teeny tiny bit of smut. Short and very sweet!

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

What do you look like when you’re angry?

How do you grieve?

When you’re sad, do you shut down? Do you curl up in bed and heave sobs, or do you favor silent tears trailing down your cheeks?

Among others, these are the things Law wonders when he thinks about you. He wants to know you—to really know you. To be privy to your faults, habits, and your quirks. The things about you that no one else sees. Intimate moments of suffering along with the day-to-day.

Do you talk to yourself when you’re alone?

What does your hair look like right when you get out of the shower?

What’s your favorite time of year?

His heart contorts into alien shapes when he sees you. He clams up. You have no way of knowing the intensity of his emotions, the weapons of desire that his heart and brain exchange. The magnitude of your presence assails his senses, quickens his breath, stops his heart.

He’s well acquainted with the way you laugh and the way your lips turn into the smile that he looks forward to every day. He tries to act normal around you, and he succeeds. He succeeds too well, in fact, he’ll never have a chance with you until he does something out of the ordinary.

He stares sometimes. You notice that, at least. But you try to play it off.

Law can only tolerate so much anguish until it bubbles over.

When he works up the nerve to kiss you, his hand lingers on the small of your back. Your eyes are open from shock and you’re rigid. You’ve mused on how his lips feel, if his kisses along your jawline would tickle, if he would run his fingers through your hair. What would his fingers feel like entwined with yours?

But Law’s thoughts about you go deeper than that. He passed that point—the point of fantasizing about being intimate with you—months ago. He still indulges, of course. When he does, he’s fixated on what your face would look like pleasure-ridden and fucked out. How your breasts would feel in his hands.

The day that Law kisses you, he makes you blush first. He’s awkward, or, if not awkward, something akin to it. When he smiles at you, sits by you at lunch, and finds you in the some random corner of the ship later, he knows that today is the day.

The desire and ardent admiration are festering inside of him and he can’t take it anymore.

He wants to know what your skincare routine is and hear your scratchy morning voice. He wants to wash your plate after dinner, to treat you as nicely as you deserve. He wants to give you the world, but your lips haven’t even met yet.

When they do, the world fades away. You melt into his embrace; rigidity dissipates when you realize that he wants you—that your desire is mutual. It’s like getting struck by lightning; an electric current sends sparks where your skin meets.

His rough hands feel soft as they cup your cheeks. When he pulls away, he holds you there for a moment. It's silent as he watches your cheeks dust pink and your eyelashes flutter.

“I think I love you."

oy vey my heart hurts. i need this man stat. TT^TT

here's my masterlist and here's my october posting schedule.

tomorrow is the last day of kinktober!!! :0

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[paperbackribs]

tags: steddie, pre-canon, season S2-ish, tommy hagan will always have a crush on Steve Harrington

🩵💥🩵

“Someday, you're gonna get bitch-slapped, and I'm not gonna do a thing to stop it,” Steve hears the echo of his words in the Hawkins High boys’ bathroom. Spinning off the tiles, pinging against its corners and stabbing at Tommy who stands gasping at his best friend.

But Steve doesn’t care. This has been a long time coming.

Tommy is a prick and Steve thought there wasn’t anything wrong with going with the flow, ignoring the snide comments, looking away from the rumours that Carol would spread, as long as his friends remained by his side.

But Billy Hargrove had infected Hawkins High. Steve stopped swallowing the cool aid. And Tommy is fuming; red in the face and ready to take it out on any unfortunate soul that crosses his path.

Enter Steve.

Or, really, enter Eddie Munson.

Steve wasn’t sure if Tommy followed Eddie into the empty toilets or coincidentally came across him or whatever could be going on in the mixed up mind of his former best friend. But watching Tommy square off his stocky, muscular body against the other boy, boxed into the corner and wide, brown eyes only visible over Tommy’s shoulder, Steve swears that he’ll no longer look away from Tommy’s indiscretions.

So, he says it again, nodding to the leather clad boy in the corner, “Eddie’s going to take a swing at you and not only will I not defend you, I might even fucking taking a swing too.”

Tommy gapes, “What the fuck, Steve? I know we’ve been having troubles, but you’d take the freak’s side over mine?”

Eddie’s face twists in the background. Steve can see the anger warping his eyes and he doesn’t blame him, almost wishes that Eddie would take a swing and then Steve could just stand back and let it happen.

He sighs: he’s allowed a lot of things to just happen so far and it’s not to his credit.

Weirdly, Steve's resigned gaze meets Eddie’s incredulous look and, just for a moment, Steve feels like he’s met someone who gets it. Someone who sees the ridiculous, short-sighted nature of the petty bullying in the hallways of their high school and knows how stupid and utterly pathetic it is.

Steve swears that the corner of Eddie’s lips kick up at the irony of their shared understanding but is distracted as Tommy strides forward, knocking against his shoulder hard enough to send Steve spinning against the wood of a stall. He steadies himself as Tommy slams the bathroom door shut behind him with a clamorous bang and shakes his head: how could he have had such loyalty for a guy who won’t even stop to talk out their stupid shit together?

Steve thought he’d at least earned Tommy’s patience, a moment of Tommy’s time so they could talk this out and find a way forward again. He stares after his former friend, a hollow, gaping hole in his stomach as he grieves the friendship he thought they’d shared.

Eddie approaches with a gentle hand, laying it on Steve’s shoulder, “Are you all right, man?”

Steve swallows around the thickness in his chest and belatedly realises that his cheeks are wet. He clears his throat and, through a tight smile, says, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?”

The deep richness of those brown eyes regard him for a long moment and Steve feels stripped bare. He thought he was the guy rescuing Eddie, but he suddenly feels like the one vulnerable and exposed to the other boy.

Eddie smiles softly, “Yeah, got saved, right? How could I be anything but peachy keen?”

Steve snorts despite himself, amused by Eddie’s tongue-in-cheek tone, “Like a summertime in Georgia.” He can’t help but flash to Tommy’s retreating back and hates that his tone is already bitter, “Except I’m the stupid fucking tree alone in the grove.”

His head twitching slightly to the side, as if he were weighing Steve’s words, Eddie lightly responds, “Well, maybe it’s time to try another field. Wanna hang out sometime?”

Steve blinks, bewildered at the offer. The suggestion given so freely and without conditions seems anathema to his experience of friendship, and especially friendship in the complex halls of high school. He eyes the other boy suspiciously, but Eddie’s eyes remain clear, his body loose and almost curled towards Steve as if he were the north to his compass.

What could it hurt? Steve thinks.

Looking at what he can only describe as kindness in Eddie’s eyes, Steve thinks that a lot of things could hurt. Could burn or scald or stab, but the sweet, clear acceptance in Eddie Munson’s eyes has him thinking of a world where Steve can offer his loyalty and receive it in kind. A place where he can be good and feel like he’s doing good and perhaps a lovely brown-eyed boy would wait and tell him he’d done the right thing.

Eddie sticks out his hand in a gesture of friendship that only bolsters the words he’d already extended to Steve. And nothing moves in the cold room of Hawkins boys’ bathroom, no wind or breeze, but as Steve reaches out to clasp Eddie Munson’s outstretched hand, he feels a seismic shift that he can’t explain.

Steve’s fingers fold around the warmth of Eddie’s palm and Eddie’s full lips stretch into a smile, welcoming and true. A gesture that Steve can’t be sure of, can’t let himself fully trust; yet, nonetheless, Steve finds himself hopelessly following after Eddie’s extension of friendship.

And it'll eventually allow Steve to follow him to the confusing halls of the Hellfire Club.

To the strangely welcome space of Eddie's uncle’s trailer.

And Steve follows.

Because he is helpless but to follow this wide, brown-eyed boy who smirks at him with a knowing smile.

[cherryspeaches]

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die - Chapter 1

Summary: Having lost everything, you joined the games with no hope or expectation of winning. Despite it all, you found something interesting in #001. Maybe you'd stick around a little longer. Chapter wc: 1.1k

------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ugh. Shut the fuck up. The bed springs above me continued to creak, bearing the weight of the middle-aged man that lay on it. It doesn’t bode well to be a light sleeper in a room that you once shared with over 400 people. Little whispers, light snores and soft noises fill up the empty space of the huge room that you’ve been placed in, little rest is present amongst those remaining after the harrowing experience of witnessing death’s embrace, through a fucking children’s game of all things… You stare at the metal frame that lines and supports the bed above you, the only view that’s offered to you in this hellscape. Being placed in a very awkward third bunk placement has stifled your daydreaming tendencies, preferring the company and comfort of the make-believe instead of your present reality. You envied those close to the floor, being able to root their feet and center their bodies to the ground with much more ease. You also envied those closest to the ceiling, closer to the covered stars and having the room to breathe.  You chose to focus your thoughts towards your discontent with the sleeping arrangements, since the alternative is a reality you don’t want to face quite yet. Hoping that it’s been enough time since the lights went off, you slowly feel your pockets for your most treasured item: your older model MP3 player and wired headphones. Feeling it’s weight in your hand, you let out a small sigh of relief. You still don’t understand why they let you keep this when they confiscated literally everything else of yours, but you have noticed that they let players keep little items or trinkets like rapper extraordinaire Thanos with his entirely non-covert drug filled necklace, or that little old lady with that very gaudy hair pin that looks like it’s from the 60’s. You made a mental note to stay away from Thanos, those pretty little pills would do your attempt at recovery more harm than good. Unravelling the knot of your headphones, you go through the motions of placing each earbud in and turn on your device to play at the lowest speed possible, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself or your precious music player.  Letting the music fill your ears, you wonder if it’s worth trying to figure out literally anything about this place or if it’s simply easier to embrace your inevitable fate, it’s something you’ve been asking for at least for the last ten years. Having lost both your parents in a truck accident when you were just 18 devastated you in more ways than you could have ever expected. Not only did you lose your parents who have worked diligently to raise you and your older sister, but you also lost your physical home due to repossession from the bank after failing to pay back the necessary debts just days before their accident. Your parents had taken out a loan to be able to pay for the business that your father started, which suffered severely when the pandemic did its rounds. With no other family to turn to as all your grandparents had passed, your family had booked a motel for a week to organise themselves and try and figure out a living situation first, before looking at debt repayment strategies. The only available location within the affordable budget was in a very sketchy area, where crime was as natural as breathing. It was to no one’s surprise that your parents ended up losing their lives, the mode of death however was a surprise… so simple for a place where violence surrounds you. 

Their passing allowed you no time to grieve. You reached out to your older sister for support however every call, message and plea went unanswered. You weren’t surprised, she fell off the face of the earth a few years prior to the car accident, claiming she “made it” with her rich new boyfriend. You’d never met him, and you never knew what became of her. You had no time to grieve for the loss of your sibling bond either. 

The few days after the funeral, you had reached out to your old friend to ask for a place to live while you sorted yourself out. She had generously allowed you to stay on her couch as long as you needed, it was then that you truly felt the gravity of your situation. You got busy trying to find a job, only succeeding with night shifts at the convenience store. Depression manifested suddenly and severely in the following months, drowning you in waves ever since then. To put it lightly, there were more moments than you cared to admit where you convinced yourself that it might be easier if you just gave up. It’s in those moments that you can never truly place what brings you back from the edge. Was it the hope of reuniting with your sister? Was it the delusion of a misogynistic concept of being saved by a rich, loving prince charming? Was it the innate human nature of being desperate to live? As you mulled over this, you saw a shadow move towards your right, drawing you away from your melancholic thoughts. Trailing your eyes across the room, you spotted #001 keeping to the walls and heading towards the door. Huh. 

You knew it wasn’t your business, but you couldn’t help but let your eyes follow him. 

You hadn’t given him much thought since the vote, writing him off to be comprised of human greed like the rest of those who voted to stay (yourself included), but there was something magnetic about how he moved. He was like…a cat. No. More majestic. A panther. It was subtle but he moved with purpose, with such intention. Around him was an aura that just screamed superiority, but not in a condescending way. You had no clue what his past was but you’d bet your last dollar he had been in a position of power at one stage of his life. Normal people don’t walk that way. 

Even now, you couldn’t even say he’s creeping or hiding his movements as he walks to the door. He continues to walk with grace and purpose, it’s almost as though he’s bending the shadows to his will, and that they will listen to his command. He reached his destination and began a conversation with the pink guard stationed there. You quickly lost interest as you couldn’t hear anything, he’s probably just another older man needing to piss in the middle of the night. 

How curious though. Maybe you’d watch him tomorrow too. 

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

a/n: ahhhhh my first time writing in a very very long time!! would rly love any feedback <33

[vervainandspritz]

CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?—please, don't leave me

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request by @goblinjnr

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, grieving, angst, suicide

A/N: it's very fucking sad so beware

~~

Her eyes shut tight as her husband pressed a loving kiss onto her lips. Y/N's body involuntarily relaxing into his hands, causing Tommy to smile through the kiss.

”Mrs. Shelby, are you cold? I can see goosebumps on your skin” He teased, leaning forward as he grazed the skin of her neck with his nose, causing her to let out a sigh.

”Very funny” She responded, pinching his side lightly with a grin. ”That's what happens to a woman when her husband finally decides to put business away and give her affection instead.” Her voice was also teasing, as her own gaze completely drowned in his intense blue orbs.

Pulling her even closer, Tommy's nose brushed against hers in a promise of a kiss.

”So I'll have to consider doing this more often.”

Leaving last, strong kiss on her lips Tommy took a step back.

”Do what you have to, and come find me.” Y/N asked, squeezing his hand lightly, her expression relaxed and almost dreamy seeing him in such a good humour.

Bowing lightly, Thomas answered.

”Don't go too far, I'll join you soon.” His voice had an undertone of worry to it, his eyes becoming slightly more cloudy at the obvious allusion.

Giving him a weak nod, Y/N agreed, understanding exactly what he meant.

Don't go anywhere on your own, it's dangerous

Turning around, Thomas slowly walked back to his office, his steps echoing throughout the corridor as the warmth of their lovely encounter disappeared under the weight of reality.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, her heart picking up speed as her hand fell to her belly, causing more internal pain than anything. The mask she had to wear around him was becoming heavier with each passing day.

But she couldn't tell him. Not when the prognosis were so hopeful the last time they visited the hospital together. Not after seeing him gain back the spark he lost for so long.

Letting out a sharp exhale, Y/N turned around, slowly walking back to their bedroom. Wincing quietly she made her way through the corridor before settling on a bed lightly.

The day they found out was the worst day in her life. Rushing to the doctor so hopefully, once she noticed her stomach... Growing. After trying for a baby, could it finally happen? Y/N wondered back then, showing Tommy the swelling on her stomach.

Putting his hand over her belly, he was the happiest man in the world, dimples on his cheeks revealing to their full extent as he smiled so brightly, a rare sight but how beautiful she felt. A family, of her own.

A girl? A boy? They wondered the day before her visit. Chatting away endlessly about names, clothes and toys for a little Shelby.

A heavenly happiness that lasted no longer than three days, before they got crushed by the diagnosis.

Stomach cancer

Thomas' hand fell limp by his side, as Y/N froze completely. It took a longer minute, followed by ”I'm so sorry” from the doctor before tears appeared. Falling faster and heavier, each one a nail to her poor heart, wiping away every dream they managed to talk about in the last days.

All hope, gone, just like that.

...but it wasn't over just yet, as Dr. Wellerman explained the path they will have to go through. The risks of chemotherapy, additional tests and needed medication.

Tommy tried to stay strong, so badly, despite the white colour his face turned. Nausea took over his mind as he listened to each word, listening to the doctor explaining her survival rate. He needed to be strong.

So he was, carrying the weight like a world champion, never letting her carry it alone.

”Don't cry” He murmured in the worst nights, rocking her back and forth in his arms, sitting on the floor by the bed. ”We will bring you back to good health, and then have children. Little copies of our own, eh? A girl with my nose and your smile.” He spoke quietly into her ear, staring blankly at a wall. Whispering beautiful words she so desperately needed to hear, keeping her heart from breaking.

With each week they were both feeling worse, Y/N's physical state worsening visibly throughout the chemotherapy. The pain she felt in her abdomen could be compared to the flames from hell, reaching her ruthlessly and blooming the horrible thought she tried to push away so badly.

I want to die already, her mind would whisper cruelly, hating the way her husband's bones became more visible. His sunken eyes which lost all colour, almost as if he was the one with tumour eating away on his body and mind.

It wouldn't be much different then, because the pain he carried seeing her slowly fade away was easily the most difficult battles he had to fight.

A couple years back, Thomas would never expect to even think that, but the war in France was nothing compared to the unfair war he chose to fight everyday, holding onto his wife at all costs.

On the worst days, he would silently cry against the door of their bathroom, begging her to let him in as she cried so loudly.

”Don't look at me, I'm disgusting!” Y/N kept repeating, looking in the shattered mirror at her reflection. She was a shadow of her old self, her almost completely bald head mocking her, along with the colourless eyes that looked back.

”Y/N, please. Don't shut me away” His voice was breaking, despite the attempts to stay strong. Minutes later he would be on the floor by her side, kissing her temples and holding so tightly to not let her drown.

”You're beautiful, Mrs. Shelby. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” He talked, looking her in the eyes, his deep, honest voice never ceasing to bring her out of misery even just for a few seconds. Rough fingertips grazing over her delicate, pale skin. ”So beautiful I just had to marry you.”

A deep silence following his gentle tone, as his fingers drew random patterns on her skin.

”Am I dying, Tommy?” She asked quietly, her voice so fearful as she held onto his shirt, head resting on his shoulder. Thomas was almost sure she could physically hear his heart shattering at the question.

”No,” He replied confidently, getting her to look him in the eyes. To see the lack of hesitation and the fire he had in him, as her own was slowly getting smaller. She was losing hope. ”You're not dying. I wouldn't let you leave me, after all, eh?” He said, small, weak smile appearing on his lips and reaching her eyes.

”I love you so much” She whispered, slowly nodding off to sleep against his heartbeat.

Y/N remembered every and each of those days when he's been the lifeline. The only reason she was getting up and fighting against the cruel faith, slipping from death's embrace every day, almost like his love was keeping her alive.

...and it worked. Tests started coming back better than before, the cancer responded well to the chemo, allowing life to slowly seep back into their reality.

Y/N could never forget how happy it made them. Made him. The way he laughed and joked, and touched her looking, oh the way he looked at her. Like nothing else mattered, as he brought her flowers and loved every moment they had. Thomas grew to appreciate her presence so much, even the business wasn't able to get a hold of his mind as often anymore.

Life was a dream, until it wasn't.

The pain and swelling grew, sometimes making it difficult to move her legs even. Y/N held onto the thought that it was temporary, that everything was okay, so she didn't tell him. Couldn't bring herself to share her worries, seeing the way he lived and not just survived anymore.

So the secrets began, every letter from the hospital started coming to the rented storage she kept away from everyone. Tests getting more worrying until one, particular one, killed the hope completely.

The cancer no longer remained in her stomach, now spreading to the liver, lymph nodes and lungs, crushing the potential survival rate to 3%.

”Oh God” She cried at first, howling so loudly her throat grew sore and voice weak.

But it wasn't the worst. The worst was pretending around Tommy, forcing herself to smile and walk and talk as lively as before.

Be there for him, and try hard enough to smile so it would reach her eyes, because else he would know.

Each day was harder as the pain grew stronger. Eventually she had to start shaving her head every few days, to hide the fact she stopped the chemotherapy.

The pain was too much. The first time was easier, as she mindlessly shared the misery with Tommy. Carrying it together was easier, but with how much he loved her, seeing her in that state was killing him more than cancer was killing her.

So she pretended. Smiling, shaving her head and making sure to keep her expression stoic as the swelling burned hellishly.

So here she was, sitting on the edge of their bed, both hands on her belly in hopes to ease the pain. Unfamiliar pain, one so strong she couldn't breath at all.

”Tommy” She managed to whimper out, fingers wrapping around the edge of the nightstand so hard, her knuckles turned white. Slowly lowering herself to the ground, Y/N felt her legs giving out as she fell down with a loud thump, starting to cough.

Barely opening her eyes, she noticed the drops of crimson red fluid dirtying the clean, wooden floor. Her mind turned hazy, feeling completely out of it as more and more blood splattered the floor.

Only then did she barely register the fast, loud steps approaching.

”Y/N!” Thomas boomed loudly, rushing to her side. His face was completely pale, his shaky hands wrapping around her chest as he pulled her up, completely panicked. ”Frances! Frances call the ambulance!” He screamed in a frenzy, leaning forward to try and help. ”Y/N, I'm here, I'm here.” He choked out as her eyes became cloudy, breaths coming out in short bursts. ”Y/N! Look at me, please fucking look at me!” Tears steamed down his face at the suddenly terrible state she found herself in. She looked at him, but couldn't see.

As he cried, and screamed, pulling all the old medication she used to be taking from her nightstand, spilling them by his side and looking for the particular one that used to help with breathing problems, Y/N was halway gone.

Physically she couldn't see, struggling to breathe enough to keep her brain functioning yet the only thing she could think of was him.

Please, don't take me away. Who's going to protect him from the self-destruction his heart holds?

”Please, don't leave me” He cried out weakly, pushing his forehead against her collarbone, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Hiding.

The memory of his happy, blue eyes was the last thing she registered, feeling as if he gently eased her into sleep, taking away all the pain. In reality, Thomas couldn't hold in the animalistic howling that ripped from his throat while he held her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth as the sound of an ambulance pulling up by the Arrow house came to his ears.

From this moment, there was nothing.

***

She was gone.

He lost count of the amount of hours since it happened. Thomas didn't know if it was a night or a day, as he forced the maids to cover every source of light in the house before sending them away. The alcohol combined with opium in his system made him see the most beautiful things in the dark, memories shining so brightly.

His eyes rolled back at the scent of her, as he was holding her nightgown to his chest. Blood was trickling from his fingers, dirtying the pink material because of the destruction he brought upon the Arrow house once left alone.

Rocking back and forth in the middle of the room, he remembered the sight of his wife sitting by the vanity, laughing as she made him roll his eyes with her smart mouth. She fitted so perfectly, so perfectly with the scent he was feeling.

It was all that mattered, as long as he felt her presence around him.

In the next few days Polly threw away all the opium he had, trying her best along with her nephews to support him through the ripping loss. Only if he wanted that help, maybe everything would eventually be okay.

But for him, there was nothing before her, and nothing after her. The story was done.

Once left alone again, he let out a sigh, feeling the pounding headache. The noise was overwhelming, impossible to suppress ever since she was gone.

”I can hear them coming again” He whispered into the silence of his office, as the shovels dug against the walls from every direction. Getting louder with every passing minute. ”They want to take you away from me, darling” His voice was rough from the lack of using it. Opening his eyes, Thomas looked at the portrait hanging on the wall. You and him. Like like he promised. His eyes on the painting were far from reality, not resembling the dark irises, swallowed completely by madness which took over his mind without change. ”I won't let you leave me” He repeated the line from the past, lips wrapping around the familiar words as he pulled out the pistol from his holster. Lazily pressing the muzzle against his head as his lips turned upwards into a heartfelt smile. ”I'm coming, sweetheart.”

His loving words were followed by a loud bang, as the bullet ruthlessly ripped through his skull and brain, only to get stuck in the old furniture in another room.

His body went completely limp as the unlit cigarette fell onto the desk, becoming the last sound of their lively love ever heard in the wall of the Arrow house.

A house which became a cemetery for the undying love, and future that would never come.

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @honeymoon8 @chaimaarouaine11 @hatethis29 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @preparedfruit @emptyvoidofmine

[brucewaynehater101]

I remember this one shot where tim & bruce swaps bodies while bruce is as batman in some jla meeting. Tim just continues it perfectly.

This is the body swap au, btw

Anyways, would Tim do a good job as Batman?. I think if Tim sees the swap as something brief he would do his best. (But we all make them swap long enough to Tim having enough time for long term plans) so if Tim gaslights himself into believing they would swap back after some weeks, he would do better. He thinks he can do better as a way to show he can be Batman without being a evil one(he's fighting the gun Batman allegations).

Still, it would be funny that in his "I'm gonna fix Bruce's life while am here plan".

Tim acts less as a classic moody batman while in the atalaya. Gives more and kind advice. He talks with Superman about his situation with Kon. He helps Flash with his eating schedule. He helps Arthur with whatever is going on in Atlantis. He shuts off all of the surveillance on Bruce's coworkers, just to mess with Bruce.

He just avoids Martian tho.

Then, it's been a month since the swap. They don't seem to find any way back. Tim cannot lie to himself anymore and the Batman duties are becoming way too much.

Then Bruce dies in Tim's body.

Tim never wanted to be Batman, neither to be like Bruce. But he messed Tim up. Tim never wanted to be like Bruce Wayne. And now he is living his nightmare, every day since Bruce death, Tim has to wake up and avoid his reflection. Tim never wanted to be like Bruce Wayne and now everyone call him the wrong name. Bruce died and Tim does what he does best, he sacrifices. He ditchs his identity any hope of being Tim Drake, so Batman can rise once again.

.

.

(The last paragraph is a little darker end of the version of this au where Bruce dies in Tim's body. I happily would read some of your ideas where none of them dies tho. There's just so many aspects os this au we can develop more, also we need more bruce pov of this).

Here is the post being referenced!

[I'm sorry to say that 90% of Bruce POV's are just gonna be him suffering.... I can try, though. Put up a valiant effort]

Let's really pack in that angst, shall we?

For this AU, Tim has been compared to Bruce so many fucking times.

At first, despite his shaky relationship with the grieving man, he took it as a compliment. He was like his hero Batman!

It started with Alfred fondly tutting over Tim's capacity to neglect self care duties and his shared interests. The older man would sarcastically ask Tim if he was following Bruce's footsteps of being a loner who sits in his basement all day (just teasing and joking and slight reprimanding).

Then there were the heroes that remarked on Robin's uncanny ability to do the batglare or translate Bruce's grunts.

When Steph and Tim got into arguments (and Tim was being a grade A asshole), Steph would compare Tim's emotional incapability and distrust with Batman's.

Dick, in the heat of the moment, has yelled at Tim to stop acting like Bruce (they got ice cream afterwards as an apology).

Jason has tsked and grumbled and shouted about Tim being molded into Bruce's shape/image.

Even Babs has made a comment or two.

While they didn't mean to hurt Tim (unless they were fighting [for which they would both usually make up and apologize]), it caused a small dig and insecurity to Tim's own self-image.

He wanted Bruce to be proud of him.

Tim wanted to be nothing like Bruce.

Then you add on the 16th birthday, Bruce's shit with Steph, how Bruce treats his other kids, other canon events, gun Batman, and Tim losing the rose-colored glasses of childhood?

Yeah. Tim doesn't want to be Bruce.

It seems fitting, after stealing Robin, that he'd get stuck under the name of the man he grew to see as a warning.

It figures that his choice in saving Batman lead to Tim's loss of self.

[Hmm... I can do another post chatting about Bruce or no one dying if you would like.... Or someone else dying before the truth comes out :)]

[unequivocallyreid]

Disguise It

repost! i was accidentally on priv when i posted this so… doing it again! this is crazy nsfw so be warned 🤗

pairing: spencer x fem!reader

preview:

You couldn’t tell you who moves in first, but suddenly his lips are on yours and your hands are tugging in his hair while his hold you to him. You can feel all of him and it doesn’t seem like it is possibly enough. All you know, is that he breaks away first.

“I don’t know how to handle myself around you. I shouldn’t be here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Now it’s your turn to grab the man in front of you.

“Spencer, shut up.”

warnings: criminal minds typical violence, case descriptions, smut, light angst, enemies to lovers, unprotected sex w/ talk of contraceptives

please let me know if i missed anything!

Georgia is sweltering in the summer. The silk, sleeveless shirt you wore was starting to cling to the sweat on your back, and your body only heated further upon the prodding you were receiving from your fellow team member. It felt like everything you said was met with a rebuttal from Dr. Reid.

At this point, you’d been a part of the BAU for two years. While you were the youngest of the team, you felt the dozens of cases you helped to successfully close should have garnered you some respect in Spencer’s eyes, but, for whatever reason, he still saw you as an expendable part.

At first, his hostility seemed excusable. You had joined the team, and were struck upon meeting him. He was beautiful and incredibly smart and even more incredibly cold. Shortly after, Penelope explained you had replaced one of Reid’s closest friends, Alex. After some, admittedly nosy, probing, you found out just how integral Alex had been in helping him to grieve the loss of his girlfriend at the hands of an unsub. You were understanding and recognized that you shouldn’t expect the warmest greeting from the man. But over time, it seemed all of the vitriol he had for the undesirable aspects of the job was taken out on you. Every time someone was lost, or a suspect got away, you were there for him to blame. You got it, sure it was hurtful, but you got it.

However, two years later, you decidedly did not get it. Around everyone else, he glowed, and yet when it came to you he was all snide remarks. Still, you couldn’t help but be enamored by him. You saw how he cared so deeply for everyone on the team. How any time he could, he put others well being above his. Hell, he didn’t even like you, but somehow, anytime there was a dangerous situation he found a way to put himself between you and it. You hated how attracted to him you were and you hated that he made you the object of his anger.

This case was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Four women had been murdered in the span of four weeks in a small town in Georgia. All of them with their hair cut and dyed post-mortem. The team was called out three days ago, and aside from a profile that fit nearly half the men in town, you had nothing. With a day left before another victim was expected, Hotch called you all into a small office within the sheriffs department.

“All we have to go on currently is that our unsub is targeting young women he perceives as easy targets. All four victims visited bars the night they were abducted, and they were all found the next morning. We know he is going to strike again tonight. Right now, our only option is to station an officer in one of the bars that he is likely to hit.”

Hotch sighed before continuing, “Y/N, you fit his preferred age and build. We need it to be you.”

Before you could say anything, an all too familiar voice spoke from behind you.

“Hotch, all due respect, but she doesn’t have nearly enough experience undercover. It’s more likely she screw up this whole case than find our guy.”

“Reid, I don’t know-“

You cut Derek off before he could finish his sentence, “Are fucking serious?”

“It’s nothing personal, Y/N. You just don’t have the tactical and logistical skills something like this requires,” Reid says with the corner of his mouth turned up and you see red.

“What is your problem?”

“Y/N,” Derek says trying to settle you with a hand on your shoulder but you shrug him off.

“No. No, I’m so tired of this. Look Reid, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you don’t like me. I’m sorry that I took Alex’s place. I’m sorry I’m good at my job. I know it, everyone here knows it but for you.”

You could’ve stopped there, in fact you should’ve stopped there, but obviously you didn’t.

“You know what, most of all I’m sorry I wasn’t on the team sooner, because if I was someone would have had the sense to not let you work on Maeve’s case. Maybe then, she’d be here and you wouldn’t be so fucking bitter at the world.”

As soon as you said it you wished you could take it back, but you were already half way out the door with tears pooling in your eyes.

Morgan followed closely behind you, catching up and pulling you aside before you reached the front door of the department.

“Pretty girl,”

You cut him off again, “Look I know. I’ll apologize to everyone, but I can’t do this right now.”

“Kid, let me finish.”

You look at him and wipe your eyes, a signal to go on.

“You don’t owe anyone anything. Do I think you made the best choice back there? No. But, you have a right to be angry, just don’t let it blow your chance to prove him wrong.”

“Derek, I know he’s your best friend. You don’t have to comfort me, I’m a big girl.”

Derek pulled you into his chest, “He’s my friend but he’s also an idiot. You said what you needed to and he needed to get his ass whopped. Look, go get ready for tonight. Despite what Reid said the team needs you and those girls need you, do it for them.”

“I don’t really have a choice do I,” you say through a sniffle.

“Nope. So, get moving, sweetness.”

~

The embarrassment of breaking down in front of your team continued to rock you on your way to the motel down the street. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop replaying Spencer’s face over and over in your head. Regardless of his feelings toward you, you cared about him and you didn’t want to hurt him. It was just too much pressure built up over your time with the BAU and you snapped. If you could have helped it you would have.

You didn’t really have any bar attire in your go bag, and you knew that your unsub liked a certain look, so you took it upon yourself to stop by a shop. As quickly as possible, time was literally running out, you found a black mini-dress. The fabric was thick enough to cover the wire you were sure you’d be wearing, and it wasn’t expensive enough for you to feel guilty about purchasing it.

Throughout your time at the BAU, you had never worn anything like this. Lack of social life aside, anytime you went out with the team to celebrate a case or birthday, you wore business casual. Knowing they would all, namely Spencer, see you in something so small made you anxious. If you had chosen a different life, this would have been normal night-out attire for you, but you don’t even think you own a skirt that’s shorter than your knee.

The makeup you put on did nothing to ease your discomfort. It was messy and dark, just like the women he killed were wearing. You looked just like them.

On the drive back to the station, the knot in your stomach felt like it nearly tripled in size. You were scared you’d be reprimanded upon entering, while wearing club attire, like a 17 year old who broke her curfew. As you opened your car door you felt your hands shake. You put on you FBI jacket for modestly and walked in. A quick scan of the room showed no sign of Spencer, which took a bit of weight off of your shoulders. You didn’t think you could handle seeing the broken look in his eyes for a second time that day.

Once JJ saw you she walked over and said gently, “Y/N, are you alright? Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

Admittedly, you had to force a smile as you replied, “Don’t worry about me.”

Too much was weighing on you. If you weren’t successful, you’d have another body on your conscience, coupled with using the most devastating event in Reid’s life against him. You felt like shit. Part of you knew he deserved it and the other wanted to make everything better for him. It was selfish and made you feel gross, but you had always secretly hoped that you could be the one to bring out the light in him if he ever let you in, but you threw away the slim chance of that when Maeve’s name left your lips.

After attempting to further assure JJ that you were okay, you walked back to the office you knew that you’d find Hotch in. You opened the door and found Spencer and him going over the geographical profile. When Spencer looked up and saw you, he excused himself quietly and fled the room. Hotch said nothing but waved you in.

He ignored the elephant in the room, choosing instead to explain the details of your assignment.

“Morgan, JJ, and Reid will all be stationed around the bar,” he said plainly, but you did not miss his scan of your face, searching for a reaction.

“If things escalate, if you are threatened at any point, they will be there. We’ll hear everything through the wire, and you’ll hear us.”

Still lacking the confidence you held earlier in the day, you reply with a meek “Yes sir,” and move to leave the office.

“Y/n,” he calls out to you before you reach the door. “Don’t let it get to you”

~

The bar feels hotter than it did outside, and the dress you’re wearing feels even smaller. As you wait to be approached, you fail to catch Reid’s eye. He’s been avoiding your gaze for the last hour you’d been there.

Right when you think it’s time to drawback and admit you weren’t the type he was looking for, you feel a rough hand run across your back.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing at a place like this all alone?”

You can smell his cigarette breath before you can see him, and you have to school your face before you reply.

“I’d say I was waiting for you, but I don’t know your name.” You say, forcing a giggle and slurring your words, and you swear you hear Reid scoffing in your ear.

“It’s Michael, and I think you know just what to say.”

You hear Penelope confirm the name in your ear. The man before you is stocky and looks close to 30. He moves the hand that was on your back to rest high on your thigh.

“Let me buy you a drink, doll.”

You know you have to test him. You have to do something to prove he’s your guy, so you move to stand with faux shaking legs.

“I really shouldn’t, I uh, have to get home.”

A sick smile ghosts over his face and he forces you to sit back down, his grip tightening even more on your leg.

“Fun is just startin’, don’t get cold feet on me now.”

You reach to pull his hand off you, “No, I really need to be home. I, My roommate will worry.”

One hand grabs the back of your neck as the other lifts higher on you leg.

“Darlin, don’t you know your manners?

Hotch tells you to hold off, asking you to push him a little farther before they step in, and as much as your shaking with this man’s hands on you and stale breath in your face, you follow orders.

“You’re hurting me,” you tell him through clenched teeth as his nails sink into your skin.

“I promise you I have a lot more planned, doll. Now be good girl and sit down, or you’re going to have a knife deep in that pretty little waist of yours.”

Before you can follow his directions, you hear a familiar voice say, “Not likely.”

While you were distracted by the man in front of you, Spencer had made his way to you from across the room, and was now pushing down the man onto the bar in front of you. His eyes were dark and he was rougher than you had ever seen him. Maybe unfortunately, JJ came up behind you and pulled you away from Spencer and your staring was cut short.

The man in the bar turned out to be Michael Edwin. He had a history of petty theft and assault charges from bar fights, but Penelope recovered sealed records from his adolescence, which showed two counts of aggravated sexual assault. His fiancé had recently left him, which served as a trigger for the recent murders.

Despite protests, you were checked out by EMS before you could go back to the motel. They wanted to ensure you weren’t drugged and that you didn’t have any puncture wounds from the nails on you neck or thigh. Hotch spoke to you, told you that you did a good job, but in all honesty you just wanted to go lay down in the shitty bed that was waiting for you, and sleep away the events of the night. Fate clearly had other plans.

You were stepping out of the shower when you heard a knock at the front door. You called out to whoever it was, you assumed JJ or Morgan, that you be there in a minute. Quickly, you threw on a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, and let your hair down from the towel that had been holding it.

Opening the door to your room did not yield the results you expected. Standing in front of you, in the same clothes he’d been wearing at the bar, was Spencer. He looked tired and his hair was sticking up like he’d spent the last two hours running his hands through it. He asked to come in. You stepped aside but did not welcome him.

“What do you need Reid? I’m really not looking to fight, I just want to sleep.”

He looked over your frame once, and then shut the door behind him.

“You drive me crazy.”

You cut him off, with a quick “Get out.”

“No, look just please let me talk to you.” You wish the desperation in his voice didn’t draw you back in immediately.

He inches closer to you as you moved away from him and says softly, “You’re stubborn and you drive me crazy. But, you were right today-“

“Please stop,” you bite back, again cutting him off.

“Christ Y/n, just let me get through this.”

He almost waits for you to stop him again before continuing. “You make me feel fucking crazy, and I can’t think and I hate it. I hate what you do to me. I hate the way I feel around you.”

“Spencer, please just go. I don’t need you to tell me that I’m terrible at my job for a second time today. Try it again tomorrow.”

You move to open the door but he grabs you before you can reach it.

“Stop talking, Y/N.”

His hands are on your waist and you heartbeat is in your throat and you know you should push him off of you but you can’t make yourself do it. He’s closer to you than he’s ever been and you can smell his sweat. As much as you want to scream at him, and force him out of your room, you can’t help but feel a warmth pooling in between your thighs.

He is impossibly closer when he says, “Y/n, please.”

You couldn’t tell you who moves in first, but suddenly his lips are on yours and your hands are tugging in his hair while his hold you to him. You can feel all of him and it doesn’t seem like it is possibly enough. All you know, is that he breaks away first.

“I don’t know how to handle myself around you. I shouldn’t be here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Now it’s your turn to grab the man in front of you.

“Spencer, shut up.”

You pull him back to your lips, and you can feel the moment his resolve breaks. He is everywhere. His hands run up your waist and dip below you shirt, and at first it’s hesitant, but then he’s pushing you toward the mattress and pressing himself onto you.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me every day?”

You try to reply, “You’re full of shit,” but your sentence dies off as his fingers brush over your nipple. You’re panting into his mouth and you feel him hard against you hip. Without thought, your hips roll into his, desperate for pleasure.

His hands are everywhere, and his mouth follows suit, trailing down your neck and biting hard into your shoulder. His hands become more confident but still shockingly gentle. You imagined he’d be rough and angry, almost punishing, but this is so much worse. He is caring and his lips pause over your heart beat, allowing you to feel the warmth they carry. Tears are forming in your eyes and you do your best to blink them back as his hand grip the edge of your shirt and pull it over your head.

He curses to himself when he sees you, and you feel goosebumps rise on your skin. His fingers roll over the buds on your chest and you cry out, “Spencer, please.”

You don’t even know what you’re asking him for, but he seems to understand. His fingers slip beneath the waist band of your shorts, finding your centre and rubbing gently over your clit.

“God you’re so fucking wet and I’ve barely even touched you.”

You’re lost in his touch, and the way his hands are relentless in their pursuit tells you that he is too. You never expected him to talk like this. Fantasized, sure, but actually having him right above you is almost too much to bear. It is too much, and you don’t understand it, and the tears that were forming earlier become to heavy to hold back. The gentle moans you had been letting pass through your lips turn into sobs and his fingers still as soon as he hears you.

His voice is shaken and small when he asks, “Y/n? What’s wrong, what did I do?”

His question rocks through you and makes the tears well up so much faster than they were before.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out. “I’m so sorry. I was cruel to you and you’re being so gentle with me and I don’t understand. You, you don’t have to do this for me just because you feel bad.”

He pulls you into him in a way that is different than before, and tries to wipe away the tears you let spill.

“Y/n, that isn’t what this is. I- I should be apologizing to you. I’ve been so terrible to you and you’ve been nothing but kind.”

You scoff, thinking back to earlier in the day, and try to push him away but he holds you closer and forces you to look at him.

“You were right, Y/n. I’ve been so scared of losing more people since Maeve, and when you joined the team it was clear how wonderful you were from the second you walked in. You’re so good and so intelligent, Y/n. I was fucking terrified of how drawn to you I was, so I pushed you away and I was too dumb to realize it was hurting you until today.”

His lips find your forehead, ghosting a kiss over it before continuing, “I’ve spent the last two years failing miserably at not forming an attachment to you, and I hurt you. Please, let me show you that I care.”

You know that you should be mad at him, but you’ve never been able to stay angry at the man in front of you. So, instead of trying to fight the feelings you both had been trying to for years, you let him in.

Your lips find his for the second time that night, and this time you each won’t let the other run off. His hands travel down your body again as he whispers sweet nothings in you ear and pulls your shorts off of you. When he reconnects with your heat, the sensation feels so much greater than before. You push yourself into his hand, and gasp when his fingers find their way inside you. Their pace is languid and exploratory as he curls himself inside of you, finding a spot that makes you feel like you’re on fire.

His lips that were exploring the expanse of your chest find their way back up to yours, and it gives you the courage to press your hand to the tent of his pants. Your action makes him still momentarily but then he presses more firmly into you.

He breaks away from you and says “You feel so good,” but isn’t enough. You whine into his mouth and push your hands to try and undo the buttons of his shirt. He breathes out a laugh and helps you guide it off of him. Still, you’re nothing if not greedy and you want more, so your hands move from his chest to his belt, and suddenly he is bare to you.

As you take him in, you feel your mouth fall open, and you can’t help but reach out to touch him and whisper, “You’re so big.”

This action decidedly pushes him over the edge as a groan falls from his lips and his hands resume their previous mission at a much faster pace. You can feel the pit forming in your stomach as he reduces you to incomprehensible babble and you both know you’re close. His thumb finds your clit and you feel yourself diving over the edge as your orgasm finds you. He nurses you through it, drawing the feeling out, before removing his fingers.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

You’re overcome with affection for the man above you, and you feel an incredible need to express it, but you can’t find the words. Instead, you do your best to flip him and lower yourself down his body. He watches you in awe, which almost surprises you because how could he think you wouldn’t want him in every possible way.

Once you’ve kissed your way down his chest and over his stomach, you move to put him in your mouth.

He stops you before you can, and your heart drops, scared that the illusion has shattered and he has decided he no longer wants you.

He remedies your fears quickly though when he says, “Y/n, you don’t have to.”

“I want to. I really want to, Spence. I- I want you.”

You swear you see love in his eyes, but push the thought aside and take him in your mouth.

You savor the feeling of taking him in, the way he fills your mouth and touches the back of your throat. You can’t fit him in his entirety and your hand has to pick up the slack, which seems to drive him crazy. Still, something in you wants to give him full control over you. So, when you come up for air, you take his hand and guide it to the back of your head, and genius that he is, he takes the hint. He pushes himself deeper down your throat as his hands tangle in your hair. The rhythm he build is perfect.

“You’re so fucking good, baby.”

The pet name makes your thighs press together, desperate for another release. His mouth is growing filthier by the minute.

“Fuck, Y/n. You like having my cock down you throat don’t you? Just so desperate to please, aren’t you?”

You moan around him before pulling off, feeling needier than you think you ever have before. As much as you want to make him come with your mouth, you need him inside you.

“Spencer, I need more.”

He laughs a little and says, “You’ve got to use your words, Y/n. Tell me what you want.”

The thought of saying it feels more embarrassing than anything you’ve done so far, but your desire outweighs it and you tell him, “I want you inside.”

“There you go, baby. Want me to fuck you, huh?”

You know he isn’t really asking, but you can’t stop yourself from nodding regardless.

Before going any further he asks, “Do you have a condom?”

“I don’t think so. I have an IUD and I’m clean. I trust you, but if you want to stop I get it.”

Without responding, he’s flipped you over and is now holding himself over you once again. For a second, he just looks down at you, but a small ‘please’ falling from your lips is enough to break his daze. He runs his hands down your stomach, grazing over your centre, before grabbing himself and lining up with you. The moment he starts to push himself in, you feel so full you might cry.

Your body is white hot, a feeling you haven’t experienced in any of your other sexual encounters. Hell, most of them haven’t made you come once, but with Reid you’re already bordering on a second orgasm just from him pushing into you. His pace is perfectly slow, and you can see his jaw clenched as he tries to restrain himself.

“I’m okay. You can go harder, I want you harder.”

Your words have the desired effect and you watch as he lets go. He’s everywhere and each stroke hits places that send you into a tailspin. When he rocks into you, his pelvis bushes over your clit perfectly.

“I’m gonna come, Spence. Fuck, fuck I’m coming.”

“God, I can fucking feel it, Y/n. You’re so fucking tight for me.”

If you had any shame left in you, you might be embarrassed at how quickly you came a second time, but all you can focus on is the rhythm of Spencer above you. You can feel his movements growing sloppier and you know that he’s close too.

“I’m gonna come, baby Where do you want it?”

You all but cry out, “Inside, Spencer. Please I want you inside.”

This pushes him over the edge and you can feel him pulse inside you. The sensation is almost enough to make you come again.

“Fuck, Y/n, where did that come from.”

You don’t respond and he seems to notice the dazed look in your eyes as he pulls out of you. Before you can get used to the emptiness, you feel his fingers trace your entrance.

“You want me to fuck my come back into you, huh? Make sure you’re really full?”

You nod, almost subconsciously, and he begins pushing his fingers into you at a relentless pace. You reach and heap his arm to center yourself, but it’s no use.

“Just one more, love. Let me show you how sorry I am.”

Your body is shaking and tears, different than before, well in your eyes and begin to break free.

“Such a pretty, filthy girl. Let go for me, baby. Can you do that? Can you come for me?”

You’ve always been one to please, and you feel the ball of tension in your stomach break free. Everything is white and the only thing you can do is call out Spencer’s name.

“So fucking pretty, Y/n. Come back, baby. I want to see your eyes.”

You didn’t even realize they were closed, but when they open you’re greeted with Spencer’s face above you. He smiles down at you and moves to get off the bed, which causes a jolt of panic to course through you.

“Don’t leave,” you all but yell. “Please, just stay with me tonight.”

He quells all your worries with a sentence, “Just getting a towel to clean you up. I’m not going to leave you anytime soon.”

done! let me know what you think!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 65

part 1 | part 64 | ao3

cw: angst, weed

Eddie reaches out then stops, hand hovering just above Steve’s knee, something like panic in the tremor of his wrist. “Steve, for real, man, please let me—”

“No, you for real, man.” Seriously? Man? As if there aren't so many more important things to discuss right now. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his nose, the voice of an old swim coach ringing in his ear. Game time, Harrington, c’mon, where’s your head?

“Look,” Steve sighs, fingers clenching around his shin. “We can talk about... this," he gestures between the two of them, "later. Let’s just— Important stuff only for right now, okay?” 

Eddie’s breath shakes when he answers. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Good.” 

This is somehow worse than silence.

Steve shakes his head, tries to focus through the fog of awkward energy. Important things. Important.

Like, how about ‘what were you doing with a pretty girl in my fucking trailer?’ for starters, or maybe—

Oh, fuck. 

Steve looks sharply at Eddie. “Why were you asking if I was real?”

Eddie stares back in silence, eyes huge, bottom lip trembling as Steve presses into his space; drops his voice, brings a hand up to wrap around Eddie’s arm — just above his elbow, soft leather and warm muscle shivering under the touch. God. Please. Not him, too. “Eddie. Did you— did you see something? Are you…?”

“No,” Eddie shudders. “No, sorry, just, uh—” He shakes his head with a grimace, a shrill sound spilling out, some frantic braying thing that might have counted as a laugh if his face wasn’t doing that. “Pretty goddamn sure I’m just losing my mind after seeing the— the fucking—”

His palm floats up to the ceiling in a wobbly zig-zag, looseleaf drifting to the classroom carpet in reverse, then he clenches his fist and lets it explode open with a ‘boom,’ the sound effect ruined by another strangled laugh. “Oh, my god,” he giggles. Humorless, horrified, nervous system overwhelm. His entire arm is shaking. “Oh, shit, oh, Jesus Christ, Steve, Chrissy’s—”

“Hey.” Steve tightens his grip on Eddie’s arm; waits for Eddie to take a breath, gasping and wet. “We can’t think about it, alright?”

Eddie’s voice cracks miserably. “That’s not fucking fair to her.”

“I know.” Steve loosens his hold; smooths his palm over the leather sleeve; wonders who he’s really trying to soothe. “I know. But we can’t— if what you and Dustin said is true, if it’s really some— some monster that hurt Chrissy, that’s trying to hurt us? We can’t grieve yet, okay? We can’t give him an opening to attack. We need a game plan.”      

Eddie exhales like he’s trying to mimic an owl. “Okay,” he nods eventually, slapping his thighs as he stands up. “Okay. Game plan. Yeah. Shit. Games and sports and plans and…” 

He trails off, mouth moving around mumbled gibberish as he wiggles his fingers and drums on himself, hands slipping up his torso, tongue over his top lip. He pats his front pocket. “Oh, hell yeah, baby.” Whirling to face Steve, he slips his forefinger and thumb into the narrow pouch and pulls out the Altoids tin where he keeps his pre-roll stash. “How’s this for a game plan?”

—

part 66

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

It's Been a Long, Long Time -Oneshot

Word count: 2928

Five years.  How could it have already and only been five years at the same time?  Y/N sighed heavily when she realized the date, a fresh wave of tears building up in her eyes.  Five years since her world shattered as she knew it.  Five years since her best friend, lover, and most important person in her life had disappeared.  The snap heard across the universe that had taken her love, her Bucky, and turned him to dust.  The day Steve came and told her what happened she had blacked out, her mind unable to comprehend losing him.  They had already been pulled apart because of the Sokovia Accords debacle, resulting in him hiding and being treated in Wakanda where she was only allowed to visit every once in a while to not arouse suspicion.  Now he was gone.  Forever.

Steve and the other Avengers still remaining tried to visit her, but it was too painful to see them and be reminded of Bucky and the past.  She threw herself into her work and hobbies, trying to distract herself from the pain and the overwhelming grief that not just she but everyone around the world was experiencing.  That was what made it even worse, in hindsight, was that everyone was experiencing the same thing, so the dead look in her eyes was mirrored by not just her own reflection, but by hundreds and thousands of other faces passing by.  Everything seemed duller, darker, and at this point she was just surviving rather than living.  

Steve tried reaching out to her again recently, leaving a message on her phone saying something about there being a different solution or strategy to try.  Y/N had deleted it, unwilling to hear anything about hope.  Hope was nothing more than a lie, a trick of the mind to mend broken hearts and delude oneself.  Her hope died five years ago.  A few days later as she was cleaning up after dinner there was a knock on her door.  She frowned, looking at the time and then at the door again.  She wasn’t expecting anyone, and it was close to 8 p.m.  The knock came again, more insistent this time, and she sighed as she put down the dishes and wiped her hands before walking over.  She opened the door and froze.

“Babydoll,” the man said.

No.  Oh god, it was happening.  Her mind had finally cracked.  It looked like Bucky.  Sounded like Bucky.  But there was no way.  Bucky was dead.  Bucky was gone.

“Y/N,” he said, looking hesitant and worried.  “It’s me.  I’m here.  Steve and the others found a way to bring us all back–”

“No,” she breathed, her head shaking.  Her head felt fuzzy, but she refused to let the darkness take over.  “You’re not him.  Why would you do this?  Do you like tricking people?  Hurting them while they’re grieving?  What the fuck is wrong with you?” “Y/N,” he stepped toward her.  “It’s really me.”

“No!” she yelled, and tried to shut the door.  He quickly stepped in before she could close it on him and she backed away.  “Stay away from me!  You’re not real!  This isn’t real!”

“Baby please,” he said, slowly walking toward her with his hands up.  “I’m so sorry.  I can’t believe it’s been five years and you were left here while I was gone.  Thanos–”

She suddenly barrelled forward and pushed him, making him stumble back against the front door.  “Get out!” she screamed.  “You’re not Bucky!  He died five years ago!  How dare you come here and torture me like this! GET OUT!”

His lips tightened, then he rushed toward her and hugged her.  Y/N fought against him, pushing, scratching, kicking and wrestling.  He let her tire herself out as he guided her toward the kitchen, then wrestled with her until he could pick her up and sit her on the counter.  “Y/N, babydoll, I know this is hard, but you gotta believe me,” he begged, the metal hand feeling very real as he used it to hold her hands behind herself at her wrists, his flesh hand cupping the side of her face and trying to get her to sit still.  He stood between her legs to stop her from kicking him, but she kept squirming to get out of his hold.  “Stop, babydoll, you’ll hurt yourself.  Please…Y/N!”

She sobbed, shutting her eyes tight as she thumped her head against the cabinet behind her.  Whoever this man was, he was a great actor, copying the same Bucky mannerisms and pet names that she dreamed of.  His flesh hand moved to the back of her neck, gripping her tightly and pulling her forward until he kissed her.  Y/N froze again, the shock and disbelief making her breath stutter as he continued to kiss her slowly, gently, like he was taking his time, like he couldn’t quite believe that he got to be here with her at this moment.  He kissed her like Bucky would, like only Bucky could, the way his perfect lips would move against hers.  Her mind and body were at war with each other, not quite fully believing that this could be happening.  But Steve had said something about a plan, a possibility…

He pulled away and kissed the tip of her nose before tracing his lips back down over her cupid’s bow to her lips and kissing them one more time.  Y/N’s eyes shot open at that.  It was a funny little ritual that Bucky always did right before he finished kissing her.  He pulled back slightly, his brow upturned and his gaze hopeful as she stared at him.  The same bright, big blue eyes, his perfect nose, the ever present crease between his eyebrows, the beard that covered his sharp jaw.  His metal hand released her wrists now that she wasn’t fighting him, and he reached it up to cradle the other side of her face, his metal thumb caressing across her cheekbone like Bucky used to.

Her heart felt like it was jumping out of her chest as it opened itself to believe.  She slowly reached one of her hands up, her fingers shaking as she traced her pointer finger over his lips, up his nose, around his eyebrow, then she moved his hair and looked at his right ear.  Her finger felt over the shell of his ear, and she gasped silently at feeling the extra curve in his right ear that he didn’t have on his left.  It…it couldn’t be.  She had lost him, and was still grieving him.  How could this be happening?

“The night before you left to come back to the States, days before the snap, we were on that hill by my hut in Wakanda, laying in the grass and looking at the stars,” he whispered earnestly.  “You yelled at the goats because they wouldn’t shut up.”  Y/N’s eyes were flickering back and forth between his eyes, the smallest smile pulling at the corners of her mouth as she remembered that night.  How could he know about that?  “There was a shooting star, remember?  And I asked you to marry me.  And instead of saying yes, you pushed me and called me a little shit because of my bad timing.”  Her eyes widened even more, and she let out what sounded like a whimper, her eyes filling with tears all over again.  “It’s me, Y/N.  It’s really me.  I’m here.  I’m back.  Everyone is back.  We won.  And I’m never leaving your side again.  I’m so sorry, babydoll.  I’m so sorry you were left here by yourself.  Please believe me.”

Y/N’s hands cupped his face, holding him still and staring at him for another minute.  His hands moved to grasp her wrists, leaning his forehead against hers and staring back at her, his expression begging her to see and accept.  Her mind finally caught up with her, and the smallest flicker of recognition and belief made her feel like her brain was resetting.  “Bucky?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he nodded, a soft smile lighting up his face.  “I’m here, babydoll.  This is real.  I’m real.  It’s me.”

Something inside her felt like it was crumbling, like the last line of defense in her mind fell.  She sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tight against her.  “Bucky,” she cried, her fingers gripping him too tight, like she was afraid he would disappear again at any moment.  “Bucky, Bucky Bucky Bucky…”

She could feel him crying against her, his shoulders slightly shaking as he held her, his hands caressing up and down her back, then down to her legs where he had her hook her ankles behind his back before he picked her up and walked toward her bedroom.  Once inside he approached her bed and lay down on it with her, keeping her tucked against him as they faced each other and hugged, cried, and kissed each other over and over again.  He was here.  This was happening.  Her love and hope had returned.  

Y/N couldn’t stop crying, five years worth of grief combined with a few more years of yearning and missing him before that while they were separated all culminated into this moment of relief and healing.  She kissed him everywhere she could reach, refusing to let go of him.  “I’ve missed you so much.  I’m so afraid, Bucky, I can’t tell what’s real, what if you disappear again?  What if this is all in my head?  What if I’m actually going crazy–”

“You’re not crazy,” he reassured her, kissing her just as much as she was kissing him.  “This is real, I promise.  I swear, just listen outside.”  She looked at him then slightly turned her head toward the window.  There was a muffled noise of screams and crying, as well as joyous cheers.  “That’s the sound of people coming home.  It’s gonna be a mess for a while, I’m sure.  But it’s real, it’s happening.  The second I could after the fight was over I was on the jet back to you.”  He suddenly looked wary, narrowing his eyes but looking resigned.  “Speaking of which, I totally understand if you, um, moved on, while I was gone.  I don’t expect you to have–”

“I didn’t,” Y/N said.  He looked at her incredulously, a mix of surprise and pride on his face.  “I couldn’t.  You’re the love of my life, Buck, so when you died, I died.”  His face crumpled at that, and he bit his lip trying to control his emotions.  “You’re it for me, sweetheart.”

Bucky leaned into her at the pet name, smiling through the new tears falling down his face.  “You’re it for me,” he whispered.  His hands slid down her body as he repositioned himself to climb and hover over her, shoving his face into the crook of her neck and kissing at her throat.  “I know it’s been a lot longer for you than for me, but can I please make love to you, babydoll?  Let me prove it’s real.  Let me make up for all the love you’ve missed that you deserve.”

A thrill shot through Y/N’s spine at his words.  She hadn’t dared to ever think or dream of having sex again after losing Bucky, so getting to have him again after all this time was making her ache from the inside out.  “Please,” she begged.

He moaned and moved his head back up to kiss her deeply.  He took his time, feeling over her and letting her feel him.  Even as he took off each layer of her clothing he admired her, and when he took his off he let her look, touch and kiss each part of him since it was all new again.  Bucky kissed every inch of her skin, his hands kneading her plushy flesh and lavishing on her most private and sensitive parts.  

He ate her out slowly, making out with her pussy.  Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, and he let her control his movements, nipping at her inner thighs and then using his fingers to help her cum once, then again, then again, licking and swallowing everything she could give him and watching her intently every time she came, his deep groan vibrating into her pussy as his hips rutted against the bed.

Y/N made him lay down and settled herself between his legs, reaching for his cock and then stroking it.  “Holy fuck I missed you,” he said, his moan morphing into a whimper as she took him in her mouth.  “Such a pretty mouth, taking my cock so well.  Look at you, babydoll.  Did you miss my cock?”

She whimpered and nodded as best as she could, taking him as far down her throat as possible before pulling back up and popping off of him.  “You have no idea,” she whispered before sucking him back in.  He was at her mercy as she loved on his cock for a few more minutes, then after a mind-melting, sloppy swirl of her tongue around the head of his cock he pulled her off of him.  

“I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he said, leaning forward and pushing her back onto the bed.  “I need to be inside you.  Can I, babydoll?  Please?”

“Yes,” she nodded frantically.  “Please fuck me.”

He chuckled.  “I’ll fuck you later.  Right now I’m gonna make love to you, okay?”  

“Even better,” Y/N breathed.  

Bucky hovered over her again, aligning his hips with hers then gazing at her as he entered her at an agonizingly slow pace.  Y/N shivered at the feeling of being filled by him again, her eyes rolling back in her head when he was fully sheathed inside her.  His forehead rested against hers as he breathed heavily.  “Babydoll…oh baby,” he huffed.  “So perfect.”  Her pussy fluttered around him, making him shiver with her.  “Don’t, mmh, don’t move,” he grunted.  “So close already, huh?  You’re gonna make me finish too fast.”

“Didn’t mean to,” Y/N groaned.  “It’s just been so long.  You feel so good, sweetheart.  Always feel so perfect.”  She wrapped her arms around his back, keeping him flush against her body.  He hugged her back, his hips starting to roll into her.  Since he had made her cum multiple times she was already on the edge, and his gentle touches and kisses, his hot breaths in her ear and her hair, and being completely enveloped by him was making it harder for her not to tip over that edge again.

She didn’t realize she was crying again until he started kissing and licking at her tears.  “Don’t cry babydoll.  We’re together again, everything is gonna be fine.  Wherever I go, you go, okay?”  Y/N nodded, sniffling as her nails scratched down his back.  “I’m never letting you out of my sight.  We will never be apart again, as much as we can manage it, right?”  She nodded again, nuzzling his cheek with her nose, not trusting her voice with how emotional she was becoming.  “I love you.  I love you Y/N.  I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you–”

“I love you,” she said, kissing him deeply again.  “I love you Bucky.”  His hips moved faster, and she cried harder.  “Don’t ever leave me.”

“Never,” he said.

“Sweetheart,” she whispered.  “Oh god!”

Bucky’s flesh hand slipped between them and he flicked her clit fast, kissing her passionately.  Y/N finally fell over the edge, screaming his name into his mouth as she came.  As she shook under him, Bucky stiffened above her and groaned as he came deep inside her, rutting and fucking is cum as deep as he could.  They panted against each other for a while, Bucky nipping and kissing at her neck.  He pulled away, cupping her cheek with his metal hand and kissing over her eyelids.

“Look at me, babydoll,” he murmured.

Y/N shook her head.  “I can’t.  What if I open my eyes and you disappear like every other time?”

He made a wounded sound and kissed her deeply again before leaning back.  “Open your eyes, Y/N.”  She slowly peeked through her lashes, opening her eyes hesitantly then inhaling sharply at seeing him above her.  “I’m still here,” he said quietly, smiling.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her tears returned again and she hiccuped.  “I’m gonna be crying a lot for a while,” she said, making him laugh.

“No judgment here, babydoll,” he said, pulling his cock slowly out of her before rolling to his side and cuddling her close.  “We’re just gonna stay right here until I can convince you this is really happening.”  He smoothed some of her hair back and traced a finger over her face.  “I’m sorry–”

“It’s not your fault, Bucky,” she said, grabbing his hand and kissing it.  “You and everybody else who fought were doing the right thing, it just didn’t work out the first time.  We both knew going into this that it was dangerous, that the possibility of losing each other was very real.  I guess when it happened I just…didn’t know how to accept it,” she paused, sniffling quickly.  “I’m just grateful that we get another chance.”

Bucky smiled, his eyes tearing up again.  “Me, too,” he said, leaning forward so his forehead was against hers again.  “I love you, Y/N.”

Her smile beamed at him, gazing into his eyes.  “I love you, sweetheart.”

[lillaydee]

In Time Part 6

Rancher Joel Miller / Reader

You lost your dear Uncle. Your TV Star boyfriend dumped you. You needed a job. You got one at a ranch in Wyoming. Where you met Joel. A very grumpy man. Grumpy man has issues.

WARNINGS:

Grumpy Joel, Hurt Joel, Grieving Joel, Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Mentions of Hostage Situation and Shooting, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 5

---

If anything could be considered as magic, this would be it. A couple of days ago, you were avoiding this man. And now, you were sitting next to him in his ratty old truck, driving to town with him on Christmas Eve, alone. He asked you, and you said yes. A small part of you wondered if you were just crazy, making friends with the man who was so mean to you during your first few days here, or if you were just that desperate not to be alone during Christmas. No matter. The important thing was that things were much better now. You were settling down.

He had to park quite a way away from the square. The two of you made your way downtown and got yourself a cup of hot chocolate to keep yourselves warm. He was pointing things around to you, telling you this and that about the place, letting you get familiar with everything. You ran into a few people, some of whom you had met, clients of yours, and some you hadn’t. Everyone knew him, it seemed, if not from him growing up here, from the horrible tragedy that was his daughter’s untimely death. People seemed to avoid talking to him about that, though, which you understand. They all seemed surprised to see him there. Good to finally see you out and about, Joel. But he had been out and about, right? He picked you up, went to the bar, went out of town and the store for you, what were they talking about?

Once they realized you two were there alone, their expressions changed. The older generation seemed very happy to have you there. The ladies gave you hugs, telling you how nice it was to meet you, the men shaking your hand, welcoming you to their town, eyes glancing at him while doing so. The younger men seemed very interested in you, asking you a lot of questions about your role at the ranch, before shutting the conversation down once they saw the look on Joel’s face, which you had somehow missed.

The younger ladies… now, that was a different matter. As far as they were concerned, you either didn’t exist, or smelled bad. Some straight up suggested he joined their group for the event, eyeing you up and down, nose scrunched up in judgment, as if you were someone who was bothering him. Some just took his hand and started pulling. One lady literally offered to take him home and keep him warm. All while you were standing right there.

You knew you were no one to him, but hey, some courtesy? A man walking alone with a lady, maybe don’t try to fuck him while she was standing right there? Sheesh, the gall of these women. He, in his glorious grumpiness, somehow just ignored them all and turned his attention back to you, asking you if you needed anything. You were flummoxed, did he not see these people? Did you imagine them? And it seemed like he did this a lot, since they all just had a defeated look on their faces and shot you with a look that you knew would kill you if they stared hard enough. You had to suffer through all that, and that was with him just walking or standing next to you, not touching you. You can’t even imagine what they would do to you if he was. You’d probably be hexed on the spot.

Well, it turned out, you didn’t get hexed, or probably the hex just hadn’t matured and hit you yet, but you did get threatened.

The lady you saw at the bar came round, materializing in front of you and Joel out of nowhere when the two of you were in line for some pretzels. She had her arms crossed on her very cleavage-filled chest, which was out in the open for everyone to see, despite the ridiculously low temperature. Why even bother to wrap a scarf that thin around your neck if you were going to go practically topless?

“Joel,” she said, eyes giving you the once over.

“Angela,” Joel answered.

“So, you are free to come after all. I thought you were otherwise engaged,” she spat, clearly unhappy that he came with someone else.

“I said I have plans. This is my plan,” he said, his hand suddenly placed on the small of your back. You had to fight the urge to react. Play along, idiot. He was obviously doing this to get rid of her.

“Joel… come on baby… just… one more time? For old time’s sake? You know I’ll be very good to you…” her hand started snaking over his chest, trying to find a way in under his jacket.

Joel turned to you and told you he didn’t feel like pretzels anymore. Let’s go find something else? And he grabbed your hand, held it firmly in his, and pulled you away. You followed, not wanting to cause a scene. You walked around a little while, his hand still holding yours – she must still be watching – so you went with it.

By some miracle, you two managed to find a bench that was vacant. He asked you to wait there and went to get you some pastries from the vendor a few yards away. You were admiring the tree, imagining how good it would look when all lit up, when your arm was yanked roughly by that same woman.

“Listen to me, you gold digging English bitch, I have been trying to get that man all my life, and I am not going to let you steal him from underneath me, you understand? Go back to where you came from and find yourself some decrepit Lord to marry and leave my Joel alone. If you don’t, I’ll make sure that pretty face of yours…”

“Make sure that pretty face of hers, what, Angela?” Joel’s voice boomed from behind you. He was making no effort to quiet down. So much so, half the square got quiet, people craning their heads to see what was going on.

Angela looked around, looking embarrassed. From what you could see, people were not exactly huge fans of hers, the ladies giving her dirty looks and pulling their partners to look away. That’s… interesting.

“Angela, I made it very clear to you. I am not interested. I was polite, but I can stop being polite if you’d prefer. And for the record, I am not ‘your Joel’. I have never been ‘your Joel’ and will never be. Get that in your head. And if anything happens to her,” he stressed, arm wrapped around your waist, “I will make sure your name is at the top of the list at the PD.”

She clearly wanted to say something back, but thought better of it, and stomped off.

He immediately sat down next to you; arms protectively wrapped around your waist still. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

“No… who the heck was that?”

“I’ll tell you later. Here.” He gave you a paper bag with some buttery looking pastries inside. But he didn’t touch you again after that.

As it got closer to the lighting of the tree, it got a lot colder. You took out the blanket you brought and spread it over your and Joel’s laps. He looked concerned and asked you if you were warm enough. You took out your trusty hot water bottle and placed it between the two of you, your thighs wedging it in place. He laughed, sharing the warmth with you. Of course, that meant that the two of you had to sit very close together, not that you minded. The man radiated heat. And with his arm placed behind you on the backrest, you felt… comforted.

The tree was magnificent, as usual. But Joel missed the actual lighting. His attention was on you, at how you reacted when they lit it, how the reflection from the lights filled your features with wonder. Your eyes sparkled, your smile wide, joy clearly written all over your face.

He could stare at you forever.

When people started moving to leave, the two of you took your time, not wanting to rush. Neither wanted to be jostled around, but for the most part, neither of you really wanted to say goodbye that quickly. You really enjoyed his company, which was shocking, considering you seriously contemplated jumping out of the truck when you first arrived. But understanding why he behaved the way he did, although not an excuse, helped.

After about five minutes of driving, he apologized for what happened with Angela. She was someone he used to hook up with, back when Sarah was still a toddler. You knew this, Tess and Maria told you. But of course, you didn’t tell him that. He said he was lonely, sad that Cindy left him the way she did, and Angela was someone he had a crush on during high school. He made it clear to her that Sarah was his priority, that he was not looking for anything serious.

She said she understood, but her actions said otherwise. She hated it when Joel cancelled because Sarah was sick, or if he couldn’t make plans because it was Sarah’s birthday, or if she had a hospital appointment, and didn’t hide it from him. She hated that he never took her out, meeting in trucks or the bathroom at the Bison for their rendezvous. After about six months of this, she asked him to choose between her and Sarah. Of course, he chose Sarah. Easiest decision ever. She didn’t take it well, went to Vegas to ‘destress’, met someone at the high roller table, and married him the very next morning, apparently.

The man left her for someone younger just last year, the post nuptial agreement she was forced to sign ensured she received nothing in the divorce. So, she came back to town, moved back in with her mother, tail between her legs, and tried her luck with Joel again. He had been fending her off ever since, albeit politely. Maria later told you that she tried to get Tommy too before they married, the Millers were well off, their ranch doing well, and she was just trying to find her next pot of gold. She had basically tried to get her claws on any well to do men in town, whether or not they were wearing a ring did not matter to her.

Ah… you thought then, the gold digger comment made sense now. Project much, lady?

Joel apologized for taking your hand in his and placing his hand on your waist. He just wanted her to leave the two of you alone, and what he did might have helped that happen.

Oh.

Yeah… you had a hunch… but you didn’t expect the pang of disappointment that hit you upon hearing that. Silly girl. What did you expect? You met a month ago. And you hardly talked to him until today. Sheesh. Get out of your head and live in the real world, why don’t you. He literally just told you he wasn’t looking for anything serious. And you were meant to be here for a year. So, let it go.

He’s your new friend. Just like Tess and Penny and Maria and Tommy and Bill and Frank and Mrs Adler and Ellie. Just a friend. Your very grumpy, jaw-droppingly good looking and sexy rancher friend.

But a friend, nonetheless.

When he dropped you off, he asked if you had any plans for Christmas, if the two of you could spend it together? You heartily agreed, partly because you did enjoy spending time with him today, and partly because the thought of being alone for Christmas made you feel too sad. He nodded and said good night before getting back in his truck and driving off.

You leaned on the railing on your deck and looked at the stars.

“Well, Benny, looks like I won’t be alone for Christmas after all. I miss spending Christmas with you, but at least I’ve got a friend to spend it with tomorrow.”

You saw a flash of Benny’s face in your head, rolling his eyes at you.

“What? He’s a friend!”

Another eyeroll.

Oh shut up Benny.

“Love you, old man, miss you so much I can’t breathe.”

---

There’s a very loud roar outside. Far enough away that you could still hear yourself think, but nowhere near quiet enough that you could go back to sleep. You made your usual cup of tea and went out on your deck to enjoy your first white Christmas morning.

Holy fuck.

White, so white. Blindingly white. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground. Pretty, white, fluffy snow. Untouched. Virginal. So much of it that the deck went straight from wood to snow, the two steps you needed to take to get off the deck no longer visible. God how you wish Benny was here. He would be complaining endlessly about the snow, but you just missed him so much you would take anything, even if it’s just him rambling about how useless and inconvenient snow could be.

The roaring sound came closer. A snowplow was making its way down the road to you. That’s odd, you didn’t know anyone was working today. As it made it’s slow and steady way to you, you realized Joel was driving it. His face concentrating on the path, making sure the heavy machinery didn’t stray.

Joel Miller driving heavy machinery. In his flannel. Plowing.

Fuck. Get that out of your head you weirdo.

You were stuck on that deck. Just staring at him clear the road. When he finally got to your yard, he stopped, cut the engine, and jumped out, a shovel in his hands. His ‘good morning’ sounded underwater to you. Why did he have a shovel in his hands?

And he began shoveling a path from the plow to your steps.

Damn it Miller.

You could see his muscles work underneath that soft looking flannel. The veins and muscles in his neck straining as he shoveled scoop after scoop of snow easily, clearing your front yard, making walking feasible. He didn’t speak much, just focused on his work, and after a while he straightened up and looked at you with a hesitant, shy look on his face, his mouth moving, but no sounds came out of those plush, soft looking, very pink lips that peeked out of his moustache and scruff. You wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

“Amelia?”

Huh?

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you have coffee filters.”

Oh. No. But Frank had gotten you one of those French press thingies for Christmas. He said that maybe you could use it to make more than one cup of tea at a time. He’d lost patience at the amount of time it took for you to make a cup of tea. You told him you used teabags. Not lose tea. Well, you can just dump a bunch of teabags in there, couldn’t you? You remembered staring at him with horror. Tea, much less teabags, in a French press? And then what? Just leave the teabags in there as your tea got colder and colder? And were you expected to drink this cold tea? What next? Rip open the bags so you could have loose tea? Sacrilege darling.

“Can I trouble you for a cup of coffee? It’s colder than I thought.”

Hmm? Oh yes, yes. Yes of course.

He followed you inside. He meddled with the stove a bit while you boiled some fresh water for his coffee, and before long you had a roaring fire in your stove, warming the room up even more than it was. Once the water boiled, you took the French press and stared at it and the can of coffee – unsure what to do next. You looked at him for help. He laughed and made the coffee himself, letting it steep for a bit before pressing the filter down. He asked for a mug, and you gave him the middle-sized of the three thermal containers that he had gifted you for Christmas. He looked at it apprehensively and told you he had never used one of those before. It felt odd.

You told him it would change his life. Hot coffee that stayed hot for longer? Maybe it’ll take the grump out of him yet.

He laughed and said okay. He stayed for a bit, taking a few sips of the coffee, chatting about the snow. It turned out he had been up since 5, feeding the animals and working the stables, cowshed and chicken coops, since no one was working today.

“You should’ve woken me, I could’ve helped,” you said, feeling guilty the man had to do all that alone.

He shook his head; he’s used to it. Been doing it since he was a teenager.

Sheesh. No wonder his body looked like that, despite his claims that he didn’t work out.

He left after about five more minutes of small talks, telling you he’ll be back around noon. You followed him out, thanked him for shoveling snow off your yard, and watched as he placed the cup in the cupholder, rolling his eyes, telling you he never thought he’d use that slot, ever, and drove off with a silly grin on his face.

He brought the cup back when he came over. You told him he could keep using it, you seldom use that size, and he took some time contemplating it before saying okay with a painful look on his face, though you didn’t understand why. You later found out that the ladies had been trying to get him to use one, since he often complained about not having a hot cup of coffee when working, having to go back to the hall to get another cup throughout the day. But in his glorious grumpiness, he had always refused. Oh the teasing he had to endure, unbeknownst to you at the time, when they noticed him carrying one to go to work, refusing to tell them where he had gotten it from, saying that evidently, he just needed the right lady to give him the push to use one. In this case, the pretty, British accented, vet lady, who happened to use a smaller, matching one.

He had rolled his eyes at them, only to smile to himself when he turned and walked away.

The two of you spent Christmas day cooking, eating, and watching old Christmas movies back-to-back. It was nice. When not grumpy, you learned, Joel Miller was a funny man. Very easy-going and light-hearted, someone who took a joke well. He endured your must-see Jane Austen based movie that you always watched on Christmas, and even teared up a bit when the main lady character sobbed as the main guy confessed his love to her, a bit that always got you and Benny in pieces every time you watched it. It made Joel Miller seem real. Like you saw the real him.

After yet another plate of fettuccini, you asked if he would go on a walk with you. You needed one, or you might throw up in bed. He didn’t hesitate, and walked with you, taking to a path you had never been to before, to a spot at the edge of the property, where a bench sat between two massive oak trees, overlooking rolling hills and fields, currently covered in white.

Wow.

You couldn’t help yourself.

“Merry Christmas Benny, miss you. Wish you were here, even if you would hate the cold.”

Joel said Merry Christmas to Benny too.

“Who’s Benny? I heard you talk to him before.”

“My uncle. He took me in when my parents died. That’s how I came to live in LA. He lived there. I was twelve.”

“He’s the uncle who passed? The one in the pictures at your place?”

“Yeah. I guess I found my new Benny place.”

“What’s a Benny place?”

“I talk to him sometimes. At night. This feels like a good place to do that.”

“Hmm…” he said as he sat next to you, taking in the view in the moonlit darkness. “What do you talk to him about?”

“Everything. Just as I would when he was alive. He was my best friend. We used to have this hammock in our backyard, he got it so I could talk to my parents. I was so miserable when I first moved to LA, and he said that they were in the stars, and that I could talk to them anytime I needed to. Ask them questions, tell them my troubles and worries, he encouraged it. Over time the hammock just became the place for us to hang out on, and just be with each other.”

“You said you asked them questions?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know if they answered?”

“I dunno. Sometimes, I feel like they don’t, and it could get frustrating, but then, I would just know what to do. Like this confidence in what I should do just came, out of nowhere, when that option felt off before.”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Do you think it helps? Talking to them?”

You shrugged.

“Maybe it’s bullshit, but I feel comforted and loved when that happens. Like I’m not so alone after all. Like they really did hear me. Even if they didn’t, it helps. At the very least, I got everything out of my system. And now, I talk to Benny too. Been doing it from the deck, but this feels like a more suitable place for it.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence.

“You know, old man, you’re getting grumpier by the day. And yet, I will love you more and more with every second that passes,” he suddenly said, slowly, deliberately, calculatedly, as if reciting some dialogue of a Shakespearean tragedy.

You looked at him, confusion clear on your face.

“That was the last thing Sarah said to me before she left for school that day. She was hanging off me that morning, hugging me, climbing my back, showering me in kisses, being clingy, and I kept telling her Penny’s waiting for her, and I had to get to work. She giggled, gave me one more sloppy kiss on my cheek and said that. That was the last time I saw my little girl alive.”

He looked at you, his eyes glistening with tears. You took his hands in yours, your own teary eyes fixed on him, telling him everything you were feeling with that look. It felt like nothing you could say would ever convey how sorry you were. He smiled slightly, covering your hands with his, nodding slightly, telling you he understood.

“I’ve never talked to her. Even at her grave. I hardly visit. I couldn’t.”

“It’s not easy. I can’t even imagine.”

“She was my everything. My entire life’s plan was around her. My work here, my free time, my holidays, retirement, even what snacks I eat at home. All around her. I remember waking up the next day, later than usual. She’s the early riser, she usually wakes me up. And I thought, what’s the use of waking up? What do I do now that she’s gone? Who do I make breakfast for? What do I do when I have free time? Who do I plan my holidays around? Where should I go when I retire? What snacks do I eat now that she’s gone? How do I decide what to buy? I haven’t even gone out for fun since she passed. The bar, the Christmas Tree Lighting. I just stopped. My world stopped.”

He broke down. This big, stoic, grumpy man who made you cry the first time you met him, broke down in tears. You stood up, got in front of him and hugged him, as much as you could. He wrapped his arms around your waist and cried into your jacket, his body shaking from his sobs. You held on to him, letting him cry it all out. You wondered if he had ever done that, the man seemed bottled up, like he wouldn’t let anyone see him this vulnerable.

He finally let go of you after a few minutes, wiping his face, taking deep breaths, calming himself down, thanking you for letting him do that, saying sorry for you having to see him like that. You shook your head as you sat back down next to him.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s good to let it all out sometimes. So long as I don’t end up on my arse on a cold pavement, I’m okay to hear anything.”

He laughed. “God I was such a jerk. I’m sorry.” He gave you such an honest and pleading look you felt a warm sensation running through your body.

“I already forgave you, you dork.”

“Did you just call me a dog?”

You laughed. “No, you idiot. A dork. D.O.R.K. Dork.”

“Well, there’s an R in there, you know. You could’ve just pronounced it. Just saying,” he said, standing up, and offering his hand to help you get up.

“Oh, I’m sitting comfy on a bench, and he offered a hand. I was on my arse on a fucking freezing sidewalk at the airport and he just smirked. Such a gentleman!”

He laughed out loud as the two of you made your way back to the cabin. He came back in to make sure your stove was well lit. As he was leaving, he turned around and thanked you. He felt better. A weight was lifted, he said.

“I’m not sure what I did exactly, but you’re welcome. Glad I could help.”

“Is it okay if I come hang out tomorrow?”

“Sure. Noon-ish? I’ll cook?”

He nodded, tipped his imaginary hat at you, and left.

He walked home feeling as if his chest was much emptier and fuller at the same time. He had never cried in front of someone like that before. Ever since Cindy left, he had always been careful when it came to showing emotion, worried that Sarah might think less of him, or felt less safe if he showed any vulnerability. Everyone had been walking on eggshells around him since Cindy left, more so when Sarah died. As if he would break at any moment. Like he was fragile. Somehow, he didn’t feel like that with you. Ever since the two of you made up, he never felt like he had to hide anything from you. Crying like a child in front of you, that was something he never thought he would ever do, and there he was, sobbing into your jacket on Christmas day. He didn’t feel ashamed of it, even.

He made his way upstairs and got ready for bed. He put on a hoodie and went out to the balcony of his bedroom. He lit a cigarette, smiling to himself, thinking about the past two days that he spent with you. He took another drag and looked up at the clear night sky.

Maybe he should try what you did. It couldn’t hurt, right?

He took a deep breath.

“Hi BabyGirl. It’s been so long.”

He stopped talking, taking in the silence that surrounded him. He suddenly smiled and stubbed out the cigarette.

“Fine, fine, sorry, I forgot. No smoking when talking to you.”

In his mind, he saw Sarah laugh, her eyes rolling in faux annoyance. He leaned on the railing and began telling her about his wonderful Christmas day.

---

Part 7

[theficpusher]

If This Is To End In Fire by Jiksa | E | 4306 Apocalypse makes it sound a lot more glamorous than it actually is.

It's Been a Minute Since I Called You by winterschild | nr | 5336 “Hi, mum. It’s been a minute since I called ya. I know you won’t get this, but I’m going to leave a message anyway.” He didn’t want to feel alone. In order to cope with grief, Louis has been paying for his mum's phone so he can leave her voicemails to calm him down. One day, when he forgets to pay her bill, the number disconnects and is later given to Harry Styles, a baker with a kind heart. On a drunken night, Louis leaves another voicemail, but how will Harry respond to this man, who sounds so broken? OR This is a self-indulgent, Louis centric fic about grief and a very kind person who takes concern for the small Doncaster boy with a somewhat broken heart.

Always Keep You Next To Me by lululawrence | nr | 8325 Louis jumped when the passenger side door opened and Greg somehow folded his entire lanky frame into the car. “Hey, thanks for waiting for me,” Greg said with a small smile before buckling up. “Do I get the honor?” Right. Louis couldn’t drive safely with Will’s remains in his arms. It was just ever since his mom had handed the urn over to him last night, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to let it go. He’d even curled up around it on Will’s childhood bed as he called his cell over and over again, just to hear his voice once more. Fuck. When Louis' twin dies, Louis decides to take the birthday road trip they were meant to take together with Will's best friend Greg instead. As they both mourn Will's death and celebrate his life, Louis and Greg become closer and maybe start to heal a little bit too.

Keep Driving by dead_tobeginwith | M | 11726 The first time Louis picks him up, it’s raining. He slides into the backseat smelling like hospital, like plasters and cleaning products and burnt coffee. He shuts the door and leans against the window, folding his arms protectively across his chest. He sighs heavily and closes his eyes. There’s a crease between his brows. It must have been a long day. Louis feels it when one of his knobby knees starts bobbing an uneasy rhythm. Bad news, then. Or waiting for bad news. Sometimes purgatory is the worst kind of hell. Either way, he says nothing. Louis watches his breath fog the window in the rearview mirror. When he drops him at the station, there’s a little frowny face fading in the misted glass. _________ OR Louis works as a driver contracted through the local cancer institute. All of his clients are associated with the hospital—mostly patients and their families heading home. One rainy afternoon, he picks up Harry.

You Might Want to Marry My Husband by Rearviewdreamer | nr | 24528 When Harry’s husband dies, he asks one thing of him; to find love and happiness again without him. It’s a request that Harry is happy to disregard, until he meets the one person who is impossible to ignore.

like a timebomb ticking by infinitelymint | M | 31734 Louis loses everything. Harry's still there.

we should open up (before it's all too much) by disgruntledkittenface | M | 43129 “I’m not–” Harry breaks off, his voice strangled as he clutches his phone in his hand. He takes a breath and looks up, trying to keep the tears threatening to spill over at bay. “Louis, I’m not very good company these days. I–” “Harry,” Louis interrupts, his raspy voice soft and soothing. “I get it. Sometimes it’s just easier to be alone, yeah?” Harry nods, blinking back the last of his tears. “But it can get lonely,” Louis states. Harry nods again even though it wasn’t a question, finally looking back at him. “So why don’t we try being alone, together?” Struggling with grieving and depression since his dad died, Harry has never felt so alone. It’s too much to cope with on his own, but he feels like a burden when he tries to open up with people. Then he meets Louis.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody by 28sunflowers | E | 58700 After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of. Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening. But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

shelter as we go by fondleeds | nr | 75094 Louis looks at him like his words might break him, glass about to splinter, one wrong footfall away from shattering into a million tiny pieces. “Hey,” Harry breathes, and he knows, meeting Louis’ eyes, that his words could break him easy as anything. He almost wants Louis to bring his boot down. - AU. Nova Scotia, 1968.

[acaaai-t]

3 months and counting

[modern au! scaramouche x gn! reader]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, hints at suicide, probably unhealthy coping methods idk

The taste of bitter coffee and overly sweetened scent of dandelion tea lingered, lingered for a little longer than he liked.

Wilted flowers lay by a small vase of fresh ones. The pile of dead flowers seemed to grow bigger with each passing day.

The house was dim, with the only source of light being a weakly lit candle surrounded by empty dishes and untouched cutlery on the dining table. For a place that had felt so big not too long ago, it suddenly seemed to be so small.

Scaramouche hummed quietly to himself as he gently dusted at the debris that clung onto the picture frames. His touch was delicate as his fingers brush against the cold glass. The tune he has been singing echoed off the walls, traveling down the silent hallway.

How long has it been? He wonders.

Three days? A week? Two weeks? Scaramouche had long lost count.

Once he was sure that the picture frame was clean, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. In this empty house, the only thing that stood out most was the wall of what Scaramouche called ‘memories’. Golden frames surrounded photos of all kind, taken by you and hung by him.

He misses you.

On most days, Scaramouche would stay huddle in what once was a shared bedroom, buried deep beneath the blankets, scrolling through past messages. Dark circles heavily marked his under eyes, a stark contrast to his porcelain pale skin.

For the first month, he was a utter mess. Unable to process the tragic news of your sudden death.

It had just felt like yesterday, when the two of you were just out on a date, laughing and giggling.

The world was mocking him, taunting and laughing, watching the hallow shell of the man he once was as he stood there alone in the cemetery. Flowers previously placed by your grave was removed and tossed away, replaced by a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers.

The night you were buried under the willow tree, was the only night he had ever worked up the courage to sit by your grave, and wallow in the despair.

“I miss you,” the three words etched into his mind, quietly spoken into the empty void.

What about the plans you’ve made with him? The promises of a happy ending, a beautiful future.

Gone… all gone, far too soon.

“Will we get a cat too?” your voice was eager, full of hope.

Scaramouche smiled and pressed a small kiss to your temple. “Whatever you want.”

You giggled. “Let’s get a black cat then. I can see the resemblance between you and them.”

“Hey,” he whined.

You beamed up at him. “I love you.”

How he wished time could’ve stopped right there and then, allowing that precious moment to last for an eternity.

“I love you too.”

God, it was so fucking unfair. Why did you have to be the one to die?

It could’ve been anyone else, but you just had to be there at the wrong time.

He slumped down on the empty couch, cushions and throw blankets sitting in the same spot as before. Scaramouche didn’t dare touch anything. He was scared— terrified that if he even so as much move anything a centimeter away, he’ll lose the remaining parts of you that he had so desperately been trying to cling onto.

Scaramouche had already lost you once, he couldn’t lose you for a second time.

The soft golden glow of the ceiling lights flickered in and out for a brief moment, a sign that the electrical bill was long overdue. It was fortunate enough that the landlord took pity upon him and gave Scaramouche an extension to pay his bills.

3 months.

It’s been three whole months since the accident. Three months since he’s shut himself off from the outside world. Three months he spend crying and grieving, fantasizing scenarios of you and him. He knows it’ll never come true, but he can only hope.

Head barely above water, the bits of hope he has is all that’s supporting his weight, preventing him from drowning. Yet as the clock moves, he finds himself sinking lower and lower.

Two hollow knocks to his door startled him out of his trancelike state. “Who,” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

When the answer was delivered with another two knocks, he spoke louder. “What.”

“Scaramouche,” the muffled voice of Childe floated through the thick wood. “Open the door.”

He scowled, body already moving before his mind had even processed Childe’s words. The door cracked open with a soft creak, a silver of the sunlight spilling into the dark house. Scaramouche squeezed his eyes closed, momentarily blinded by the light. It’s been so long since he’s seen the sun.

Childe’s shadow stepped in and blocked out the light. He gave Scaramouche a tired smile. “Archons you look like shit.”

Scaramouche said nothing and kept his silent gaze on him.

The ginger sighed. “I was hoping you’d come visit… them, with us.”

There were no names mentioned, yet Scaramouche almost instantly knew who Childe was referring to. He felt his body tense up.

“Look, I’m not trying to force you or anything, but we all miss them, and you too, ‘mouche… you haven’t talked with any of us in three month now.”

Guilt gnawed at his heart, eating away yet another piece.

He hadn’t meant to neglect his friends. None of the things he was doing was intentional.

“… I’m sorry,” he whispered, lowering his gaze, unable to keep eye contact with Childe. He fear that if he continued, tears would begin to formulate, and there’d be nothing to stop them from flowing.

“Mind if I come in?” Childe’s voice softened.

Scaramouche felt tears prickling at his eyes. Childe placed one hand on his shoulder, gently giving a pat— and that was what finally broke him. The water droplets fell uncontrollably, rolling down his cheeks. A pitiful sight to behold.

Childe pulled him into a hug and remained quiet. There wasn’t much he could say to comfort Scaramouche’s pain. Everyone was still grieving, him included.

His quiet sniffles slowly died down. Just this one time, he thought to himself, wiping away at a tear. It’s the least he can do.

“Let me get my things,” Scaramouche’s voice was hoarse. A pain-like expression was scrawled across his features as he pulled away from Childe and step back into the shadows of his home.

There wasn’t much he needed to do to get ready. He’d given up on life the moment he was given the news that you didn’t make it. Why he had been fighting for so long, he didn’t understand.

He threw on a simple black cardigan, it was a handmade gift from you to him. In your words, it took you a week and a half to make it— “i hope you’ll like it,” you said sheepishly.

Of course he’ll love it. Cherish it even till death.

He took in a deep breath and went to look for Childe. The medications stored in his pockets jangled against the hard plastic with each step he took.

The last strands of hope snapped, and he sunk. Bubbles floating to the surface as his darkened silhouette slowly disappeared under the void of water.

Tonight, he decided. Tonight, he’ll be able to see you again.

The lights sputtered out as Scaramouche flipped the switch. With the last bits of power it has, the lights illuminated the series of letter sprawled across the glass coffee table— each one address to someone dear to him.

Then it all went dark.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— this was fun to write

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[de4dlyniightshade]

nice things spencer has done for JJ:

- invited her to events outside of work

- been a good godfather to her son (offering to babysit, bonding with him, etc)

- been concerned when she was hurt, counting her injuries and generally being worried

- helped her get closure on the man who tortured her in afghanistan and listened when she expressed her anger and hurt at the situation

- many more things

nice things JJ has done for spencer:

- ???

(your post got me thinking lol…)

lemme make a list rq

things spencer has went out of his way to do for jj:

swallowed his feelings so she didn't feel bad about leaving him at the barn.

let her confide in him about countless things over and over.

did nothing but be a good godfather to her kid, who loves him dearly, probably more so than his mother!

showed genuine real concern when she was hurt.

invited her to a sports game bcs SHE likes sports and he wanted to hang out with her even though he hates sports.

showed up for her even when he was still grieving the "death" of emily.

never second guessed her.

made sure she was included and invited to things even if she turned it down.

put on a smile just so she wouldn't worry about him.

gave her all the support she needed whenever she needed it no mather how much he was struggling.

bad things spencer has done to jj:

was a little sassy.

good things jj has done for spencer:

gave him a little hug like once.

celebrated his birthday.

bad things jj has done to spencer:

killed him.

lied to him.

broke his trust.

gaslit him.

was ableist to him.

belittled him.

invalidated his feelings.

watched him suffer and did nothing.

never apologised for being the reason he almost relapsed.

laughed at his interests.

didn't visit him in hospital.

took her anger out on him.

undermined his abilities to do even basic things.

basically told him to shut up multiple times.

ruined his life.

confessed her love to him after all of the above.

ladies and gentleman, the fucking audacity!