#some questions repeated but I removed double answers

[flamingpudding]

He's my clockwork appointed babysitter, not dad.

They failed, even they managed to beat all the cultist in time. The ritual was still completed. The leader was laughing like a maniac until Hood hit him hard with the butt of his gun, knocking the guy out cold finally. With held breaths, they watched how smoke rose from the ritual circle higher and higher until it started to form a black shadow with stars as eyes and too many teeth and limps. Batman was on his way with Constantine. Maybe they could at least contain whatever that was until they arrived.

"Who in the name of all good and holy dared to summon me?!" A static scratchy voice echoed in their ears.

No one dared to answer at first but of course Red I-fear-nothing Hood had to open his mouth earning him death glares from his siblings. "Aren't you like a demon? Why would you mention anything good and holy?"

That think was blinking at them and Tim did a double take when that think moved its many limps like it was rubbing the back of its neck.

"In the name of all bad and cursed then?" It sounded unsure still a booming echo like voice but unsure. They shared a look. Dick opened his mouth, ready to say something when suddenly a familiar voice shouted from behind them.

"Cut the crap kid! They are the Batsie and his birds belong to the good!"

They turned to see Constantine marching in with Batman right behind him. The man was throwing the but of his cigarette way as he went right up to that demon. Which apparently was not one because right as the Brite was up to it a puff of greenish some blocked their view for a moment before a white haired child stood where the demon had been seconds ago.

"The hell you doing out here kid. I told you to stay at home."

"You try resisting a summon when your all new to the fact that you can get summoned!"

"Your going to make my hair gray faster, you little chaos gremlin."

"Aw love you too!"

"Uh Constantine?" They had question of of them was that Constantine was apparently familiar with that child, demon, whatever.

"Right." The man lit another cigarette but before he could even take one drag of it he side eyed the child staring up at him before he flicked it to the side. "Bats my demon son, Danny the Bats."

"Demon son?"

"Actually I am-" They watched how Constantine covered the child's, Danny's, mouth with his hand shushing the boy.

"What did I tell you about interdimensional secrets? That's right, do not talk about them to just anyone. We are not repeating the Green Lantern incident."

Should they feel offended? It felt like they should. They weren't just anyone.

"Constantine." Batman gruffly warned, but the man held up one hand towards them. Batman was definitely offended that Green Lantern got to learn something he wasn't getting to know on Constantine's watch.

"One moment Batsie. I need to- did you gremlin just lick my hand?!"

The moment Constantine removed his hand the child stuck his tongue out at the JL Dark member and made a break for it to hide behind Batman.

"Get back here you little..."

"No! I am always stuck at home, and you promised me I would get to see the watchtower at last month!"

Batman blocked Constantine from getting to who was apparently the man's demon son. Staring at the man as the boy grinned in triumph.

"Mate get out of the way, this kid needs to get grounded again."

"For what?"

"Being a chaos gremlin that won't listen."

The rest of the batfam had only one burning question on their mind. "Which demon was willing enough to have a child with Constantine?"

Well, except for Tim who had caught the little tidbit of interdimensional secret and was wondering who Danny really was.

[bon2bonn]

Don't Hold Your Breath

22!f1!grid X female!driver!reader

Words count : 9##?, 1k, Maybe 🤷🏻‍♀️.

Warnings: not proof read , grammar.

Fireworks went off as she crossed the finish line in first place, about 24 seconds ahead of the second place that was taken by max and over 35 seconds ahead of Lewis in third.

The radio cracked as the message went through congratulating her on the win " that was P1 , P1 Y/N , well done " she hummed in reply while flexing her wrists as she drove her cooling lap before pitting in the assigned P1 spot and moved calmly to climb out her car , stretching her back before heading straight to get weight then to the stand where she discarded off her helmet and gloves then took a towel to dry her face and hands after she washed them with cool water , moving to sit on the said stand in waiting for the other two drivers who got out of their respective cars and went to their awaiting teams behind the barricades .

She kicked her legs back and forth in boredom , leaning her weigh back on her hands as she watched her team cheering for her teammate as he reached them then took another drink of water , waiting for the day to be over with .

Max stood before her with a bewildered face and nudged her to make space to sit beside her " you ...... What had gotten into you?! " She only shrugged and offered him a bottle which he took and drank it all while he was still looking at her " who pissed you off ? " she gave him a pointed look then shrugged again " you could take some guesses , might all be correct " he nod cautiously before he was called to get interviewed,. before the podium, switching with Lewis who congratulate her with the same bewildered look " you scare the shit out of me out there! " She nod at him with a shrug then removed the towel from her head to undo the braids of her hair and covered it again , huffing when it was her turn to go .

She took the mic and waited for the questions, and they didn't disappoint " what a spectacular race Y/N ! P15 to P1! How does it feel? " She waited for the crowd to calm after a long minute then replied calmly " not much honestly " he cleared his throat and asked again " and what a comeback we witnessed today! A redemption as some might say . How's the car with the new upgrades and the ...." She cuts him off with a deadpanned stare " what redemption ? . They kept on questioning and I gave them an answer . By a holly grace it might actually shut them up this time , but a girl could only hope " she rolled her eyes before fixing them on still standing Merc team behind the host and pointed out " And by the way , I didn't get any upgrades this round " he asked with raised eyebrows " pardon ? " She tilted her head and repeated " there weren't any upgrades on my car throughout the last two races, there was meant to be on this round but for some reason there weren't approved yet " he stuttered then concluded with " well it seems like you didn't need them today after all ......ah . Anything else to add ? " She shrugged with a relaxed smirk " those RB and Aston Martin contracts looks pretty good right now " making heads turn her way as the host struggled to hold his voice steady but he concluded " Well , congratulations on the win and we wish you all the best " she nod then handed the mic back .

The other two were already seated in the cool down room , waiting for her arrival as they were looking at the highlights, sharing a look of deadpan between them with the double overtake she made up to P5 where she almost slammed the wall while being pressured by checo , then at the jump her car took when Lando pumped her left back tire on the second turn , it was something to watch to the end and when she sat down on the vacant chair they turned to stare at her as she took another bottle of water along with a towel to dry her hair then used it to cover her face as she leaned back and got comfortable as if nothing happened .

She stood on the podium with her hands clapped behind her back as her national anthem played , followed by the German anthem, then shook a couple of hands as they handed out the trophies , she congratulate the other two , turned to look up at balcony above them and held her trophy with a wide grin for the flashing cameras , and picked up her given champagne bottle and head out , nodding at other teams who congratulate her and beelined to the Mercedes garage with a purpose . She paused by the Red Bull garage for a moment and held her champagne bottle when Horner took notice of her standing there , in turn he tipped his hat in acknowledgement, both turned and went on with their day .

Her head was held high when she slammed the trophy on top of the table, right infront of Toto who locked his jaw when she flashed her award winning smile sweetly at him as she nod to the trophy " you can keep it , but don't hold your breath , it won't be the last " then headed to her side where her engineer sat back and reviewed some data , and held the bottle with a beaming smile watching him look between her and the bottle before he took it with a tired sigh then scolded " you! , you give me gray hair " she snorted and pointed out " what hair are you talking about!? You're as bold as an egg ! " He rolled his eyes and accused " I lost it trying to not lose my marbles on a daily basis with you as my driver! " She awed and nudged this shoulder with hers " you know you love me " it was his turn to scoff " yeah yeah , and the pay is another bounce " she gasped dramatically " you're only in it for the money?! " He deadpanned at her after popping the bottle and took a long sip " no , I'm in it for your sparkling personality " both glared at eachother before bursting out laughing .

[221beloved]

Acorn, Chestnut, Pine Cone

(Link to ao3)

“John?”

John turned his eyes away from the trees, which were slowly changing their colour at this time of year, to look at Sherlock, walking next to him. “Yes, love?”

“They are eating gingerbread.”

“What?” John didn’t see anyone eating gingerbread, nor did he understand what Sherlock wanted to tell him with that observation.

“There!” Sherlock nodded to their left, and indeed, there was a couple sitting on a bench, happily munching, an open packet of gingerbread standing next to them.

John frowned. “Okay. And… what now?”

Sherlock turned to stare at him, his eyes wide, his expression almost shocked.

“John!” he called out in disbelief. “They, are eating, gingerbread!”

“Yes…?” John really didn’t get the point. “We’ve established that. What now?”

“It’s warm enough for them to sit on a bench in the park, yet they are eating gingerbread, John! Christmas is two months away!”

John blinked at the man, a little surprised at Sherlock’s outburst, then broke into giggles and nudged Sherlock’s hip.

“Wow, I knew that you pretend you don’t like Christmas, but that you’re so sensitive to people eating food that’s associated with the season, wow…”

Sherlock huffed next to him. “I do not pretend not to like it. I don’t have to.”

John tilted his head. “You seem contend enough when we’re decorating and having a nice time.”

“Well, you do like Christmas, for some reason that I cannot fathom, and since I like you there is some kind of… acceptance towards it.”

John grinned. “Hm, yes. Acceptance.”

“But only when it’s spend with you,” Sherlock added. “Only you. Well okay, Mrs. Hudson can come up as well if she needs to, but more I just can’t withstand!”

“Hm, I think your mother usually starts calling you in early October to ask you to attend Christmas dinner, right? Shouldn’t be long until her first call.”

“Don’t remind me,” Sherlock grumbled in remembrance of the yearly tradition of her asking and him refusing until the last possible moment.

“You know, it would be much easier if you’d just tell her, yes mummy, I will attend Christmas dinner, thank you for the invitation, yes I will bring John, yes, no gifts this year.”

“It would be much easier if she wouldn’t call me two times a week for almost two months to pester me about the same thing.”

“But would you come then?”

Sherlock decidedly didn’t answer that question, instead he kicked a chestnut that had the audacity to lay on the way.

“Oi!” John blurted. “Don’t you dare treat chestnuts like that.”

Sherlock looked up at him in confusion. “What?”

“We used to build little figurines out of them.”

Sherlock only blinked at him. “What?” he repeated dumbly.

“Didn’t you? In primary school? They’d give you chestnuts, sometimes acorns, some toothpicks, and then you could build little chestnut men. I’ll show you a picture when we’re home.”

“That’s…” Sherlock lifted his brows almost appreciatively and nodded. “That’s surprisingly ridiculous. Bordering on hideous, even for primary school.”

John chuckled. “No! It was a very serious matter for us. Once one of us had found the first chestnut of the year we’d look forward to the day our teacher would come to class with a bag of them.”

Sherlock eyed him with a strange look, shaking his head. “I can’t believe that I’m sharing a flat with you, let alone my bed.”

John’s grin turned to a soft smile. “It’s because you love me, you nutter.”

“Yes. Yes I do. And I’ll never stop. Well, as long as you don’t start building those chestnut things again.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then both doubled over with laughter.

The rest of the way home was without any more disturbances, chestnuts and Christmas forgotten for the moment.

--

Please tell me if you want to be added or removed from the list

@flufftober @meetinginsamarra @a-victorian-girl @lisbeth-kk @topsyturvy-turtely

@keirgreeneyes @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @221bug

[lbibliophile-sw]

Proof of ID

Also on AO3 [710w] @ailesswhumptober - day 20: accidental de-aging, "I'm not qualified for this shit" @corrieweek - day 3: "you shouldn't be here"

Fox lets himself slump as he climbs into the covered Guard speeder, finally escaping the top-priority meeting on… whatever it was. Thorn and Thire were also there – a waste, of resources, honestly, thankfully Stone was able to escape – so they can catch him up on anything actually important. It’s not like the natborns listen to their advice half the time anyway.

“Hey Fox, are you ok? Only, you were quieter than usual in there.”

“’m fine, Thire. Just tired.”

And he is, down to his bones. The sort of tired that comes from a multi-day blackout mission that has him ‘waking up’ only to face the entirety of his usual gruelling double shift ahead of him. He wants nothing more than to collapse on his bunk for a solid six hours, but instead, he has meetings, and datawork backlog, and whatever else comes up… Just the mere thought is enough for him to remove his helmet and rub at his aching eyes.

“Trooper!” Fox stiffens reflexively at Thorn’s Command voice, despite having spent the past two years as the highest-ranked clone on-planet. “Why are you wearing Commander Fox’s armour?”

Fox blinks at him, struggling to push his sluggish brain into gear. Why… is he wearing… his armour? Because it’s his? And he’s on duty?

“Oh! Is Fox alright? I mean, obviously not, since he sent you in his place. But I’m assuming he’s with Zontal? Or wait, is he not all back yet after the blackout? It has been longer than usual so I guess that might be a struggle.”

What?

“I have to say, you did a pretty good job of copying his body language. Until you took the helmet off, I really did think that it was just Fox having an off day; most people wouldn’t have noticed anything at all! How would you feel about being on call for a repeat performance? Anything to get Fox to rest occasionally.”

“Thire!” Thorn finally forces his way through the babbling. “Just, shut up. And you’re going straight to bunk when we get back, your triple-shift is showing. Now, Trooper, sitrep. And your name.”

“Uh, Fox?” It shouldn’t sound like a question – his name is the one answer he does have right now – but shouldn’t they know it too?

“It’s ok, you don’t have to keep pretending here. We sweep the speeders for bugs, and we already know you’re covering for him, besides –”

“Thire, enough. Let the shiny speak.”

“I’m not a shiny.” Thorn snorts.

“Maybe not a shiny, then. But you still can’t be more than, what, eight? Nine at a stretch?”

“I’m thirteen. I’m Fox. And you’re being mean. If this is revenge for saving your shebs when you tried to block that Senator’s access because you thought she was her own daughter…”

“What did you just say? No, seriously, I made Fox swear to never tell anyone about that.”

“I keep telling you I am Fox. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Ok. Ok. So, not body doubles, but Force osik. Maybe.” Thorn rummages in his belt pouches as he mutters to himself, finally pulling out some sort of case with a bright metal finish. “Here. I’m having a hard time believing you, because this is what you look like right now.”

Fox takes the case, holding it up so the smooth surface shows his reflection. He twists it back and forwards just to make sure. He raises his free hand to trace the smooth skin of his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, watching the movement in the improvised mirror.

“Thorn. Thorn, someone stole my face.”

Thire reaches back to awkwardly pat him on the knee.

“Look on the bright side, at least you still have your helmet. You keep it on most of the time anyway.”

“But it was my face!”

“Alrighty,” Thorn interrupts the impeding meltdown. He is in a speeder with three-quarters of Coruscant Guard Command, he should not be having flashbacks to Kamino and cadet-duty. “I’m driving us back to base. Then you two are going to go to sleep, while I have an adult conversation with Zontal to try and figure this out. Any further discussion can wait until after those steps are completed. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes Thorn.”

[moonlightdreamzz]

DUALITY W/ HONGJOONG (S)

REQUEST ✰ “Can you pls write one where he is super kind/nice and quiet in person but behind closed doors they're nasty asf & dominant😭 preferably w yunho, yuta, hongjoong, or mark)🥲or anybody you'd like! :D”

“You want more?”

The two of you are currently at the final destination of your double date—a buffet, and you’re absolutely stuffed. Hongjoong's eyes are warm and submissive as they search yours for a sincere answer, and yet, before you can utter a word he kisses your forehead tenderly before grabbing your cup and taking it to the nearby machine to refill it. You giggle as he walks away, embarrassed by how well he knows you. His prince charming act is also quite comedic, considering his handprint is still on your ass cheek from your festivities last night. It stings, real bad by the way. It doesn’t take long for him to return back to the table, your infamous drink combination filled to the brim of your cup.

“How does it feel to have the sweetest boyfriend in the world?” Your friend, Jaz, questions, which causes her date for the night, San, to bump her shoulder lightly in fake offense.

“Yeah, Y/N. How does it feel to have the sweetest boyfriend in the world?” Hongjoong repeats, his head titling in a manner that seems so innocent. His smirk even seems boyish as he places his straw in his mouth to hydrate, but under the table, his hand is rubbing the inside of your though seductively, encouraging you to answer wisely if you didn’t want to spend the rest of the night begging him to please you.

“Oh,” Your adorn, looking off into the distance dramatically, “He’s the best. I never have to ask for a thing. It’s like he can read my mind.”

His hand softly pats your leg, signifying that you did an outstanding job. He'd certainly whisper "good girl" in your ear if they weren't here, but that's okay. You're patient, and you know you'll be hearing that all night once the two of you go home—if he chooses to reward you tonight, of course.

The four of you continue wrapping up your dinner with you sharing some of your unhealthily sweet stories about your boyfriend. He of course is loving every second of it, but stays humble through your bragging.

“I just love her so much, you know? I just wanna do any and everything for her.” Is all he can respond verbally. His eyes say a multitude of things, though—some sentences you understand without question, and some you know will get answered soon.

The second the door locks behind Hongjoong in your apartment does he instruct you to go wash up, promising you that he’ll be there soon. You learned a long time ago that you can never trust what he says when he’s hungry for you, which is why you’re not surprised when he never shows up. After ensuring everything he may explore, or not, is clean, you put your silk robe on and head into your bedroom. There’s a multitude of objects spread out on your bed, and your knees become weak as you notice it’s all toys and objects that make your body scream in the best way. A shirtless Hongjoong is also on the bed, and you know he’s testing you.

“I want you.” You quickly spit out before he even gives you an option.

He stands, removing his clothes one by one while chuckling proudly. “I know.” He presses a painfully gentle kiss to the side of your head, staying there for a moment. “But you can’t have everything you want, remember?” He teases, “So I’m going to take a shower, and you’re going to pick a toy. When I come back out, are you gonna be ready?”

“Yes.” You breathe out.

He begins to walk away, and you know you should let him. You won tonight, but would you be you if you behaved?

“But doesn’t the best, sweetest boyfriend in the world, give his girl whatever she wants? Hm?”

The silence in the room is so thick, you don’t know how you’re still standing. The smirk on your face cannot be wiped away as you wait in anticipation for what he’s going to do next.

“You love talking shit, huh? Come back in the shower.” He demands, and you follow suit without hesitation, this time.

[josiebelladonna]

alright. kinktober prep is officially underway it looks like. after getting a major head start a couple of months ago, my nerves are completely frayed, but the stories will all be written and they’ll all queued up. all the pigs are all lined up, i give you all that you want, take the skin and peel it back-

i’m making this post to preface the event.

by the way, if you’re not into this and don’t wanna see the posts, please blacklist the “kinktober″ and “kinktober 2024” tags, as well as my personalized tag “antarkinktober”—this goes double if you’re under 18: it’s not my job to police you so heed the “mature” labels on all the stories. 

what is kinktober? definition from fanlore: “Kinktober is a multifandom prompt based challenge that encourages the creation of erotic fanworks, mostly fanfiction and fan art, that focus on specific kinks. Taking place during the month of October.” 31 days of smut at its bare bones—although, contrary to popular belief, kink actually need not be sexual.

what prompts are you using? my own, as well as a list from oops-all-kink. i’ve been planning this quite literally since may.

what does X prompt mean? i would recommend going to fetlife or urban dictionary to learn about kinks that sound unfamiliar (especially when Google is basically useless at this point and they feel a need to sanitize results, too)—fanlore also has a full glossary of fanfic terms that, even i’ve never heard of.

how long will they be? at this point, they’re ranging anywhere from 2-6k words: i like to set a stage and tell a story. it’s just more titillating to me, and i always feel like i’m shortchanging myself if i go below a thousand words. i’m not doing it bc i’m horny lol; i do it because… it’s just how i roll. it’s one of the many things that isolate me from the rest of the pack 😒

who are you including? i want to leave that as a little surprise~

why don’t you like the “x reader” trope? short answer: it’s literally every fic in existence right now and literally no one does it right. long answer: that, and what i write is very personal, like i’m writing in my diary. if i bring “you” or “y/n” into it, it removes the heart from it and it ends up looking like nothing. i want to stand out, i guess. and more often than not, it begs the question, “why not just make an original character? you obviously went out of your way to make it applicable to a male reader or a nonbinary reader, why not just make a character?” (it’s a cop out at this point, is what i’m saying)

what time are one shots going to be posted? i have posts scheduled from 9pm and 9:30pm pacific time starting september 30th (the installments of paradise will be posted throughout the day on september 29th, alex’s birthday), so i’d say be on the look out (and maybe turn on my post notifications?). on ao3, i’ll be posting them on the day of the prompt, probably in the morning after my workout (around 8-ish).

isn’t this a bit too much smut? depending on who you ask. my first time was in 2022 and it didn’t feel like too much. i tried it last year and i pulled the plug halfway through because it stopped being fun such that i wanted to kill myself. this year, i’m trying to redeem myself and going all out. some people like doing only a few prompts, like a couple every week.

why are so nervous? i just am. i’m not exaggerating when i say last year was so excruciating that i wanted to slit my own throat. i’m not a sex-positive person (but i’m not sex-negative, though), and just thinking about being sex positive makes me feel somewhat sick to my stomach. i have no confidence… like not at all, and i feel as though everyone just wants to be a dumb, lazy idiot and an antisemite for the rest of their lives. i’m not sexy, and i’m not this confident, voluptuous vixen just eager to share her fantasies with all of you. in fact, i fully expect to get a repeat of last year where everyone gets called hot and sexy and “the one to be” and “the best writer”… except me. i fully expect my kinks to met with utter disgust. there’s a great deal of pride in what i do (i’m portuguese, we’re a proud people), even though it doesn’t seem that way. but if i’m met with apathy, it’s painful, and last year, i was met with reams of apathy. i can get down with a negative remark despite the unspoken rule that you must never say anything negative about a fic to the author; but if no one cares or calls it “fine” or “okay” or whatever, i have my hand on the cable.

if you have any other questions, you may (or not) have noticed that i quietly reopened my ask box. 

please be patient with me when it comes to answering asks, or even posting. this has been the most emotionally trying year for me in 7 years, and anxiety is a real thing with me. depression is a real thing with me. i am scarred by shame and a broken heart. i’m an artist, i have been taking shit day in day out for the last 11, and more so in the last four years. so, i am literally trying my best.

please try and enjoy what i have waiting in the wings. it really does feel like everyone hates me, and this feeling has pervaded since around this time in 2020.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

into the silent land

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Willis Todd is arrested before he can cheat Two-Face and be murdered in this AU. He regains custody of his twelve-year-old son, Jason, and they rebuild their relationship. Can Willis make up for his mistakes, or is he doomed to repeat history?

(The title comes from a line in the poem, Remember, by Christina Rossetti).

Chapters: 4/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Willis Todd, Original Character(s), Faye "Ma" Gunn

Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergent AU, Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Willis Todd, Willis Todd Redemption, Mentioned Sheila Haywood

Chapter Four: Petrie and Parole Officers

Willis held Jason’s hand while he rolled the window home on a dolly. “Grandpa gave me his number,” Jason confessed. 

Willis glanced at Jason and smiled. “What’d you think of him?” Willis asked. Jason shrugged. “You won’t hurt my feelings. Go on.”

“He seems like a nice guy… He said you had brothers,” Jason mentioned. Willis tensed. “Dad?”

“My brothers are like Ma… And they were bigger than me,” Willis answered, “Dad loved all of us equally, but we—. We had a special bond.” 

Jason tightened his grip on Willis’ hand. “I love you, Dad,” Jason whispered. Willis smiled. 

“I love you too, Jason… And that’s all that matters,” Willis replied. When they reached the apartment building, Willis and Jason took the elevator to Ms. Cobb’s home. Willis showed Jason how to remove the window while Ms. Cobb made cocoa. The lesson was as efficient as it was quiet. Willis whispered to Jason because it contrasted with how he used to scream at Jason.

“Like this?” Jason whispered as he applied caulk. Willis nodded. 

“That’s perfect. I’m so proud of you,” Willis answered. Ms. Cobb watched the pair work.

“You two must be freezing. I made some cocoa if you’d like some,” Ms. Cobb offered. Willis looked at Jason.

“It’s alright,” Willis reassured him. Jason nodded. “Thanks, Ms. Cobb. Jason…” 

“Thank you, Ms. Cobb,” Jason replied as he sipped. 

“Of course,” Ms. Cobb smiled. Jason kneeled beside his father on the floor, still shivering from the cold. Willis took his jacket off and draped it over Jason. “I can turn the heat up—.” 

“We’re alright,” Jason whispered. Ms. Cobb looked at Willis, and Willis shook his head. 

“Anything else you need fixed while we wait for the caulk to dry?” Willis questioned.

Ms. Cobb shook her head. Jason raised his hand, which tickled both Ms. Cobb and Willis. Ms. Cobb covered her mouth, and Willis chuckled. “Yes, Jason?” Ms. Cobb asked. 

“Are you assigning the extra credit paper on Monday?” Jason asked. “I already started working on it, but if you aren’t offering credit, I’d still like to show you what I wrote.” 

“You started it already?” Ms. Cobb asked. Willis raised his eyebrow. 

“Oh, sorry. I offer the extra credit assignment toward the end of every unit. I have the kids pick a historical figure or art piece that applies to what we learned. My students can write a paper for up to five extra credit points. Sometimes, I don’t offer it because of the workload,” Ms. Cobb explained, “Jason, you don’t need extra credit. You’ve got an ‘A’.” 

Willis grinned. “I know, but I found a book in the library… And I thought I’d write it anyway,” Jason replied, “It’s okay if we don’t have time.” 

“Since you’ve already started, I’ll offer credit. I wasn’t going to because we’re a little short on time, but I’ll offer double what I usually do,” Ms. Cobb replied. 

Willis raised his brows and smiled. 

“What time is that open house thing next Friday?” Willis asked. Ms. Cobb grabbed a sticky note and wrote down the time and date of the parent-teacher conferences. 

*

Willis took Jason to eat at the end of the workday, and they split a hoagie. Jason stopped eating when he noticed Willis staring at him. “Something on my face?” Jason asked. Willis shook his head as he sipped his juice. He squinted, studying Jason’s sweet expression. “What’s the matter?” 

“You’re not mad at me for any of this?” Willis asked. Jason cocked his head. 

“Why would I be mad? You made a promise and kept it,” Jason answered. Willis smiled and teared up. He turned away from Jason and scrunched his nose up. “Dad? Are you crying?” 

Willis didn’t answer. Jason frowned. He set his sandwich down and stood near his dad. “I’m not mad at you… Dad,” Jason whispered as he tugged Willis’ sleeve. Willis sniffed as tears fell from his eyes. 

“Don’t ever be like me, Jason… Promise me—.”

“Can’t do that, Dad. If I kept that promise, I’d have to break my promises to you,” Jason replied. Willis laughed and pulled Jason into his arms. “I wouldn’t want anybody else to be my dad.” 

“Finish your sandwich. I gotta get you home before dark. You gotta let go of me,” Willis smiled. Jason hid his face in Willis’ shoulder. “ Me think we should get going, Petrie,” Willis whispered in a cartoonish voice. Jason laughed. Willis nudged him. “Eat your hoagie. We gotta get goin’.” Jason obeyed. 

After Jason finished eating, Willis took him home. “My PO might visit tomorrow. You gotta give me your cigs in the meantime,” Willis warned Jason. Jason nodded. 

“Is it Roberts?” Jason asked. 

“Nope, Roberts transferred out of the city. I’ve got a new kid named Isaac. He’s okay. He’ll probably ask your age and if you like living with me. Tell him the truth. Isaac’s not out to get me or anything… He’s doing his job—.”

“Okay,” Jason replied. Willis took Jason’s jackets off and hung them up. Jason ran to his bedroom and brought Willis all the cigarettes he had on his person. 

Willis counted the packs and looked behind Jason’s ears. Jason laughed. “What are you doing?” Jason questioned. 

“If I hold you by your ankles and shake you… Am I going to find ten more packs of cigarettes?” Willis half-joked. Jason shook his head. “Okay. Take your shower.” 

*

When someone knocked on the door, Jason was sleeping on the couch with Willis again, wrapped in a shared quilt. Willis groaned and got up from the couch to answer after he checked the peephole. He opened the door and rubbed his eyes. “Isaac, did you forget my kid’s living with me now?” Willis asked. 

“Sorry, Willis.. You know the drill,” Isaac replied. “I’m not trying to—.” 

“I know. Yeah… I know,” Willis whispered, “Feel free to look around.” Jason stirred and sat up. 

“Dad?” Jason mumbled. Willis pulled the blanket around Jason’s shoulders.

“It’s Isaac. Do you want some milk?” Willis asked. Jason shook his head. “Let’s try your room. You should sleep in your room tonight. I’m not leaving you.” Jason frowned. “Come on.” Willis picked Jason up. “Come on, Petrie.” Willis spoke in a cartoonish voice as he carried Jason to bed. Isaac searched the room while Willis put Jason down. 

Jason watched Isaac while he held Willis’ wrist. Isaac stopped what he was doing to look at Jason. “Hi, there. I’m Isaac. I’m here to check on your dad and ask a few questions. What’s your name and how old are you?” Isaac questioned.

“I’m Jason. I’m twelve, but I’ll be thirteen in August,” Jason answered, “Everyone says I don’t look like a middle schooler ‘cause I’m short.” 

Isaac smiled and nodded. “It’s okay. I was a smaller kid, too… I saw you were sleeping on the couch. Do you like sleeping on the couch?” Isaac asked.

“I like being close to my dad,” Jason replied. 

“Do you like living here? I know it’s a recent change. How are you adapting?” Isaac questioned.

“I like it here. My dad’s here, and he has hot water… And he taught me how to replace a window. Between you and me, I like him a lot better this way,” Jason whispered. Jason closed his eyes and covered his mouth as a yawn escaped. 

“I’m gonna check your dad’s room, and I’ll be on my way,” Isaac explained, “Thanks for speaking with me.” 

“Thank you for being quiet… Roberts used to make a lot of noise,” Jason mumbled. Willis chuckled and stayed behind while Isaac finished his examination of the house. 

“I’m glad I rank above the hot water,” Willis half-joked, “I was worried you’d say hot water before you said me.” Jason smiled. 

“You’re better than all the hot water in the world… Don’t go. Stay. One more night,” Jason whispered. Willis nodded. 

“Okay,” Willis whispered.

[joanthelovely]

Frosty: Should have stayed a song

I'm starting off my December right by watching Frosty the Snowman. I have not watched this in years and was beginning to question why I had removed it from the yearly rotation of animations that I watch. At one point I had watched the short so much that I could quote the commercial that cut in on my tape that had been recorded off of tv. But alas...adulthood cut this from my life...maybe...had I stopped watching it before that?

Here are some thoughts that I had as I watched it with fresher adult eyes that had not seen this in probably 20 years:

I forgot Jimmy Durante was in this. How do I know who that is? How do I not know what that is? He has such a distinctive voice and face...I probably just remember him from all the caricatures in old cartoons. THERE ARE A TON.

I prefer the claymation to this animation. Rankin and Bass did this one through Mushi Production and while I love Osamu Tezuka and his studio with a fiery passion...this was just not good. I even enjoyed the original short from 1953 more than this AND IT WAS LESS ANIMATED.

This guy just kills me...I hate him so much. He's a terrible villain and not just because he's inept...he's so boring. So very boring. And Whiny. Did we really need to have a villain? Does the song have a villain?

The head is the most difficult part...if you know what I mean *eyebrow wiggle*

This is Karen. I don't like Karen. I don't much care for any of the children or the voice acting. I think they turned a perfectly good song into a perfectly terrible short. None of you are believable! I don't believe any of you built a magical snowman who can sing and dance.

Happy Birthday...now lets name our Snowman friend:

Harold? Christopher Columbus? Oatmeal?

Bruh...you can't call him Oatmeal. What kind of a name is Oatmeal for a snowman? Frosty...obviously...sheesh

Which came first? the song? the movie? I didn't actually know the correct answer to that so I had to stop everything and look it up or it would bother me too much to continue.

Looks like the original was out in 1950 with this production hitting in 1969. Jimmy and Gene Autry both sang and released it at the same time....but I swear the radio only plays Jimmy. I'm going to have to go dig up the Autry edition.

Dude takes his hat back even after seeing Frosty come to life…how…why? No one is questioning this. Magic talking snowman. No one is freaking out. Even the Magician is just like...Oh...Its a magic hat...I"ll just take that back.

Silly silly silly.

Please quit doing this. Your point is not made better by repeating it 3 times. He does this a lot. Too much. 0/10 stars

So nonchalant about the living snowman. No one is freaking out...like I get it, new friend...but TALKING SNOWMAN OHMYGODWHYISTHISHAPPENING

I'm alive. What a neat thing to happen to a guy like me. But oh no. I'm gonna melt.

...like right this second? because honestly a good packed snow will last awhile *shrug* maybe slow down

We have trains to the north pole? Where do these children live that that seems like a viable option.

Lets have a parade? Ok ...why not...

Finally! Vindication! The rest of the adults are acting appropriately. You should double take when a walking talking snowman is pulling a pied piper down the center of your town.

3000.04 for a ticket to the north pole. That is really really specific and also a lot of work to pull for a child on her own asking questions. I actually don't know what a train ticket would cost to go that far. Sounds pretty cheap with all the layovers involved.

Karen...you can't go everywhere with your new buddy. Karen, do your parents know where you are?

Lets just put Frosty in the cold car. With the cakes. The cakes that are just out there in the open in the cold car. Must be some super awesome tiering going on there. That can't be sanitary for those cakes, no boxes or nothing.

Little girl, your mother will mind if you travel cross country in a cold car with Frosty. Get your ass home!

I don't like the Magicians voice either. It sounds so familiar but I've not seen anything else this guy has been in.

At least the boxcar was insulated from the wind...now we're just dealing with exposure. I'm sure you holding her can't be good for either of you.

Did you just ask the animals of the forest to light a fire for you?

I guess he didn't need the hat for magic. Dude just blew out a campfire.

They were so lucky that there was a greenhouse at the end of the hill...which then has me pondering why are Poinsettias a Christmas thing when they can't actually grow during Christmas?

This is some terrible buffoonery here. Are you really whining at Santa? Really?

At this point I think I've figured out the reason this hasn't been in the rotation. This story has just gotten to be too nonsensical for me. I love a good fantasy but these non-existent forced relationships just aren't doing it for me. You have a terrible unnecessary villain, an idiot child I just want to yell at for running off like she doesn't have parents that are worried about her, and an idiot snowman who knows he needs to go to the North Pole but thought dragging along Karen was a good idea? At least Rudolph did more world building...

Really, Santa? Just going to leave her up there on the roof?

[mithliya]

Funny thing about 'abortion made her do it' is that absolutely no one was forcing her to be online! And read all that, post all that. She could have deleted. She even answered and fought people 'in pain from my abortion in the hospital bed' so there is some attention seeking going on. I saw some anons she got and they were outrageous but at no point did macro consider logging off. Or just telling us all to f.ck off and die or something. She jumped right to homophobia. And doubled down later. There is no excuse, no justification. Every time I go through hard shit I don't say bigoted stuff instead of just telling everyone to shut up.

i think she wasn’t in the hospital at all but had an at-home abortion but. also, yes. there were times i was really stressed & nervous and i would intentionally stay out of such things on tumblr for that reason bc otherwise i’d stress puke and perhaps have a mental breakdown. and no one can think clearly and word themselves well in such situations so it’s counterproductive. it’s not healthy for anyone! but also it does not justify prejudice. she said this stuff after being fully recovered anyways, having an abortion is not a pass for repeated questionable & then downright lesbophobic comments.

i get a shit tonne of online harassment and have been for years, every week i receive several messages bringing up my rape & inducing PTSD flashbacks, ive received many threats & multiple ppl have posted my name & my family’s faces despite me saying i don’t share my parents faces bc they can be jailed & tortured & even killed if tied to my blog in which i talk about being a lesbian & criticise my country’s govt. people did not care. they outright laughed at me and called me insane as i begged them to remove pictures of my mother from their blogs. and despite that i have not been cut any slack when said anything even slightly badly worded on here. in fact, things from when i was actively being abused as a teenager are constantly brought up against me, despite me apologising for my actions from back then. i’m not sure why others get to have endless empathy & patience extended to them whereas some of us receive none of it, when in reality it should be somewhere in the middle. there’s a reasonable level of understanding & patience but it gets unreasonable when u expect ppl to overlook someone saying lesbophobic things bc they had a hard time 2 weeks ago.

[simgrump]

❦ Founder Household, Day Four ❦

❧ ANSWERS - - - - -

     “Cancer,” Robyn echoed the doctor’s word. It had her feeling numb on the inside, not thinking straight and she knew that’s why hospitals recommended bringing someone with you to things like this, because Johnny asked all the questions necessary. She spaced out for a second, the word terrifying echoing there in the room. She tried to listen. 

“What are we looking at in ways of treatment?” Johnny asked, sounding so confident and sure of himself, though the grip he had on her hand was firm, solid and comforting. It helped ground her in the moment so she could listen. 

“Well, there are a couple of options. Any time we’re dealing with cancer, chemo is an option, but honestly not one I’d recommend for this. With this particular type of breast cancer, the treatment we’ve seen with the best outcomes has been a mastectomy and if all goes well, you just take a pill for about five years after.” 

Robyn swallowed thickly. “A mastectomy,” she repeated. 

The doctor nodded, sympathetic look on his face. “Yes, we would remove the breast. And in your case, we’d probably look at doing a double mastectomy.” Robyn’s face must have fallen, because the doctor gave her another small smile. “We could look at the chemo option, but there’s never a guarantee and chemo can sometimes cause worst symptoms than what you’d feel with the cancer.” 

Robyn didn’t answer, just biting her lip and Johnny squeezed her hand. “It’s your choice, Bug.” 

“I uh,” Robyn stumbled. “I had a breast reduction quite a few years back. Did that, uh...did that cause any of this, or...?” 

The doctor shook his head. “I doubt it. It doesn’t make you more susceptible. If anything, it probably helped keep the cancer a manageable thing or made it easier to spot.” 

Robyn nodded. “Can I have a minute?” she asked and the doctor gave an of course before getting up, leaving some pamphlets on the counter and headed out. Robyn and Johnny sat in silence for a long while, letting Robyn process. She cried, sobbing into Johnny’s shoulder as he hugged her, but once it was out of her system, that fear and pity, she found herself determined. There was a clear path here. 

A double mastectomy was in her future. There was no way she wanted to go through chemo. 

Gen One || Legacy Page      

[atalienart]

Ok, so this is extremely long! xD Thank you for your asks, I did my best with answers (avoiding spoilers of course) (honestly, I tell you too much about my characters anyway... u_u) Yeah, so keep reading if you’re interested :) (It’s all from oc asks [x])

1. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? Anna – refrigerator: probably a lot of stuff (bought buy her mum) / bedroom floor: plants, garden plans / nightstand: book about plants, laptop, pen, notebook, a clock, glasses, tissues / garbage can: papers, empty chocolate wrapper, tissues Vik – refrigerator: old pizza, some dumplings he got from someone, yoghurt, three oranges, some leftovers from the restaurant he works at / bedroom floor: nothing / nightstand: glasses, books, phone / garbage can: he's just got rid of his garbage :p

2. Remington Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? – nope How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? – he's a French teacher and sometimes works as an interpreter; he enjoys being a teacher, and his students like him :) but the interpreter's job is a nightmare to him sometimes, he tries very hard not to roll his eyes listening to all those stiff people during boring events What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? – personal problems: he's bad with his own emotions / pet peeves: he hates cigarette smoke What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? Inspiration: characters I already know and like, dapper gentlemen xD my sick imagination xD How did I create him? Like this [x] Fancharacter? Nope. Design? Check the link :) And he was a sad, sad boy... (and it kinda returns like a boomerang...) Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? – (married to Emilia) he's a teacher and he's surrounded by kids most of the time so he doesn't really miss more children xD What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? – at first he just wants to resolve the problem, he says why he's angry but not directly, if you don't guess what's wrong then he gets frustrated, definitely says some mean, cruel words that cut to the quick and runs away (cries when no one can see)

3. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? Remington – in high school: quite popular and liked kid, clever, very active, liked sport / at uni: nerd, quiet and a little bit too overzealous xD (Also, check this [x] where Remi is about 15 (second picture))

4. Remington What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? – refrigerator: probably nothing except for cat food xD / bedroom floor: some clothes, marked students works, his briefcase, Whiskey (the cat) / nightstand: more student's works, a clock, his watch, some books and dictionaries, empty cup, candy wrappers / garbage can: some papers, broken pen, I have no idea Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? – there aren't that many places he can go so he's probably going to the local pub with Emilia and friends, dressed as usually I guess xD

5. Remington What kind of clothing does your OC wear? – generally you can see what's Remi's style in my drawings but if I was to choose his favourite item of clothing it would be the jumper, he also likes tweed What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favourite foods? – fav: strawberry jam / yuck: anything that looks disgusting

6. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? James – fears: that he'll disappoint people he loves; loneliness / weaknesses: he always acts like he doesn't care; gives up often/lets others win / strengths: loyal, encouraging, very calm, composed and resourceful; when everything goes wrong and it's chaos he's like “okay, everybody calm down, I have it under control” xD What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? James – personal problems: the more he cares the more he tries to hide it / pet peeves: when people let their pets lick their faces, ugh What is a random fact about your OC? Remington – he says “of course” a lot (sarcastically), likes fencing Emilia – she stares a lot at people because she remember their faces to draw them later James – he's pedantic Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? I try to create them in such a way that any person they meet brings something into their lives so it’s hard to tell. Also... spoilers :/ What kind of childhood did your character have? Remington – ok, very active child, the older he was the more conflicted he was with his father though Emilia – happy one, loving parents, a lot of freedom; she was a bit of a tomboy James – it was quite ok considering he was an orphan, raised by his aunt (that was very loving), grew up with Emilia, smart child liked by his classmates

7. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? Remington – envy / Emilia – greed / James – pride / Tony – wrath / Anna – sloth

8. What is your OC’s first memory? Remington – when he fell into the pond Emilia – her mother playing the piano and her first attempt at it James – probably his mum reading him a story before sleep

9. James Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? – paintings If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? – taking care of animals isn't really his thing, he likes them but he probably thinks they all should live in the wild xD What does your OC smell like? – some very subtle cologne, he always smells very fresh

10. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? Anna – she's very isolated person so she doesn't belong to any group, during any social event she's rather withdrawn, she's an observer, but I guess she wish she was noticed sometimes

11. What does your OC smell like? Remington – lavender and pine, and chalk after long hours at the school

12. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? Remington – love Emilia – certainty that she's the best at what she does James – not having to be always strong Anna – confirmation that she's not useless and they'd do a lot to get those things :) What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? R – when he's sad/have a problem he goes for a looooong walk even if it rains and then comes back home soaking wet E – she draws on people when she forgets her sketchbook J – are you serious, he's perfectly normal A – she talks to trees What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? E – she throws a tantrum you have no idea and tells you why you suck and why everything sucks and she's right J – he talks for hours about why he's angry and people are stupid A – she cries and is mean but mostly she just stops talking to anyone Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? R – right collarbone (fell from a tree as a child) E – a couple on her hands and legs from stretching canvas and sharpening pencils, left hip (she slipped and fell on a broken bottle of turpentine) and left wrist/hand (she hurt it during an outburst of anger while she was destroying some of her stuff) J – right calf (bit by the dog) and an inside of a right thigh (misunderstanding) A – do stretch marks count? if yes then butt cheeks, hands (with little burns because she can’t cook) and right eyebrow (hit with a ball, her brother's fault) What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? R – it's in French so it doesn't count E – I'm not going to repeat that... J – he told his client that he wouldn't recognise Leonardo da Vinci's painting if Leonardo himself appeared and painted it in a front of him A – „Oh my God, you really are that stupid...” How does your character react/ accept criticism? R – “Yeah, you're right.” E – “I know, I haven't finished it yet.” J –  *exasperatedly* “I beg your pardon?” A – “Fine! Then do it yourself!”

13. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? E – (married to Remington) she's comfortable and happy without kids, she's a “no kids” person J – marriage? maybe some day :) kids? he would xD if he had them he'd spoil them like crazy... What is their most (let’s say) traumatic memory/experience? What is their favourite memory? (without spoilers) R – bad: war experience; some people told him he'd never be good enough / good: when Emilia was teaching him how to paint E – bad: when James left; when she was told she won't be any good at music / good: when she first met Remi; painting lessons with Rem; week in Paris with Jamie J – bad: when he was told about his parents' death / good: week in Paris with Em If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? (It's a weird question so I take it with a pinch of salt) R – chocolate E – new paints J - massage (no spoilers and epitaphs...)

[aemonds-sapphire]

Caution: Slippery When Wet — Dabi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Dabi just wanted to take a shower, and he didn’t care that you were in the way.

Warnings: NSFW. Orgasm denial. Overstimulation. Vaginal fingering. Quirkplay. Unprotected sex. Praise. Creampie.

Word count: 3.6k

A sudden loud bang snapped you out of your steam-induced daydream and had your heart skip a few beats in distress.

“What?!” you gnarled, eyes gazing through the foggy shower door only to be met with a pair of turquoise eyes.

Dabi.

“You done in there or what?”

Panic filled your entire body at once. “Get the fuck out!”

Any indication that you might be blessed with a peaceful shower session soon flew out the window as the young villain showed no intention of budging.

Thoughts on Dabi? You’d rather not have any. And not because you loathed him. Far from that Your body made sure that the most hostile emotion you had towards him was unquestionable sexual tension. Therefore, you really, really needed to train your mind not to fixate on him or the possibilities that might come from any interaction with him. In order to cope with this, you tried your best to mask your genuine feelings with resentment.

On the off chance your paths crossed while living together with the rest of the league, you always had your mind set on antagonizing him. You dreaded the possibility of anyone figuring out that — albeit buried deep within you —, you craved him.

“Not happening. I need a shower.”

Sliding the glass door, you peaked your head through the narrow slit only to be met with Dabi covered in... slime? From his dark hair all the way down to his boots.

“What is that awful smell?” you grimaced as the foul stench filled your nose.

“Collateral damage,” he said with a blank expression, eyes on yours. “You can thank Toga for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go wait outside. I’m almost done here.”

No answer.

“Out!” Yyou half-yelled, feeling heat creep through your cheeks, thoroughly glad that the fog glazing the shower door kept most of your body hidden from his gaze.

No answer yet again.

“Dabi!”

He shrugged and proceeded to remove his knee-length coat showing no concern that you were intensely staring at him, mouth agape in shock.

His filthy shirt went off next, revealing the uneven edges of his staple-covered skin across his upper chest. Your heart was racing at double speed and all your brain could conjure was that you most definitely should not allow your eyes to roam across his body like that. Dabi was too fucking hot — pun fully intended— for his own good, and suspected he knew that

That proved to be enough to snap you out of your trance. “Why are you taking your clothes off?!” Yyou blurted out, failing to realize how ridiculous that sounded given the context.

Dabi paused briefly as he was about to undo his belt. “Not showering with my clothes on... the fuck?” he remarked, arching a brow and glaring at you like you’d grown a third arm.

Panic hit you instantly. “Uh—Just wait!”

His slender fingers unbuckled the belt swiftly. “Doll, you’re wasting time. All that rambling and staring... could be done already.”

He was not wrong.

It suddenly dawned on you how easily he’d always manage to crawl under your skin. Whether he knew the effect he had on you or not, it remained unclear. But something inside you clung to the idea that, whatever it was that you felt for Dabi, it was somehow reciprocated.

Patches of suds began trailing down your temples and forehead, causing further distress.

“Just...” your voice trailed off, but sudden outrage burst from within you. “Don’t you have some decency?”

“No.”

He had managed to strip all of his clothes off until he was only left in his underwear, and he was about to—

“No! No fucking way!” you shrieked in dread, quickly having to wipe a few suds that were stinging your eyes. “Leave it—“

But before you could mouth further protests, you saw him yank his underwear down, which caused your eyes to reflexively close tightly.

A low chuckle was heard. “Calm down, princess. I won’t even look. Just wanna rinse off this slime.”

You were positively mortified from all this mess, and a large part of you cheered in pride as you managed to kept your feelings towards him out of the way.

For now, at least.

Immediately, you withdrew your head from the rack, and shoved the shower door shut, with one hand keeping it in place while the other reached out to grab a bottle from the corner shelf.

Dabi tugged at the door a few times before sighing. “Seriously? You gonna throw a... bottle of shampoo at me?” he drawled out, a slight hint of amusement taintIng his voice. “Terrifying. I can see why Shigaraki scouted you,” he added in blatant mockery.

The sudden confrontation had you wish some random hole in the ground would prop open and swallow you whole, effectively putting an end to this.

Your eyes flew open at once and you glared at the bottle in your hand that read: ‘Strawberry passion — let your senses be filled with bliss and calmness’. Now that was fucking ironic.

Another tug.

“Don’t make me burn this shit down.”

You scoffed. “You keep your eyes fucking shut, then. Not even a peak.”

“Sure, doll.”

Admitting defeat, you scooted to the corner of the stall, your back facing him as you heard the door slide open. You felt him brush past you, but managed to keep your composure. There was no point in stressing about this. Dabi was merely your... colleague? Coworker? Fellow... villain? It came with the territory, right?

You grasped the shower head and raised your arm to have warm water pour down on you. For a brief moment, you were able to ignore the man behind you, and just kept on rinsing as fat as you could to terminate this awkward situation.

Just a few more seconds...

But, of course, life seldom went as planned.

“Sharing is caring, doll,” his low voice rumbled, and you felt his breath fanning the nape of your neck, causing you to jolt.

The sudden proximity sent your brain into overdrive. Every single hair in your body stirred as goosebumps spread from the shiver running down your spine. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his hand wrap around yours.

You tried to muster a few words, but the overwhelming sensation of having someone you felt so attracted to being so close to you, definitely proved to be a harder task than you’d imagined.

“Eyes shut...” you managed to mumble as a reminder, feeling the curtain of water shift to your back and ultimately leaving your body entirely.

Dabi let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck... this feels good.”

His choice of words had heat spread across you like wildfire. Unfortunately, the sudden loss of a heat source had your body quivering in an attempt to keep your temperature from dropping. You wrapped your arms across your chest out of reflex, but it did little to help.

That din’t go unnoticed by the young villain. “You cold?”

“Ju-just... hurry up...” you said between teetering teeth.

Silence fell between you two before you heard vague splashes of water. “I can warm you up.”

He was close to you once more. Too close. Close enough that you could feel his hot breath near your ear, and something else nudging at your backside.

Your head turned to glare at his half-hooded eyes. “No, thank you...”

His lips were dangerously close to yours, and from that angle you could see the way the metallic hoops on each side of his face strained but a little when he drew a faint grin.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you?”

That gave you a whiplash.

As soon a those words left his mouth, you gasped in confusion. “What?!”

But there was nothing to be confused about. It was a rhetorical question from him. You were suddenly aware that he knew. That he had been able to read your signs all along.

Dabi placed the shower head back in its holder, pressing his back fully against yours in the process.

That’s when you felt all of him.

From the hardened nipples to the cool edges of his staples, and all the way to his hard cock pressed against your ass. You shuddered under his touch, causing it to settle right in between your ass cheeks.

“Dabi...”

He bucked his hips lightly, his slippery cock gliding with ease as a deep growl ripped from him. Haziness swarmed your mind, and you pressed both hands on the cold tiles for support, welcoming the water that poured on you from the shower head.

“Say my name again...”

“Why...” you mewled back, swaying your hips sensually against him.

What the fuck...

This was probably a bad idea. You weren’t even sure how you allowed things escalate this quickly. Dabi could snap anyone in half if he felt like it; he could also incinerate anything just as easily. You supposed the dangers of meddling with someone this volatile added to the allure.

And he was aware of that fact.

He fed on it and used it to get you to surrender yourself to him.

“Say it,” he repeated his request, bringing both hands to grasp your hips.

Your eyes snapped open once he pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

“I hate you.”

You mentally slapped yourself for being so weak. Those words carried no weight whatsoever, and they only served to heave a taunting chuckle from him. Even though this entire situation had your face burning with heat, the rest of your body still struggled to keep your temperature up, causing you to shiver from time to time.

Dabi excelled at reading body language like no other. He took pride in being able to know someone’s true intention just from the way their body reacted to his presence. He was no stranger to the inner workings of women when it came to him; he knew precisely which strings to tug in order to get them to crave his touch.

You were no different.

In fact, you had completely and miserably failed at keeping your thirst for him at bay.

And with unprecedented expertise, Dabi had your body to bend to his will, granting you one of your deepest desires.

You felt his palms heat up against your skin.

“I... hate you...” your voice came out in a weak tremble.

Were you trying to convince him, or yourself?

His hands began sliding up your sides, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You realized you were no longer quivering from loss of warmth; your shudders were stemmed from the way Dabi was slowly and carefully feeling you up. His heated hands moved to your breasts, and without any notice, he had both your nipples being rolled in between his fingers.

Instinctively, you bucked against him. “Fuck...”

Dabi let out a hiss in response. “Sure you hate me?”

He pinched your nipples lightly before grazing his staple-covered palms along the sensitive buds.

“Yes,” you blurted out firmly.

The metallic hoops spread across his palms teased you further.

But before your throbbing clit could welcome the new stimulus, he halted and the heat pooling on his fingertips quickly died down. “So you want me to stop.”

“No!” you protested as his hands abandoned your skin.

“Then what?” Dabi inquired, bringing one finger to trail down your spine, prompting your back to arch downwards and your ass to spring up invitingly. “All these mixed signals... tss.”

You managed to suppress a moan when you felt his slippery cock slide down to tease your entrance.

“Dabi...” you let out, trying to find a few words to say. “Eyes shut.”

He chuckled. “Doll... I have my cock pressed against your ass and leaking for you... does that even matter?”

Of course not. You weren’t even sure why you had said that... your mind was playing tricks on you.

Even so, you weren’t so lucky the second time around, and when he slapped your swollen clit with the tip, your mouth fell open in a strangled cry. You highly doubted the slick tiles would be able to support your body as he proceeded to place his cock in between your damp folds.

“Hold on tight, doll. I need to prep you for my cock first,” his voice dripped with lust. “Be a good girl and bend over.”

Your pussy clenched impulsively.

To say you were completely and ridiculously turned on was the understatement of the year. No amount of rationality would help you now. You were too far gone, and your desire for him clouded any shred of judgement in you.

There was no point in resisting him any longer.

You strongly held on to the shower faucet, in the hopes of it being enough to keep your knees from giving out on you from the overwhelming pleasure spreading across your clit.

He kept sliding his thick cock along your pussy lips coating it in your wetness. It was faintly embarrassing to think of how quickly you’d gotten soaked for him, but on the other hand, you couldn’t really blame yourself for it. Dabi was definitely a natural. You figured he had enough experience to get you all riled up in no time.

You felt him snake one arm around you as his hand travelled down to your pussy. In all honesty, you felt too empty. Even though you hadn’t seen his cock, you had felt it and you craved it more than his fingers at this point.

The palm of his hand brushed against your clit, earning an instant moan from him.

“Dabi... just... fuck me...” you panted in between groans as he teased you with the staples carved into his skin.

Those staples had long caught your attention, but you never thought in a million years that you’d find pleasure in having them brush against your most intimate parts.

His velvety voice came out in a low purr. “Patience... I need you soaked enough to take my cock.”

“I am!” you half-yelled, bucking your hips in an attempt to have his cock placed at your entrance.

The hand teasing your clit stopped abruptly. “Really? Lemme check, then,” just as soon as he whispered those words, he pulled back from you momentarily, pressed one hand on your lower back to have you at a desired angle, before shoving two long fingers inside your wet cunt.

It took all of you to hold back a guttural groan from echoing throughout the bathroom. You bit down on your lower lip, an you reckoned it wouldn’t take long to draw blood. He held you firmly in place with his free hand gripping your hip while he fucked you with his fingers.

“You’re not just soaked... you’re fucking drenched,” he said in bewilderment, curling his digits inside you. “Think you can take a third one?”

You felt another fingertip prodding at your entrance, but you could only nod. There was no way you were going to open your damn mouth. The implications of doing so were far too severe, and you dreaded the idea of anyone outside being able to hear you moan for Dabi.

His third finger struggled at first to join the others. “Tight... just part your legs, doll...”

Doing as he instructed, he finally managed to get the slender digit to slide all the way in, until he was buried in you knuckle-deep. You’d never felt this stretched out before, and the newfound sensation was enough to finally have you let go of your lip and have your mouth fall open in a sigh of pure bliss.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he praised you, while finger-fucking you at a steady rhythm. “You’re literally milking my fingers...”

From the way his voice was starting to emerge fully strained, you figured this was also taking a toll on him. Having your walls involuntarily clench around his moving fingers and hearing him occasionally growl from it, had your ego soar dangerously high. Your entire body was urging you to cum, and as despair overcame your senses, you hand one han settle between your legs to rub your needy clit.

Dabi suddenly stopped thrusting his fingers, and clicked his tongue. “Stop.”

Annoyance hit you hard from the loss of his stimulation. “Fuck!”

His hand grabbed yours. “Let me make you cum. Just me.”

As soon as your gripped the faucet again with both hands, Dabi jumpstarted his ministrations in order to help you reach your much desired high.

“Say my name.”

You truly didn’t want to do that. The fear of losing control and having your moans being heard, kept you from heeding his request once again.

But Dabi had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Both his index and middle fingers pressed against your clit, and you felt the fingertips starting to heat up. He was definitely using his quirk in order to help the heat in your lower belly to intensify. It was a neat trick coming from him, and it was most welcome as you felt the familiar coil of an upcoming orgasm build inside you with each passing second.

“Say. It.”

Obscene soppy sounds left your tight pussy as he showed no signs of faltering his pace. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open as you tightened around him, preparing to let a peak of pleasure wash over your body.

“Fuck... fu-fuck... I...” you mumbled incoherently, not able to muster any comprehensible thoughts.

You were so close.

Your hips jolted into his hand, and just as you were about to cum, you felt sudden emptiness and were left clenching around nothing nothing.

“What the fuck?!” You cried out indignantly. “Why?!”

The high inside your suddenly plummeted back to the ground, leaving you on the verge of tears.

Dabi gave your ass cheek a light smack. “Told you to say my name.”

You turned your head to give him a death glare. “Fuck you!”

He pressed the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Besides, I want you milking my cock.”

With one hard thrust, he pushed himself halfway inside you, unable to hold back a satisfied growl. Right then you understood exactly why he insisted on preparing you for him. He was definitely thicker and bigger than average. The sudden discomfort had you clench tightly around him in reflex, preventing him from going balls deep at once.

“Stop... fuck... stop being so fucking tight....” Dabi growled, stilling inside you. “Relax, doll...”

Your took a few deep breaths as your pussy adjusted to his unexpected size. He placed his hands on your hips, brushing his thumbs in circles across your flushed skin. It was most likely Dabi’s own way of offering comfort.

You weren’t sure how many seconds passed, but you were genuinely grateful he was waiting for you to finally loosen up and allowed his cock to finally slide all the way in.

A sudden gasp emerged from within you as his fingers gripped your hips vigorously, guiding you along his length. He started out slowly, but his self-restraint wasn’t enough to keep him from thrusting faster and deeper into you. The pace he set resembled that of someone on the edge of losing their sanity.

“You really wanna make me cum fast with that tight pussy of yours...”

His words were like fuel to the fire that once more threatened to get out of control soon enough. Your hands desperately grasped the faucet as pleasure overwhelmed you. A few more thrusts had your thighs starting to quiver.

Dabi had his fingers on your clit once again, determined to deliver all the pleasure he could possibly provide.

“Dabi... Dabi!”

His hips faltered for a split second. “Fuck... such a good and tight girl...”

You could hardly breathe once he set a new rhythm, which nearly had your face getting pressed against your hands from the brutal force.

“Dabi...” you mewled, feeling droplets of water mix with your own saliva as strings of spit hung from the corners of your mouth. You were officially drooling for this man.

In no time, your vision started to tunnel as you were thrown into the pinnacle of sheer bliss. Your mind went blank for a brief moment, with his name coming out in broken moans. The ecstatic orgasm had your pussy ripple and squeeze around his cock mercilessly as you kept rocking your hips against his desperate to ride out your high for as long as possible.

“Fuck this...” you heard him mumble at one point, his groans overcame your own. “Fuck!”

His own release was nearing, that much was certain. He was pounding into you hard and fast, jackhammering into you like his life depended on it, driving the breath from your lungs.

You had long descended from your orgasm, but you were still left to deal with the overstimulation from his cock sliding in and out of you relentlessly.

Tears soon prickled the corners of your eyes. “Oh my... god... enough.... Dabi...”

He responded by rubbing your clit harder in unison with his thrusts.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

His long drawn out groan let you know he had finally reached his peak. Your own knees began to tremble from having to hold your body in that position for so long, but he made sure you weren’t going anywhere. With a few pumps of his hips in a broken rhythm, you felt hot sprays of cum shoot inside your pussy.

He slapped your ass cheek once he was done, enjoying the sight of your pussy still tightly wrapped around him.

“What a pretty pussy....”

Your heart was still racing and your breath coming out uneven.

In one swift motion, he fully slid from inside you, and you immediately felt his cum drip as your walls contracted. “Let’s get you all cleaned up. Then we can take a proper shower.”

You were fairly certain you might regret what just happened later on, but for now, you chose to brush that aside.

Dabi wasn’t someone easy to read.

He most definitely wasn’t someone easy to get.

For the time being, you’d relish on the fact that you had made him cum. Probably not something curriculum worthy, but it was good for you and your ego.

-

Masterlist

[comphy-and-cozy]

NHL!Michael Blurb // Baby #2

From Anon: I LOVED the make a baby one with Michael. Not afraid to admit like that was my wildest dream coming true… anyway you would do another? Maybe fluff with baby one but it QUICKly leads to baby number 2?

I think this may not be as smutty as you wanted, but I think you can fill in the blanks... ;) Just over 1K words! Adult themes/NSFW below the cut.

Part 1 (sort of) here.

When your period was late, you had secretly taken a test — then two more, for security — to confirm what you knew in your heart to be true: you were pregnant. Again.

You knew Michael would be thrilled, over the moon, even; he had been ready for another almost as soon as Lucy was born. As you watched his relationship with his firstborn blossom, seeing the deepest love in his eyes for his little girl set a fire in your soul and any lingering doubt you had left dissipated.

Michael stared at the garment in his hand, confusion on his face. To surprise him, you had gotten a baby jersey made with “Gray” and the number “28” (for the year 2028) and placed it by his morning coffee. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to have a little fun.

When he sat down, he almost didn’t notice it, and you watched him do a double take. His mouth opened in question, staring at the back as he worked out what it all meant. In slow motion, his eyes tracked up to meet yours, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched the gears turn in his head, realization dawning on his face.

“No.”

You grinned, “No?”

“Are you — are you fucking… serious?”

Your smile was confirmation enough, and before you knew what was happening, Michael had launched forward and lifted you in his arms. He was beaming, happiness radiating out of him as he spun you around.

“We’re gonna be parents?!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and awe.

“We already are parents, babe,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. “We already have a daughter, remember?”

“I know, but — another?!”

“Another,” you nodded, grinning.

You hadn’t been trying, but you hadn’t been not trying, either. And you may have celebrated surviving Lucy’s 1st birthday party a little unconventionally.

---

“I’m beat,” you sighed, flopping on your back and scrubbing your face. “That was exhausting.”

You had just finished tucking Lucy in after a long, exciting day hosting her first birthday party. While the day had been perfect, going off without a hitch, you were ready for a good night’s sleep — and a large glass of wine.

Michael emerged from the closet, having quickly changed out of his party clothes to a pair of sweatpants and an old Blinders shirt that hugged his muscles just right. He sent you an ovary bursting wink before slipping out of the room, the sound of his feet shuffling lightly down the stairs.

You heaved yourself off the bed to follow suit, changing and removing your jewelry and makeup. When you came back in the bedroom, you found Michael sitting cross legged in bed, holding a glass of wine and extending another to you.

“Cheers,” he offered, and you graciously accepted. “To surviving our first birthday party.”

“And first year of childhood,” you added, clinking your glass against his.

The Cabernet instantly relaxed you as soon as it touched your throat, coating your body in a warmth. Michael, too, smiled as he took an unceremoniously large gulp.

The two of you sat in a peaceful silence, the energy from the day — the gifts, the cake, the balloons, the kids — slowly settling and fading away with each sip of wine that inhibited the senses. Eventually, Michael opted to chug the rest of his glass, setting it on the side table before shifting to lay his head in your lap.

You smiled, your free hand moving to his head to card your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, humming contently, as his arm draped over your legs, giving your thighs a grateful squeeze. Your head fell back slightly, resting against the bed frame, as your eyes closed too, settling into the rhythm of scratching his scalp.

Five minutes passed — or maybe twenty; you weren’t sure — and you were pulled out of your sleepy haze by the feeling of Michael pressing warm kisses against your clothed thigh. Your eyes blinked open, looking down at him, and he smiled sleepily at you.

“You did so good today,” he murmured in between kisses, his voice deep as some of the exhaustion set in. “You’re such a good mom.”

“You did good, too, Michael.”

“Kinda hot.”

Your eyes closed, an amused smile appearing on your face. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Michael shifted again so that his mouth was now aimed at your lower belly, pressing kisses against the hem of your shorts. He added, “Kinda wanna make you a mom again.”

Suddenly, the heat from his mouth had a whole different feeling, settling into your core at his words.

“You do, huh?”

“Uh huh,” he hummed, rising to his hands and knees to spread your legs and crawl between them, mouth pushing against your core. “What d’you think? Want me to put another baby here?”

Michael hardly gave you time to answer before his fingers were hooking in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them hastily to your ankles, tossing them over his shoulder. He dragged your hips forward and gave you a sultry, mischievous grin before burying his head between your thighs.

Lucy was dead to the world, oblivious to the moans coming from just down the hall in her parent’s room as you and Michael made love. He showered your body in wine-soaked kisses, fingertips caressing your skin with searing hot touches as he moved in you, whispering words of affection in your ear. Though his proposal was only half-serious, both of you were secretly hopeful as he spilled into you, sighing into your mouth at his release.

As you laid in your post-coital bliss, the wine blanket combined with his body heat making a perfect cocoon of warmth, his fingers traced a circle along your skin.

“Lucas,” he blurted out.

“I’m sorry?”

“Lucas,” he repeated. “That’s what I want to name him.”

“Him?”

“The baby.”

“Oh, it’s gonna be a boy, huh?”

“Thought we were more progressive than that, babe,” he teased, bumping you with his shoulder. “But yeah, it’s gonna be a boy.”

“Okay, Michael.”

---

“I guess it worked,” Michael said, bursting your daydream bubble, still holding you in his arms. “Making a baby.”

“Which time?” you raised an eyebrow, teasing him. He certainly enjoyed the conceiving part and, as he said, was just being thorough and making certain that at least one of the times would catch.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shook his head. “I’m getting pretty good at this. We could have a hundred babies.”

“Well, let’s focus on finishing this second one before we get ahead of ourselves, champ.”

[queenshelby]

Teacher’s Pet

31 Days of Kink: Day 7

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1378

Warning: Smut, Teacher/Student, Age Gap

Imagine starting drama school during your first year of university and having Cillian Murphy as a temporary drama teacher while your professor has taken six weeks off to recover from a broken leg.

But, Cillian and you aren’t exactly seeing eye to eye and you were asked to meet Cillian in his office to discuss some recent issues that have arisen in your performance.

***

‘You are difficult, you know that’ Cillian murmured, his smile faded, his face hardened, and his eyes narrowed.  You had yet again complained about your schedule.

‘I am difficult? I think you are the one who is difficult. I have been trying my best here and you keep rearranging everything…’ you said as you felt your stomach tighten. Immediately, you knew that you screwed up again because you secretly desired Cillian, a man twice your age, and the worst of it all was that you knew he was right when he criticised you and your performance.

‘Have you?’ he asked, his voice stern.

‘Have I what?’ you asked.

‘Have you been trying your best? Because it sure doesn’t look like it to me’ Cillian said, referring to you having forgotten your lines several times over the last few days.

‘I am distracted, I am sorry’ you huffed.

‘By what?’ he asked and you sure didn’t want to respond to this question.

But he already knew your answer. He has seen the way you kept looking at him.

‘I need you to tell me what has been distracting you so that I can help you Y/N’ Cillian said.

‘It is you who distracts me and, unless you are going to fuck me over this table right now, I will probably continue to be distracted for the auditions this afternoon’ you huffed as you knew that, by the way things were going, you may as well cancel your drama school enrolment.  

Cillian chuckled and moved quicker than you thought possible, grabbing your waist, hoisting your up off your chair and onto your feet.

‘I’ve got 45 minutes Y/N…you better remember your lines after this’ Cillian said, quickly pressing his lips onto your before spinning you around to face his desk.

He had been wanting you since the moment you walked into his class. Of course, it was inappropriate but his desire had finally gotten the better of him when the words left your lips.

His chest pressed against your back and you previously pounding heart doubled its pace as you felt incredibly turned on.

His breath was hot on your skin as he kissed his way from the nape of your neck up to your ear where he took your earlobe into his mouth and tugged at it gently with his teeth before whispering in your ear ‘Is this what you want.’

‘Yes’ you moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder as your eyes closed.

‘Don’t make a sound’ Cillian’s inducted as his hand slid beneath your cotton skirt and into your panties where his fingers found your already soaking wet slit.

He traced the edges of your pussy with the tips of his fingers, never directly touching your clit but getting just close enough to make you ache with anticipation. He continually dipped the first knuckle into you, but never enough to satisfy the desire to be filled that pulsed inside you.

As he teased you, you could feel the bulge in his pants pressed against you growing. All you wanted was his cock inside you. You moaned and tried to grind against his teasing hand, shifting your hips in an attempt to get his fingers where you wanted them, but he continuously rebuffed your attempts.

After what felt like hours of teasing, his hand left you and you felt him unbuckle his belt and push his pants off.

Cillian pushed your skirt up and, when his body came back against yours, you felt his hard member pressing against your panties.

‘Please, please just fuck me’ you moaned as Cillian finally pushed your panties down to your knees.

‘One thing you really need to learn is to be patient’ he then growled as he moved his fingers adeptly through your folds, finding all your most sensitive spots, rolling around and over your clit, probing inside you deeper and deeper, making you groan with pleasure and fuelling your desire even further to get him in you.

You could feel the precum oozing from the tip of his cock, smearing on your ass as he slid back and forth between it. You tightened your glute muscles around him and felt his girth slipping between you.

Then, all of a sudden, he removed his hands from your aching mound and reach for his wallet on the desk, pulling out a condom.

You heard Cillian opening the packet just before he rolled the condom onto his hard shaft. The sound of it made you ache for him even more, knowing that he would be inside you any moment now.

‘Spread your legs for me’ he instructed before he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance.

Instead of pushing into you however, he began to slowly pull you back onto his length. As the tip entered you, you felt your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. It was uncomfortable for a moment, but he went slowly and you soon adjusted.

You slowly took inch by inch, moaning a long guttural moan that seemed to be pushed out of you at the same rate that he filled you.

‘Sssh, we don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?’ Cillian whispered, his breath changing.

Eventually you felt his tip bump into your cervix and Cillian came to a halt, allowing you to adjust to his size.

Once he felt you relax, he quickly backed 3 or 4 inches out of you and then thrust inside you again, being sure to stop just short of your cervix.

From that point forward you were lost in the moment. You bounced back against Cillian’s cock which he met with equal thrusts, each time the head of his cock stretching you and pressing against your g-spot as he slid deeper inside you. You had never felt so full and satisfied in your life. With each thrust you felt the heat and tension building deep inside you.

 ‘Are you going cum for me?’ Cillian groaned as he could feel your legs shivering and your walls tightening.

In the heat of the moment, with his hands on your waist, holding you firmly, and his cock buried in your pussy, you couldn’t hold back much longer.

‘Oh my god, oh my god!’ you moaned in response and Cillian’s hand immediately moved onto your mouth to cover your moans.

Your moans became more and more desperate and your hands clenched the front end of the desk while your eyes slammed shut as you felt the explosion erupt inside you.

‘That’s it’ Cillian moaned as your legs shook uncontrollably and you could barely breathe as your walls spasmed around Cillian’s pistoning cock. When your voice finally returned you let out a wailing scream as you rode through wave after wave of bliss.

Even after your orgasm had subsided, your body twitched and convulsed involuntarily as the aftershocks of being so satisfied rippled through your body. Through it all, Cillian continued his onslaught, watching as you writhed before him, your figure reacting to him in every way he could have wanted. He watched as your pussy gushed around him, dripping all over the floor.

He tried to hold off his own pending orgasm, but the ferocity with which your spasming walls gripped and milked at his cock was too much. As your orgasm began to subside, he could hold out no longer. He groaned and thrust deep inside your as he felt his balls tighten and begin to unload his cum. You felt his already thick shaft swell inside you and begin to twitch and pulse.

When he had finally finished, he pulled out of you and quickly disposed of the condom.

‘Right Y/N, you’ve got what you wanted, now repeat your lines for me’ Cillian smirked as he zipped up his jeans.

 Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal   @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse   @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa  @littlewierdalien  @sad-huffle-nerd  @theflamecrystal   @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @themissthang  @0ghostwriter0  @stylescanbeatmyback  @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni  @momoneymolife  @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03  @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @otterly-fey @janelongxox  @uchihacumdump @basiclassy  @being-worthy  @chaotic-bean-of-smolness  @margoo0 @chocolatehalo

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee  @daydreamingnymph  @fookingshelby   

[mistydear]

soften me now, let me take as is given (v)

billie dean howard x reader

summary: You meet Billie in mourning. She’s too professional, and you’re too angry, and it takes too long to see her again. And again. And again as your lives tumble together.

w/c: 4k

notes: warnings for grief, cemeteries, and alcohol. I promise this story isn't only about grief. It'll taper off after this chapter. But definitely settle in for a slow burn, lovelies lol <3

chapter one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen

taglist: @thedeconstructionist

On the one year anniversary of Catherine’s death, Margot calls you at 9:30 in the morning to ask how you’re doing. You don’t answer, but you do listen to her voicemail with your head buried under a pillow.

Hey babe, it’s me. Just calling to ask if you wanted to have brunch. I’m ready and willing to make you pancakes just call me back.

There’s a sigh and a brief pause.

Please tell me you’re not working today. I love you. Call me.

You groan and roll out of bed. Of course you’re working today. What a stupid question. What else would you possibly do, wallow quietly in your apartment? That sounds like a slippery slope to a repeat of the first few months after Catherine’s death. Instead, you turn on your coffee maker and pull two mugs from your cabinet. One is yours. It’s orange and red—hand made with the artist’s signature on the bottom. The other is Kate’s. It’s blue and green and the companion piece to your own. When you finally had the strength to go through Catherine’s things, you and Margot were very deliberate about what you kept, what you donated, and what you threw away. But this was the only thing you chose to remove from your house and take with you to your new place.

The coffee pot screams at you as you fill both mugs. Kate took hers with cream and no sugar, and you make sure it’s exactly right before setting it out on your kitchen table. After you make your own—cream and two sugars—you hold it in both hands, hoping that some of its warmth would seep into you. Gingerly, you sit across from Kate’s mug and watch the morning sunlight stream across the table, separating you. You don’t say anything. You’re not sure there’s anything to say, but you sip your coffee and watch as hers gets cold.

. . .

Almost as soon as you get to work later that morning, Norah finds you shelving books on the second floor.

“I thought I smelled trouble,” she says quietly, grabbing a book to help you stock. “You’re not on the schedule today.” It could have been an innocent observation, but you know Norah better than that. The smell of books has always been a comfort to you, and there’s a certain routine to your job that’s soothing, but it seems redundant to say so. Instead, you shrug and avoid eye contact.

“I needed something to do.”

“There are actually more productive things to do today than this, you know,” she says pointedly, leaning up against a stack. You’re ready to shoot her down when one of your employees walks by and then quickly does a double take. Her name is Joan, but most of the staff calls her Jo. Her hair is long and gray, nearly white, and she usually has a pencil stuck in it somewhere.

“I thought I was hallucinating. What the hell are you doing here?” she asks, walking towards you with singular aim and unflinching eyes. You’ve never spent time with Jo outside of work, but you’ve often thought about what she might be like alone. You imagine her apartment to be filled with books, warm and cozy with an armchair made of worn green velvet.

“That’s exactly what I was trying to figure out,” Norah says conspiratorially. Jo’s worked here longer than you have, so to you she’s always just been a part of the atmosphere here. She holds the same warmth, the same comfort.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” she warns, not a hint of a smile on her face as she points a finger at you. Her eyes are hawklike and sharp, and it’s amazing how effectively she can blend maternal concern with her usual tough old bird demeanor. You’re in no way beholden to Joan, but you feel the threat hanging over you as she disappears past the stacks. Bewildered, you look at Norah who shrugs.

“The Corner Store Oracle has spoken.”

The first time Jo met Kate, she was dropping off a lunch that you forgot at home. You’d just bought your house together, and in the excitement and chaos you’d been unusually forgetful. There were two sets of footsteps down the hall from your office when you heard them.

“You must be Kate. We hear a lot about you over here,” Jo says in that slow drawl as they round the corner.

“Not that much,” you try to defend, swiveling in your chair. Jo scoffs and leans up against the doorframe as you stand to greet Kate. She kisses you with a sweet hum, tasting like clementines and chapstick. You smile into her, instantly feeling at home, and then kiss her deeply on the cheek before pulling her into a tight hug.

“Uh huh. It’s always my wife this and my wife that. Let me show you a picture of the house my wife and I bought,” she mocks, and Kate laughs, squeezing you tight and then letting you go. She trails her fingers down your cheek and brushes her brown hair behind her ear, eyes shining delightfully as they flutter from you to Jo.

“You really like this whole wife thing, don’t you?” Kate muses, setting your lunch down on the desk. You fight down and blush and give her a half shrug.

“It’s growing on me, I guess.” She chews her lip and takes a deep breath. Everything is so fresh and new and bright like a warm Sunday morning.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Jo says, holding out her hand to shake. Kate—in that way she always does—smiles and holds Jo’s hand firmly in both of hers.

“You as well. And thank you. For showing me the way.” And as everyone always is, Jo’s pleasantly surprised by Kate’s intimacy and ducks out with a rare smile. Now that you’re alone, Kate turns and is immediately greeted by your waiting arms. She runs her fingers through your hair and kisses your nose, settling perfectly into you.

“You didn’t have to come all the way down here,” you mutter, pulling her closer, your lips brushing. It’s a bit of a drive to work, especially at this time of day in LA traffic.

“I missed you,” she mumbles back, connecting your lips. You hum, collecting that neediness and kissing it right back into her.

. . .

You’re bitter when Norah drags you out into the sunlight. You know she’s trying to get you to face your grief instead of running from it, but you think maybe you’re entitled to a little escapism now and then. Especially today. Then, with your arms linked tightly, her phone rings.

“Hey, Margot.” You roll your eyes instantly, and Norah elbows you but doesn’t let you go as if afraid you’ll run off like an overexcited puppy. “Yeah, she’s here with me.” She nods and chuckles. “Where else would she be?” Right after Catherine’s death, she and Margot took care of you. Really cared for you when you couldn’t do it yourself. You’ll always be grateful for them, for their gentle kindness and boundless generosity. But the one thing you’ve managed to be continually embarrassed by is the way they tag team your mental health like you still can’t get dressed or comb your hair on your own. “I know. Yep. Love you too.” Then she hands you the phone. You feel like a child, so you take it.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Margot sighs, weary and relieved. “I love you so much,” she says forcefully, and a flickering smile comes over you.

“I love you more.”

“Not possible,” she jokes, a laugh on her lips. “I know you probably don’t wanna see me today, and I get it. I do.” She’s right. She looks too much like Catherine for you to be able to handle that today, and all of a sudden you feel overwhelmingly guilty and alone. You aren’t the only one grieving, after all. “But I want you to know that you can cry with me any time, day or night. I’ll be there.”

A lump forms hot in your throat. You swallow and nod. It confuses you to hear Margot say it, but you force yourself to take it in. Margot loves you. You’re her family. You belong. You still belong, and you’ll always belong.

“I love you,” you manage.

“I love you.” Quietly, you end the call and hand Norah her phone back. You know she just wanted to check in. After all, you’ve been known to make rash decisions in your grief—perhaps unwise, unhealthy ones. Norah takes it and tucks it back into her pocket. After a moment of silence, she squeezes your arm.

“Let’s buy some flowers.”

. . .

You hold a hand over your forehead to block the sun as Norah quietly follows you through the cemetery. It’s hot and there’s a light breeze, but the flowers in your hand smell nice. They’re Kate’s favorites, red and orange chrysanthemums.

You remember the morning you bought your first bouquet of the new house. You’d finally gotten settled in, mostly, and decided to go to the farmer’s market. Kate was practically bursting. She’d always carried enough childlike joy for the both of you.

“Oh my god, Y/N, look at these,” she says, pulling you back from the next stall over. She has an armful of chrysanthemums wrapped in newspaper, and you have a tote bag full of fresh fruits and vegetables and bread, and you’re hot and hungry, so you groan. “You’re such a complainer. Look at how cute these are.” A strand of hair has fallen out of her messy ponytail, and you brush it behind her ear before following her gaze.

Two handmade mugs sit at a crafting table, one blue and green and the other red and orange.

“They’re part of a set,” the seller says, looking between you two. “Perfect for couples.” Kate looks at you with brilliant, hopeful eyes, and you’re a goner.

When you get home, she washes the mugs and puts out the flowers while you make brunch. Then she hands you the red and orange mug full of coffee and kisses you on the cheek, holding you from behind as you flip eggs.

“It’s not home until there’s flowers,” she says and kisses your neck. You shiver and lean back against her, inclined to agree.

Kate’s plot is modest with a flat headstone and a peaceful view of the park. You hope she likes it, green and wide and open. As much as coming here hurts, you’re fond of the idea that she has a nice place to rest. Though you were young, you did make a point to talk about final wishes. Choosing a cemetery or a plot was far too daunting, but you made sure she knew what you wanted, and she did the same.

Catherine Ann Hill

Gingerly, you kneel down and tuck the flowers against the stone as if it would shatter at the slightest touch. You trace your fingers over the name etched into cold granite as your vision blurs with tears. You didn’t realize it would be that easy to get you to cry today. The pain hits next, a great stabbing and seizing of your chest when you realize—remember—that Kate is lying right under your knees. Just a few feet away, forever.

A sob pushes its way through you. Almost immediately, Norah’s hand rests on your back, rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder blade. And once it starts, it just doesn’t stop. You sit back on the grass and cry into your hands, feeling so overwhelmed you can hardly breathe.

It’s for this exact reason that you don’t visit Catherine’s grave very often. Maybe you’re just scared to feel it all so intensely again. You’ve only barely gotten back on your feet, and this feels exactly like twisting an ankle.

. . .

You aren’t stumbling, but you think maybe taking several more shots instead of drinking water before you left your apartment wasn’t your smartest idea. Anyway, you’re craving something sweet, and a slice of cake from Insomnia Cafe sounds amazing right now. When you walk in, the bell above the door rings sharp in your ears, and you squint against the harsh light.

Grimacing, you look up at the menu only to find yourself unable to focus on it. It wavers in your vision, threatening to spin, and you curse under your breath.

“What are the odds?” you hear a voice ask from behind you. You turn—stepping awkwardly so as not to throw yourself off balance—to find Billie Dean Howard in front of you again. The corner of her lips is turned up into an amused smile, but you notice her eyes are unusually guarded. And that’s saying something, you think.

“Slim to none, probably,” you reply, folding your arms over your chest. She laughs, but it’s more of a huff.

“Well, ladies first,” she offers, motioning to the cash register before clasping her hands in front of her. You would have found that a little funny had you not sensed the tension radiating off her. Unsettled by her demeanor, you glance back and notice that the cashier is the same as last time you were here with Billie, dark hair and tattoos. Her headphones are already around her neck this time, and she’s standing at the register, glancing between you two. Sensing that you were being waited for, you stepped forward with unnaturally careful feet.

“Um,” you begin—very confidently—pressing your palms into the counter. You’ve given up trying to read. “Do you have anything with chocolate and peanut butter in it?” Now that you actually have to interact with people, you feel the need to act more sober than you are. Though you’re positive this girl gets more drunk people in here than you can imagine.

“We have our Reese’s brownie,” she says flatly, adjusting a septum piercing.

“No, I don’t want that. It’s like. I want cake but with peanut butter. You know?” you ask, leaning on the counter. The cashier eyes you, tapping long nails onto the display case.

“We have a dark chocolate cake with peanut butter mousse?” she suggests, and that sounds like heaven so you nod firmly.

“Yes, that. Nice team work,” you say, holding up your hand to high five her. She glances behind you, presumably at Billie, and then reluctantly taps her palm against yours. You’re too drunk to feel awkward about that, but Billie clearly isn’t because she gently brushes past you.

“Alright that’s enough of that. I’ll have a slice of the same, thank you.” She pulls out her wallet before you can even process what she’s doing and pays for the both of you. And then she leaves a tip in the tip jar before turning back around. You’ve stuffed your hands in your pockets like a child waiting for direction, so she leads you to a table where you both sit down.

“Is this the same table as last time?” you wonder absently.

“Are you drunk?” she asks without preamble.

“No, not at all.”

“Y/N,” she insists skeptically, cocking her head down so she’s looking at you over her lashes which are long and painted. You lean back against the chair, feeling weightless and untethered. “Is everything okay?” she asks carefully, quieter this time. You can’t look at her then, swallowing as you sit up straighter.

“Fine,” you say as neutrally as possible. Billie hesitates. She’s about to say something when the cashier announces that your food is ready. Before you can get up, Billie does, striding to the counter in tall heels. You glance at your phone—that you can read at least. It’s almost two in the morning, and she’s in a floral wrap dress and a full face of makeup. As she walks back—one plate of cake in each hand—her hair bounces lightly against her shoulders, curled perfectly as if it had just been done an hour ago. If you were to run your fingers through it, you wonder whether it would be crunchy with hairspray or just as soft as it looks.

“You’re not making this very fun,” Billie says absently as she sits back down. She seems weary, and you slide your plate closer to you a little sheepishly. Clearly, Billie’s not having the best day either based on the dullness in her eyes, the tightness in her mouth, and you’re not making it better. You may be having an unspeakably terrible day yourself, but you don’t have to push that onto Billie. You chew your lip, fiddling with your plate.

“Thanks. For the cake.” You glance up to find her sliding her fork out from between her lips. She acknowledges you with a flicker of her eyes, and you swallow. “My wife, um…” you swallow again, trying to quell the lump that immediately forms in your throat. “A year ago. Today. She…” you raise one of your shoulders and look down, bringing your fork to your lips. You chew slowly, heart pounding, and when you summon the courage to look up at Billie, her eyes are locked on you, sympathetic and open. You take a shaky breath. “What about you?”

“What?” she asks, thrown off by the change in conversation.

“Why are you here?” For a moment, through hazy, unsteady eyes, you swear that Billie blushes. Her cheeks tinge red, and she looks down, fiddling with her cake.

“It’s nothing. You wouldn’t be interested.”

“Try me,” you say, leaning forward on the table. She scoffs and shakes her head, and you raise your brow. “Billie Dean Howard. Don’t cheap out on me now. I just shared something objectively terrible with you. Your turn.” That pulls half a smile from her, and hers pulls one from you in turn, warming something inside you.

“I had a bad day at work,” she sighs with another shake of her head, poking at her cake. You raise your brow and consider asking whether any of her ghost friends showed up for filming today. You’re drunk, but you’re not drunk enough to be that rude.

“What happened?”

“I really don’t think you’d be interested. Besides, you’ve had a worse day than me, I’m sure,” she says, grabbing another bite of cake. You realize that what she means is she doesn’t think you’d care. You frown, too drunk to wonder why you’re hurt by that.

“It’ll make me feel better,” you offer. “To hear how shitty your day was.” She gives you a look you can’t decipher, and it makes you panic. “Joke, that’s…I was just…”

“I know,” she says, smiling politely. You grimace at your own stupidity and the enormity of Billie’s silent distress.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” you say, quieter now. She sighs and looks you over, no doubt assessing how drunk you are. If you were her you’d do the same to decide whether it’s even worth talking about. But she seems to make a decision because she shifts in her chair and swallows.

“Good TV requires drama,” she begins, rolling her fork between her fingers. “I knew that when I signed with Lifetime. I just…I didn’t expect so much of it.” You’re confused, and she senses that, glancing self consciously from you to her plate. She’s always so self assured that it’s horrifying to see her unsettled like this. “Usually I try to avoid putting myself in spaces with malicious spirits. I mean I don’t…” she takes a breath and closes her eyes, “seek them out just to speak with them. I do it to protect those still living.” Her words sink into you and linger in the back of your mind. She didn’t say it like a hero or as a burden. She said it as a fact. This is who she is, what she does. It just is. “And I’m not afraid,” she insists, and you believe her. “I’m just…” she hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes it’s difficult to block them out.” She stretches her neck and sighs, setting down her fork like it’s all just unappetizing now.

You wonder what Billie hears, what she sees, and for the first time find yourself questioning whether you believe her abilities or not. The thought unnerves you, makes you think of Kate lingering all alone in your house, and that’s way too much to handle right now—drunk or sober. You swallow, setting down your own fork.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says, and you’re surprised by how in tune she is with your emotions. Perhaps it’s the years of dealing with grieving relatives coming in handy.

“I know. Today it’s just…”

“I understand,” she says, effectively ending the conversation. You appreciate it, actually, more than you can process right now.

“She believed in ghosts, you know. I think that’s the worst part,” you chuckle hollowly, looking down into your lap. The movement of your head makes your vision swim, and you take a soothing breath.

“Tell me about her,” Billie encourages, her voice softening. You look up at her, confused, to find her head cocked gently, eyes soft and beckoning. She nods, and you blush, looking down at your fingers. How can you even begin to describe Kate?

“She was unbelievably kind and affectionate with everyone. She always talked to people like they were her closest friends. Warm and intimate. I loved that about her.” It hurts to talk in the past tense, but Billie is quiet, and it’s almost soothing to get it out in the open. “She was funny. Knew exactly how to make me laugh. Especially when I was upset. And she had this scar above her eyebrow from when she was a kid. She hated it, so I kissed it every chance I got. Wish I could kiss it one more time,” you say, starting to choke. Something protectively shuts down inside you, so you wipe your nose with the back of your hand and push your plate away. “I need a drink.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Billie says, pushing back her chair to help you to your feet.

“I can walk,” you insist, stumbling.

“No you can’t, dear,” she says, amused as you latch onto her elbow. You’ve gotten considerably more drunk since you left your apartment.

“I don’t want you to take care of me,” you say because it’s suddenly all so humiliating.

“I’m not taking care of you. I’m driving you home,” she informs you as you walk out to her car. You make sure not to grab onto her, but the road is spinning and you feel like you may be floating but also sinking.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be,” she says before closing the car door on you and getting in the driver’s side. “This is much more interesting than what I would have been doing otherwise.”

“No fancy celebrity parties to go to?” you ask, remembering some rumors you’d seen online of Billie’s clientele starting to creep into A-list celebrity status. She chuckles, pulling onto the road, and you lean your head back against the seat.

“Not tonight.” When she asks you where you live, you vaguely remember replying with your old address and then quickly and embarrassingly correcting yourself. Billie doesn’t comment, but after that your memories start to get fuzzy.

Things come sharply back into focus when Billie takes your apartment keys from you as you struggle with the lock. She smells like oak and wildflowers with something deeper and richer underneath. Her hands are cool and soft when she rights you as you trip over the welcome mat, closing the door behind her. There’s something intimate about this—about her body next to yours in the entryway—but it doesn’t strike you as strange until Billie Dean Howard is pouring herself a glass of your gin. The day seems to be hitting her again, and her weariness reminds you of your own.

“Pour me a glass,” you say, and she’s decidedly not taking care of you tonight, so she does.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 10

You were packing up your stuff as students filed out of the lecture hall, it was your last class of the day. As you were walking out towards the parking lot, your phone started to vibrate in your bag. It was the school.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hi Y/N. It’s Mrs. Flynn. I was just calling to let you know that Jo is now waiting inside with me because she was getting cold outside,” she informed you.

“Spencer’s not there?” you questioned, looking at the time displayed on your phone.

Pickup time was fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Sorry for the inconvenience,” you opened your car door and set your bag down in the passenger seat, turning on the ignition.

“No worries, I have to reorganize the classroom library anyways so I was already planning on staying after.”

Once the call ended, you tried to call Spencer but it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey Spencer, I don’t know if you forgot but it was your day to pick up Jo. I’m getting her now,” you said as you reversed out of your parking spot.

Minutes later, your phone rang again. Expecting Spencer’s contact to show up on screen, your brow furrowed when the name read “JJ” instead.

“Hi JJ?” you said, more of a question than a greeting.

“Y/N, Spencer has been shot. I already told Will to go back to the school to pick up Jo. You should get here if you can. He’s in surgery now but there has been no update since he went in,” JJ explained.

“Oh my god. Okay, I’m turning around now. How did this happen? He didn’t mention he was on a case?” you pulled into a random parking lot to turn around.

“Well technically, we weren’t. We had a lead on a possible local case and we went to interview a potential witness who could give us some more information. We realized too late that he was the unsub. He thought we were on to him and shot Spencer in the leg while trying to escape.”

You had silent tears running down your face.

“I’m five minutes out” is all you could muster and then you hung up the phone.

You ran into the ER doors to find the rest of the team in the waiting room. You were glad you went to Rossi’s dinner party now or else this would have been a much more awkward first meeting.

“Any updates?” you asked frantically.

“No,” Derek sighed, “But no news is good news.”

You took the empty seat in between JJ and Penelope and put your face in your hands, not wanting everyone to see your tears.

-

Two hours of crappy coffee and vending machine snacks as your only source of sustenance later, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors.

She had a completely neutral expression that you couldn’t read but then again you weren’t a profiler.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” she asked, glancing down at her clipboard.

All of you stood and desperately crowded around her.

“Dr. Reid is in stable condition and awake. The bullet went into his thigh but it wasn’t through and through. He will need to be on crutches for about a week or so but luckily the bullet wound is near the edge of his thigh rather than the middle, meaning recovery time will be shorter,” she explained.

There was a collective sigh of relief along with a few “thank god”s.

“Although he is awake, I don’t think it’s best if you all go in at once since he is very drowsy. He has been asking for a Y/N?” the doctor looked around at you all.

All eyes fell on you. You collected yourself, grabbing your purse and following the doctor down the hall.

“I’ll let you know how he is,” you told everyone before you disappeared past the double doors.

The doctor guided you into a room at the end of the hall. You thanked her quietly and she nodded in acknowledgement, leaving you two alone. Spencer had his eyes closed but his hospital bed was inclined so he was sitting up slightly. You briskly walked over and took the seat right beside him. You took his hand in yours and squeezed it lightly, combing his messy hair out with your fingers.

As you were softly massaging his scalp, you heard a light groan. You retracted your fingers immediately as Spencer began to open his eyes.

Once Spencer took in his surroundings, he quickly sat up completely in bed, letting out a yelp of pain.

“Jo...it was my turn to pick up,” he said frantically.

“Hey, look at me, Spence. It’s okay, she’s at JJ and Will’s. You were shot in the thigh though so you’re not going anywhere. Please lie back down,” you assured him.

He nodded his head, relaxing a bit and looking down at his hands in his lap. He seemed to be processing something in his head.

“You called me ‘Spence’,” he stated.

Shit. That was twice now. It keeps slipping.

“Sorry, I-,” you began to ramble some apology that you didn’t even know where you were going with it. Luckily, he stopped you before you could further embarrass yourself.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he spoke softly as he looked up at you, tears threatening to fall.

“I was so scared, Y/N,” he sobbed.

You swiftly pulled him into your embrace, tucking his head into your neck as you began to gently stroke his hair again.

“It’s okay, let it out. I can’t imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through that but you're safe now, I promise,” you whispered to him.

“I was so afraid I was going to abandon you and Jo again. It hurt worse than the actual bullet,” he muttered into your neck.

You removed your hands from his hair and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you.

“Spencer Reid, you did not abandon Jo in the first place so there is no ‘again’. Second of all, you would have died a hero saving lives and I would have made sure Jo knew that and she never forgot her Daddy or how much he loved her,” you spoke earnestly, never breaking eye contact.

Spencer’s eyes softened. A second later, his lips were on yours again. This time, however, you didn’t pull away. Life was too short and this was already complicated as is, what’s the harm.

You basked in the familiarity of his lips locking with yours. Once he finally pulled away for air, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Go out with me. A real date. No more college dorm dates with takeout,” he smiled.

“You know you didn’t have to get shot to ask me out, right?” you teased.

“I thought I needed a grand gesture,” he beamed, chucking lightly.

“Yeah, Spence, I’ll go on a date with you.”

His lips found yours once again.

-

“Jo, are you ready?” you called out from the kitchen, packing snacks.

“Mommy, I’m already at the door!” she exclaimed.

Jo was eager to go see her Daddy at the hospital. You would spend the day there until he was discharged and then he would live with you guys for the week. You insisted on being there to take care of him while he was healing. You didn’t want him hobbling around all alone in his apartment.

When you walked out to the front entryway, there was a stack of various toys and books that hadn’t been there when you came down the stairs.

“What is this?” you gestured to the pile, amused.

“Daddy has big boo-boo so he needs stuff to cheer him up,” she stated.

“I don’t think we are going to be able to bring all this. Plus, remember Daddy is coming home with us later today. So here’s what we will do,” you handed Jo her dinosaur backpack, “You pack all the stuff you can fit in this bag that you think Daddy needs right away and the rest of the stuff can wait.”

Jo made quick work of sorting through her massive pile, trying to decide what would make her dad the most happy.

-

“Daddy!” Jo excitedly screamed, running towards the bed.

“Jo!” he returned with the same sentiment.

She was unable to get up on the bed herself so you had to lift her up.

“Remember what I said, careful with Daddy or he won’t get better,” you reminded her.

“You can sit her on my good leg,” Spencer patted his right thigh where you gently set Jo down.

“We brought you loads of stuff, Daddy,” Jo chirped, looking over at you.

You revealed a box of donuts from your bag and the coffee tray you had been holding. You handed him a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles and Jo a strawberry frosted with sprinkles. The two ‘cheers’ed their donuts before biting into them.

“Jo also brought you some things to cheer you up,” you handed her her backpack.

First, she promptly pulled out a pink Disney princesses band-aid and stuck it on Spencer’s already bandaged thigh.

“You need that so it doesn’t get infected,” she repeated Spencer’s words from when she fell at Rossi’s dinner party.

“Thank you, princess. What would I do without you?” he kissed the top of her head as she rummaged around in her backpack some more.

She set up her five favorite dinosaur toys on his tray table in front of them, glancing up at him for approval.

“Perfect,” he smiled, nodding.

Next, she pulled out a piece of paper that had been colored on.

“Who’s this?” Spencer asked, looking at the three stick figures doodled on the paper.

“That’s you, that’s Mommy, and that’s me,” she pointed to each of the sketches.

“Aw, that one is definitely making the fridge,” you smiled.

Finally, Jo took out her Magic Tree House book that she was currently reading. She needed help with some of the words but either you or Spencer or the both of you would help her read it every night.

“You already finished the last one?” Spencer picked up the new book that was next in the series, examining it and smiling proudly.

“And I didn’t need help with a single word on the last chapter,” Jo beamed.

“You’re so smart,” Spencer kissed her head again, “let’s see how far we can get on this one before we can go home.”