#there was a lot of things going on in my mind that did not make it into the story

[foldingfittedsheets]

There was this park near where I grew up. I remember we’d just moved to the area so I was around six and we drove past and saw this waterfront area. My parents decided to check it out so we went for a walk. It was a lovely park, there’s a lazy slough, lots of trees, extremely picturesque. My parents ambled along the trail enjoying the nature while my siblings and I ranged around in their orbit like excitable moons.

Then I saw something odd. Something vibrantly alive down by the water that was entirely the wrong color. I called back my vital scouting info and my family gathered around me. We looked down the steep verge toward the slough, screened by underbrush. We couldn’t quite make out what it was. The only thing we could agree was that it certainly wasn’t a duck. However it was about duck sized and roughly duck shaped. It just wasn’t a duck.

This led to some heated debate amongst my siblings and I but we were forbidden to scramble down the muddy hill to harass the mystery animal. Reluctantly we continued down the trail, speculating wildly when a chicken popped out of a bush in front of us with a train of several chicks.

We froze. The chicken did not. She placidly herded her little puffs across the trail, pecking happily for seeds, unbothered by our proximity. My family had not yet delved into farming and this was the first time any of us kids had seen a chicken up close. It was like a fairytale thing, a creature we had seen over and over in books was suddenly here in the wilderness of the park. We all realized the mystery creature had likewise been a chicken.

Another couple came up the trail and saw us staring.

“Is this your first time at the park?” They asked?

We nodded.

They informed us that this park had become a dumping ground for unwanted chickens. Once the chickens were dumped they were park property and the locals didn’t mind the eccentric additions at all. No one looked after the chickens, but they got on surprisingly well.

As the years went by we visited the park regularly. Signs were added to warn people not to dump off chickens or they’d be fined. They were also excluded from snatching the existing chickens. The hope was that the chickens would eventually run their course and the park would go back to normal.

It did not.

Instead the menagerie grew. Peacocks cropped up occasionally, turkeys; and one visit we saw guinea fowl. But there were always chickens. Eventually feed dispenser were installed so park goers could pay a quarter to enjoy the motley flocks.

Because we’d moved into a house with land my mom started up a chicken coop and we got our very own chickens at the feed store like proper folks. The first rooster we had was a gentleman, politely clucking at us when came into the coop, but the second proved troublesome a year later. He either adored or hated me. Every time I entered the coop he’d dance and flounce and brandish his spurs.

My mom didn’t want to off him frankly she didn’t know how at that point but his fascination ended with him flying at me and the rooster was sentenced to banishment.

We drove to the park.

We saw him there for years afterward, clucking dutifully around a small flock of hens. He did pretty well in exile.

Anyone who’s kept chickens knows that eventually there’s always a tragedy. Ours happened when a neighbors dog broke into our coop and slaughtered the flock. I was absolutely distraught, my lovingly hand reared chicks all decimated in a flurry of senseless bloodlust. I have not loved a chicken since. They are too fragile to bear it.

After a few days of mourning my mom offered that she knew where to find some more chickens. To make up for the massacre she planned a night raid with us. We stayed up past our bedtime and drove to the park with tarp covered kennels in the back of the truck.

We crept down along the gravel parking lot, looking up into the trees, spotting the telltale lumps of shadows that meant chickens. We quickly developed a strategy. We picked a chicken branch, creeping close underneath. Then we reached the end of the branch and gave it a good shake until the roosting chicken glided down to the ground in confusion. It was easy to scoop them up and we went home the proud new owner of a handsome flock of chickens.

The Take a Chicken Leave a Chicken park is still a beloved feature of its neighborhood to this day.

[shrimpybbq]

green thumb

synopsis: high school gf loves her veggie garden and so does charlie. rafe is clueless and lacks a green thumb, but does his best to be supportive.

The warm sun shone through the windows of the Cameron house, it’s rays casting a golden hue across the spacious living room that currently housed half of the aforementioned Cameron family. The tall frame of Rafe Cameron lay horizontal on the plush couch, his arms wrapped protectively around the small baby atop chest. His sweet little girl had only been born a few months ago, but she was already growing too fast for his liking. Each day was so precious to Rafe, knowing Emmy would never be this small again, so he cherished the mundane moments like this one, letting her use his chest as a mattress for as long as she wished. He basked in the rise and fall of her chest, the little grunts she let out as her dreams took place.

Rafe had been on the couch for an hour or so, letting his wife spend time with Charlie. The young boy loved his sister, but becoming a big brother was challenging. He was no longer the main focus of his parents and growing used to sharing the attention had been troubling for the boy. He would pout when his mother left his side to feed his sister, clinging tearily to her sleeve. It broke both Rafe and his wife's heart, and the pair knew they needed to do something to make Charlie know he was still just as important as before. That was when they noticed how much the little boy loved his mother's veggie garden. He was always trying to follow his mother outside, eager to play in the soil and spend time with his favourite person.

Each morning, the young mother would climb out of bed silently, her footsteps softly padding across the carpet in an attempt to not disturb the sleeping baby in the room. A soft kiss to her daughter's forehead before she disappeared outside to her veggie garden. At Tannyhill, the girl had grown a few herbs - chives, rosemary, thyme - that sort of thing. Rafe had never really noticed until one day he caught her sneaking out, and thinking the worst he followed her. He had frozen when instead of seeing her leaving the property or meeting another man, she had crouched down in front of the old neglected herb garden. Rose had tried to grow some herbs at one point before giving up on her faux housewife act, and Rafe had never really paid attention to what remained. His curiosity peaked as he watched his girlfriend gently water the soil and pat it in place, humming quietly to herself. Content with knowing her whereabouts, Rafe quietly stalked back indoors, tucking the knowledge away in his mind.

When the family moved to their new home, he decided to surprise his now-wife with a special section in the backyard just for her. He'd spent a few hours one morning while she was in town building planter boxes, filling them with soil and setting up a hose nearby. Rafe was so excited to surprise her once she returned home, covering her eyes with his hands as he led her out to the yard. Little Charlie sat on her hip despite her pregnant belly, his hands clinging to his mother.

"Hey-hey! No peeking! Don't you dare," Rafe muttered as she tried to move her head away.

"Just tell me, please?" She begged, growing impatient. It didn't help that Rafe's guiding skills left a lot to be desired.

"Just know that you're gonna like it, 'kay?"

When his hands dropped away from her eyes, she gasped softly. The perfect little garden set-up stood in front of her, all ready to go. Eyes wide, she turned to Rafe.

"Wha- how, I- how did you know?" She questioned incredulously. No-one had ever done anything like this for her. Rafe grinned down at her as his arm wrapped around her shoulders, tugging her into his frame.

"I have my ways," he drawled cheekily, "I did good, huh?"

He watched as she nodded, turning to Charlie, "Should we go have a look?" The little boy nodded and Rafe stood on proudly as his wife and son went to investigate the new garden.

Rafe noticed Emmy stirring, the girl beginning to grumble as her hunger grew. He knew she needed to be fed or soon, the whole neighbourhood would hear the girl's screams. As he slowly pandered out to the yard, his eyes fell upon his wife and the small blond boy crouched at her side. With a watering can in one hand, Charlie gently delivered water to the small carrot and tomato plots. He squealed in excitement as his mother praised him for his effort, gently patting the soil around the growing vegetables as she did the same. Rafe looked at the two proudly, wishing he didn’t need to interrupt them, but alas, little Emmy began to whine loudly, catching the attention of her mother. She turned around quickly to see the small girl baby tucked securely in her father’s arms, and stood up.

“Hungry?”

“Don’t you know it,” Rafe grunted. He handed Emmy over to his wife’s outstretched arms.

“She’s just like you, never full,” she sighed, exasperated, before undoing the oversized button up of Rafe’s she wore.

The pair settled into a moment of comfortable silence as their daughter latched, her little hands reaching to cling to the shirt lapels. Calm spread but only for a moment.

“Daddy! Look! Strawberry!” Charlie shouted. Rafe stalked over to his son and crouched down to match his height. It was almost comical to see such a tall man make himself so small, especially when he couldn’t control the expression of slight discomfort covering his face.

“Wow bud, look at that… did you and your mama do that?” Rafe grinned as Charlie nodded, pleased with himself. Rafe had never fully been able to get into the groove of gardening, finding the waiting too painful to ever properly enjoy the art. But for his son, he would do anything - and so he played along. He would ask questions, get his son to show his new plants, praise his little sprouting vegetables and make sure his son knew he was proud of him. He wasn’t above forgetting which seed plot was which, but he tried. For a few moments, silence blanketed the family as an engrossed Charlie continued to tend to him plants.

“Mama and I have carrots too!” The boy exclaimed.

“Oh yeah? When are we gonna eat them, little man? How much longer until they’re ready?” Rafe asked, reaching his hand out to steady Charlie as he began to lean over the garden. Charlie looked up at his mother questioningly, the woman now seated on the bench nearby. She hummed softly as she thought for a moment,

“Maybe another month or two? We only planted them last week, C.”

The boy returned his gaze to Rafe, smiling at his father. Rafe looked down at his mini-me, sighing as he picked the boy up in his arms, standing and walking over to his wife. She had finished feeding Emmy now, and had the sweet little girl resting against her chest.

“Good thing we still have a grocery store nearby, huh?” Rafe chuckled, “Not gon’ starve.”

He grimaced at the sudden pinching sensation against his bicep, High School Gf sending a glare to him as she pulled her hand away. Shit.

“But hey - once those carrots are ready, we should make a big salad. You know that one you like, bud? We can make it for dinner one night. How’s that sound?” The momentary anxiety was evident in the way Rafe quickly spoke, desperately hoping to avoid a meltdown from the toddler. He was at an age where his sensitivity was high.

“Promise, daddy? And we have ice cream after?”

Both Rafe and High School Gf exhaled with relief. Crisis averted. Rafe nodded down at his son and when the boy extended out his pinky finger to affirm their promise, he grinned.

“Pinky promise, C.”

the pure domesticity of this would be sickening to the old rafe lol

[inkfire-scribe]

As a recovering conservative, I might be able to shed some light on this most puzzling of questions, at least from a religious perspective. (And don't get me wrong, there are plenty of non-religious conservatives - the alt-right is liberally (haha) sprinkled with atheists and always has been. But I can't speak with any accuracy on that particular view, so I won't.)

From a Christian extremist point of view, the purpose of their existence is to spread "the Good News" and convert as many people as possible, because anyone they fail to convert will be tortured for eternity after they die and that's a personal failing they don't want to live with. This is born of several conflicting and not necessarily biblical beliefs:

That unbelievers are sent to hell

That hell is a place of eternal punishment

That there is no way to not go to hell unless you follow a specific set of steps or (in more extreme cases) a certain set of rules

That a failure to evangelize MIGHT be a Sin Against God and

That if conversion is not possible then making others Follow The Rules is at least a step in the right direction

With specific issues (i.e. abortion) they very sincerely believe that even a shitty or short life is better than no life at all. They believe that there is a moral difference between choosing to end a life and allowing a life to end (one is a sin while the other is more of a personal failing but not necessarily something that will "stain your soul") and curiously the negative aspects of allowing rather than choosing are glossed over when the person doing the allowing is nominally "protecting the unborn."

It's a complex web of beliefs that feeds into a particular understanding of the world. They see a world in which it is any Christian's moral duty to eradicate sin, not just from their own lives but from the lives of everyone around them. That's how you get mothers who insist they "did their best" while also blaming their own children for the manifestations of the trauma the mother herself inflicted on them.

(This is for the Americans in the audience.) Many of the everyday things in life that extremists consider "sin," like smoking weed, drinking hard liquor, getting a tattoo, etc. were branded as "bad" not by the Bible, but by social movements. In the '40s it was dancing and loud, unfamiliar music. In the '50s, it was laziness and cowardice (aka, being tired and scared). In the '60s it was drugs and promiscuity. A lot of what we're dealing with now is a direct outgrowth of the Reagan era, where the President declared in no uncertain terms that being addicted to very addictive substances was the fault of the lazy, unmotivated, free-loading poor folk who would rather spend their unemployment benefits on drugs and alcohol than on diapers and food. And to be extremely clear: this claim has No Basis in Fact. No reputable study at any point in any country has ever found that people who get benefits from the government are spending their cash on non-essential items in any meaningful quantities.

But it's those beliefs, pushed into the mainstream by religious fanatics and conservative extremists, that guided us to where we are today - a society in which an extremist religious faction are trying to impose their standards on everyone, regardless of faith or creed. They have been told for decades now that they are the victims, that they are under attack, that they have to "fight for their rights". So now they're defensive, combative, and absolutely convinced that they know the Truth.

I can't tell you how to get through to them. I can't tell you how to talk to them, even. I got out because I'd only ever been in due to ignorance. Once someone showed me the data and shared the logic that showed I was in the wrong, I changed my mind. Not everyone will - in fact, most people won't.

All I can say is... if you're talking to someone who believes they have the right to dictate what others can and can't do with their bodies, the most unsettling thing you can do is to point out to them what they're saying.

Because removing another person's bodily autonomy never sounds like a noble good deed.

Here’s the thing I think conservatives don’t understand: I don’t care what someone else does with their own body.

You wanna get surgery or take medication to make you look a certain way? Okay. I don’t care

You wanna ctrl+alt+delete that clump of cells in your uterus. Sure. I don’t care.

You wanna use meds to block a natural aspect of your body’s system? Alright by me. I. Don’t. Care.

I don’t care because it’s not my body

“But what if they regret it?” So? Let them regret it. That’s their choice to live with.

“But what if that baby would have grown up to cure cancer?” Kinda short sighted on God’s part to only put that potential in one baby, yeah? (Also … you can’t cure cancer, but that’s a level of nuance for a different time)

“But what if they want to use that function in the future?” Funny thing about meds: you can just stop fucking taking them and things usually go back to normal.

I DON’T CARE WHAT ANOTHER HUMAN BEING DOES WITH THEIR OWN BODY! I don’t care 🤷‍♀️ it’s not my body so why should I have a say in it?

The choice is not “being left up to the states instead of the federal government”, it’s that the choice is being taken away from individuals.

Why the fuck to they care so much what other people do with their own shit??

[nebulousmoon3990]

GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

II𓂃› POISON

Warning: Negligence (unintentional), Damian being Damian, violence, swearing, sensitive topics,bad things, spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), Fem reader!, use of (M/n) for his mother's name, I accept criticism but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!

Two weeks.It had been two weeks since you disappeared, two weeks in which Bruce did and still does everything he can to find you (as the millionaire Bruce Wayne or as Batman), two weeks in which he and possibly no one in the mansion slept properly, two weeks in which guilt gnawed at him in the worst possible way. But even so, Bruce is ashamed to say that in these two weeks he has only been going to his room now.

Could you blame him? Bruce didn't want to go to his room because that would be a way of saying that you died. He refuses to think that way, you are alive, he is sure of it, and he will find you.

However, Bruce's thesis was shattered by his anxiety.

That's why he goes to your room for the first time.

Bruce remembers going there only once, you must have been seven years old, what saddens him the most is that he only went there because there was a problem with the ceiling and that's why you had to change rooms. Your room was on the second floor, a little further away from the others, possibly the room closest to yours was Tim's.

Alfred had to show him where his room was, which made Bruce feel even worse. He didn't know where his own room was! Was he so negligent to that point?

Your room was at the end of the hallway, the only thing that identified it was a guitar sticker on the door, it was faded and dented, possibly having been there for years, wood splinters were visible on the door and the metals on it were very rusty.

Grabbing the doorknob, Bruce hesitated to open it, the logical part of his brain warning that you might feel uncomfortable with him invading your room like that, but his desire spoke louder, gathering courage Bruce opened the door slowly and faced the environment. He was greeted with a sweet smell that reminded him of artificial strawberries, coming from the entire room and Bruce thought that maybe this was the smell you had passed many times.

The first thing he noticed was the appearance of your room, it was smaller than most of the rooms in the mansion. Your bed was next to the window, giving you a view of the mansion's garden, next to the small bed was a nearly empty study table, on it papers and colored pencils were in the corner organized so as not to have a mess, a small swivel chair was there, there were tears and poorly washed stains, but it seemed like you used it a lot. Above the table on the wall were posters of bands and other things, but what caught Bruce's attention was not that, no, it wasn't.

There were trophies, certificates and awards on top of his shelves.

There were so many, so many, that Bruce thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but it soon proved to be true when he approached the said shelves. There were trophies for gymnastics, literature, computing, swimming, there were awards for drawing, music, and even jiu-jitsu.

Each one was accompanied by a photo of you, photos that were supposed to be taken with your family but most of them were with your instructors, it was possible to see that with each photo that there was your face changed from false joy to not even bothering to smile.

The sight of you in the photos made Bruce's heart break, the worst one of all was one that looked like you were from gymnastics, but in this one you were really exhausted. Sweat was all over your forehead, making your hair stick to it, your eyes were a little red and there was a bruise on your arm, you tried to smile but it was noticeable that the smile was fake and to top it off, to break Bruce's heart? You were holding back tears, tears shining in the corners of your eyes so intensely, but you held it tight, so as not to cry in front of the camera.

Bruce felt horrible, really awful in fact.

He carefully picked up the photo and sat down on the chair, watching you. You must have been eight or nine years old? He didn't know, but you looked so young, so helpless, but you already looked so... broken. As if you knew the weight of the world, the weight that life brought.

He straightened up in the chair and looked at the room again, seeing the back of his room where the wardrobe was. Bruce noticed that next to the large piece of furniture there was a box, almost as worn as the sticker on the door, he got up from the chair leaving the photo on the table next to him, walking over to the box and picking it up with ease. Preferring to sit on the bed instead of the chair he opened the cardboard box to find a computer and a pen drive.

Bruce, so immersed in his thoughts, barely noticed that while he was turning on the old device, someone else was entering the room.

“Bruce?” The aforementioned looked up to see Dick. Looking at his son, he realized how worn out Dick was, whether it was the deep bags under his eyes or the messy hair from so much grabbing and pulling. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” came to see my daughter’s room? Came to try to feel less guilty? Came to try to comfort myself in my pain of not having protected my own daughter? Bruce didn’t know what to answer, fortunately, Dick understood this and decided to see for himself. Carefully, Grayson entered the room and observed with interest, his gaze stopping at the same shelves of trophies that Bruce was interested in, the small smile on Grayson’s face disappeared when he discovered the real reason for the trophies being there.

“W-wait, is that from gymnastics?” Dick looked closer, seeing on the table the same photo Bruce had taken, his anxious eyes roaming the entire shelf, observing his every victory in detail. “Is that all of…(name)?”

“Yeah, and all of hers, all the effort we never saw.” Bruce turned his focus back to the computer, the anguish in his words reminding him of his mistake, while Dick sank in guilt as Bruce himself decided to look at the computer’s contents.

It looked like it hadn't been used for a while, there was dust on the computer and the screen was broken, putting the pen drive in the device a folder appeared on the screen, Bruce clicked and the loading screen appeared on the screen, while it was loading Bruce felt his oldest son sitting next to him, watching the computer next to him and as soon as the loading was finished the two men came across photos.

Very, very old photos of you.

Photos of you as a baby at various points in your childhood outside the mansion, there was a photo of you walking while smiling at the camera, a photo of you sleeping on the couch drooling all over it, a photo of you drinking while wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, and many others.

Bruce heard Dick sigh when he saw you, he had to hold himself back from melting right there, you looked so cute with your chubby cheeks and bright eyes. He wished he could be there at that moment, seeing you so cute, taking care of you, being the father he never was.

But time has passed, you've grown up and are gone now.

Bruce shook off his thoughts when he saw a different photo, in it you had the corners of your mouth covered in what he assumed was chocolate, your hands were covered in the same candy, but what caught Bruce's attention wasn't that, but the woman behind you holding you while laughing at your lameness.

your mother

(M/n) (Last name)

He remembers the woman, kind and caring, a writer from outside Gotham, and although it is strange that she preferred Gotham to live in (with so many other cities more protected than it is), she reached her peak of fame, which made them meet. Just one night with her, nothing more, an affair that didn't go ahead and in which he thought he would forget about her, only for a year later she sends him a letter, talking about you, his daughter.

She didn't ask for anything, not even alimony for herself, she just asked him not to interfere in her daughter's life, although Bruce found the request strange he accepted, being too busy with work to care, he didn't give it due importance at the time.

That was until (M/n) died, her sudden death made him bring you to his house, he fought for custody of you with your aunt, but since he was the one best able to raise you, your custody was given to him.

That was many years ago, he doesn't remember you bringing this computer.

Oh.

Do you keep the computer to remember your mother?

The articles were old, wouldn't it be better to transfer the photos to your cell phone? Or didn't you want to? Maybe you would prefer to keep the computer to remember your memories.

Dick shifted beside him, looking again at the immense trophies on his shelf. “We had her here, and we just ignored her.”

“Dick—”

“We had a diamond in the rough, shining brightly for us, and we just ignored it, and now that she’s gone…” Bruce said nothing, there was nothing to say.

Dick was right.

They had lost a precious stone.

And there was no way to get her back.

Three months.

Nothing about you, no clues, no trails, nothing made it even more difficult because the bus you were on was burned, even if it was left there were no fingerprints, DNA or anything else that would lead them to you.

Dick had to go back to Blüdhaven, continuing his own investigation there. Bruce, knowing that he couldn't do it alone (not this time), put his pride aside and warned the members of the league about your disappearance.

Clark, in an effort to find you, published an article in the Daily Planet about your disappearance, but not even that helped in his search.

The members of the League were alert in each of their cities, looking for clues about you, but nothing came to them, not the organization that kidnapped you or your possible whereabouts.

It was as if you had disappeared from the earth.

Six months.

The police were getting sloppy, probably already giving up on the case. Bruce was still investigating, but how was he going to get deeper into the case if the clues that led to you had disappeared into the wind like dust on the ground?

All he had were your desperate calls for help, your messages, but they led nowhere, your device destroyed without its location.

The family had become more depressed, as if something was missing for everyone present, the immense loneliness in the mansion showing who was missing.

You.

One year.

The case was closed, with nothing to investigate, the Gotham police had more problems to deal with than a missing and possibly dead teenager.

There was… nothing. 

Nothing to say, nothing to do, nothing to look for.You were gone.

A long time ago.

What they didn't know was that you weren't gone, but you were there.

“Alright, alright, I think we’re done for today, right?”

The iron-tasting liquid once again rose up in her bile, making the blood in her throat gush out of her mouth, choking her.

The room they were in, previously white, was now stained crimson, clinging deep into the walls as it reflected the light from the lamp.

In the corner of the room stood you, chained up like a beast (which technically wasn’t a lie now). You lay still as the toxic green liquid entered your veins, the acidity still biting your skin.

Doctor Magnus was the one in front of you, the man with long black hair and golden eyes was watching you dangerously, the loving attitude that many could see as a father educating his son was nothing more than a facade of sadistic malice from the man.

He disgusted you.

They all did.

All of them, all of them, all of them, ALL OF THEM-

Magnus watched as the syringe that connected the tube in your neck finished injecting the toxin into your veins, with the process finished, Magnus approached you and pulled it from your neck.

With the brutality with which he pulled the syringe, you hissed in pain, your abnormally large fangs showing themselves to the doctor, the protective instinct emerging in your brain. Despite the offense, Magnus just smiled at you.

Stepping away from you, he lowered your restraints making you feel a little comfortable. With his fingerprint, the doctor opened the automatic door, before leaving he stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours.

“Get plenty of rest (Name)…” the man’s smirk widened, the evil coursing through him making her stomach churn with fear.

"Tomorrow your experiments will intensify.”

Okay, I'm a little disappointed (I was hoping to write one more, but I couldn't add anything without it affecting the next chapter), well I'll make up for it in the next chapter.

Here's the tag list \(•◡•)/:

@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib

@bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93

sorry for any mistakes.

Bye

[sanguineterrain]

I think I saw you're on s1 of criminal minds soooo baby sweetheart Spencer 🥰 (u are in for a ride with his plotlines!) If ur writing requests maybe reader and Spencer going on a date? And maybe they're both kinda shy 🤭

short one! hope u like 🩷 gn!reader. first date w/ spencer. he's so baby sweetheart 💕

****

"Was this a bad choice?" Spencer whispers in your ear, barely audible.

You turn away from a Pissarro, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "The painting?"

"No, uh—" Spencer casts a sidelong glance at the painting. "I don't think I'd have the authority to criticize even if I did mean the painting. Besides, Pizzarro's work is beautiful."

You're beautiful, you want to say.

Somehow, you're still nervous around Spencer. Maybe it's normal considering this is your first date. You'd hoped to have gotten over it by now.

He's just so... unreal.

"I think if anyone had the authority, it'd be you. French artists must've popped up at some point during your research."

"More than you'd expect, actually. We had a case a while back where the killer used blood and turpentine to—" Spencer stops, shakes his head. "No. Sorry. That's not appropriate date talk."

You laugh. "I don't mind, Spencer. I know you work for the FBI. It's interesting to hear you talk."

He frowns, that adorable crease in the middle of his forehead resurfacing. You want to kiss it.

"No, I meant coming here," he says. "Was it a mistake? I did some research before I asked you out, and they said that it's important to get to know the person on the first date by talking. But we haven't been talking. But then I know you enjoy museums. And you like silence sometimes because being outside can be overwhelming. So that's why I chose here. Not because I don't want to talk to you. I do, I just—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," you say. "But that's probably the most considerate decision anyone's ever made for me."

"Oh." Spencer tilts his head. "I mean, I don't know how else to go about it."

You know. That's why you like him so much. That's why you're so nervous.

"Do you want to talk?" you ask. "We can go to the cafe and talk."

Spencer sighs. "I don't know. There's a lot of rules to dating, according to the Internet. And Morgan."

"I like looking at paintings with you, even if we don't talk. I'd like doing pretty much anything with you, Spencer."

He ducks his head, scratches his neck. "Really?"

His shyness makes you shy. You bite the inside of your cheek. "Uh-huh."

"I'm overthinking this, aren't I? Hotch tells me that I think myself out of a good thing."

You shrug. "Well, you won't here. I overthink stuff too. It's okay."

Spencer nods and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. "So you're enjoying this?"

"Yeah. Are you?"

"I am."

And then, jerky and a little awkward, Spencer takes your hand. You hang there for a moment, fingers just barely linked. Then you adjust your grip so you're properly holding hands.

"If my hand gets sweaty, you can let go. I don't mind," Spencer says.

"My hands get sweaty too. I don't care."

He squeezss your hand. "Okay."

You return to the Pissarro. You'd may as well be looking at concrete, though. The only view you'd spend hours on is Spencer Reid.

[seungfl0wer]

*𝑾𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔*

Pairing: Minho x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Fluff (tiny tiny angst)

Warnings: Nothing really? Just mooshy yapping. Minho is just bad with his words. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings

A/N: this came out a little shorter than I wanted but I think it’s still cute.

This Request had prompts from my second prompt list: 17.) “I’m not blushing, I’m just hot” 29.) “That’s not what I said”

-🖤

Hand in hand walking down the side walk with your boyfriend. He stopped at your favorite ice cram place on your walk trying to find a nice place to sit. You both talked as you ate your ice cream, you could see he had something on his mind though. You didn’t wanna pry at least not yet. As the night air started to get colder and it started to get later as you kept talking.

You loved these nights, the nights he was all yours where you could spend time with him. These nights were those from movies where it just felt like the two of you. “Y/n you know I like you a lot right?” He said softly braking the calm silence.

“Yeah” you said with a little giggle.

“Well I- I-“ he stuttered out he wouldn’t look at you making you feel your heart drop a small bit. Oh. Oh no.. was he about to dump you? Did he bring you out here to break up with you?

“I just- uugh I don’t know how to say this” he said getting up he paced a small bit still not looking at you. He was frustrated, he wasn’t the best at words and especially right now when they weren’t coming out properly. He had this all planned out words he kept repeating so he wouldn’t get it wrong. And here he was. Messing it up.

“Y/n I don’t like you” he blurted out his words making his eyes go wide. What? He literally just said he liked you? What was happening? You felt your heart just shatter, hanging your head down feeling the tears prick at your eyes.

“Just do it, break up with me, just get it over with” you stuttered out as the tears started to fall.

He was frantic, he sat down below you trying to calm you down. “That’s not what I said- I mean I did say that but I didn’t mean it like that-“ he babbled out. All the words that were floating around his head but none could come out properly, nothing would come out.

“What else could you mean minho? You said it- you don’t like me” you said trying to wipe your eyes choking back anymore tears. You got up quickly trying to walk away before he grabbed ahold of you. Pulling you to his chest wrapping his arms around you. He held onto you tightly feeling like you were floating away from him. Seeing you cry his heart was breaking from his own bad choice of words.

“No no no please wait I didn’t mean it like that, y/n I fuck y/n I love you- I don’t like you I love you-“ he choked out feeling like he was gonna cry himself. “I’m sorry I- I’m so bad at this I’ve-“ he started.

You smacked his arm “you need to work on your choice of words asshole” you said with a frown.

“I know I know I’m sorry, I just- I wanted to make it perfect I had a whole thing I wanted to say and try and be cute and I fucked it up. Please I’m sorry for making you cry” his words coming out fast and mumbled.

He clung onto you holding you tightly “I just really love you” he breathed out. “I’ve never felt like I could say those words to anyone besides friend and family but you came and- y/n I love you I’m sorry I’m dumb” he said looking up at you with a small tear falling.

“I love you too dummy” you said softly wiping his tear away his head leaning into your touch.

“I’m sorry for messing-“ he started to say before you cut him off.

“Stop apologizing it’s ok, I know it’s hard for you to get your words out especially for something like this” you said sweetly. Thumb rubbing against his cheek your eyes looking at him fondly. “Something I love about you is I know when you finally get the words out is that I know you thought about them carefully, trying to get it perfect”

“So you really love me too?” He said softly.

“Minho, I’ve wanted to say it for so long, yes. I love you. I love you so much. You make me so happy” you say with a warm smile. Seeing you smile made his aching heart melt now. He loved that smile.

His face starts heating up turning all shades of red and pink. You’ve never seen him blush so much and you couldn’t help but giggle “ooh I got you all blushy, look at how red you are” you teased.

“I’m not- I’m not blushing- it’s just really hot out here” he said pouting a bit.

“Min it’s cold out here nice try” you said with another giggle.

“I take back what I said you’re a bully” he said still pouting.

“Nope, Minho loves me! You can’t take it back.” You teased more.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck holding onto you somehow even tighter. “I couldn’t take it back even if I tried, I love you.. I love you a lot y/n so much it scares me” he admit.

“Well don’t be scared cause I feel the same way, and you’re not getting rid of me that easy” you said kissing his head.

“Good” he said softly.

“Now let’s go get another ice cream?” You said making him laugh.

“Fine, I guess you deserve another one after I made you cry”

“Definitely and I think I deserve a kiss too”

He smiled leaning up to kiss you lovingly. “Mm even sweeter than the ice cream” you said with almost heart eyes. His face turning that same reddish again.

God did he love you, he loved everything about you. He’d make it up to you, think of the perfect date to ‘retry’. He needed to make it perfect to show you how much he loved you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan n @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget

[fierceawakening]

Yes! That’s… less of a clear answer than I feel comfortable with to join a movement or admire its leaders, but it’s something.

I always get the sense in conversations like this that people are much more comfortable than I am just being like “who cares about the edge cases?”

I care about them, both because I’ve *been* the victim of things committed by people too deep in their mental illness for anyone who tried to convince them to stop, and because if we truly believe everyone is a person (which I see as a key tenet of leftist values and part of why I choose them over right wing values in the first place) then we believe some things are too cruel even for people who do horrific things.

So I don’t see it as an issue we can avoid.

Also like I’ve mentioned I work at a homeless shelter. The reason a lot of academically inclined leftists can talk about crime like it’s rare is because they don’t spend time in environments where people who’ve committed crimes are common. I don’t think they’re wrong that most people are basically good, but I think they can be naive about what it takes to convince someone crimes are not a great idea. If someone has a patten of criming, it’s because that’s what they believe works for them. Getting them to stop is about changing their outlook and habits, which is far from impossible but a lot slower and more bumpy than many people who never did much criming want to think.

Also I think a lot of people really don’t have an accurate picture in their heads of serious mental illness. I think very often people have an idea that even very acutely ill people are fairly rational, and you can usually help them deal with their anxiety, give them meds, whatever, and they improve a lot. Again, I don’t think this is fundamentally incorrect; disease isn’t destiny. But having interacted with a lot of people whose illness is particularly intractable, I think that people often have… the same kind of image in their mind, where they don’t really understand how incremental incremental can be.

There are many people, including one client I’m very morose about, who improve a little when treated well, but a little isn’t enough. My moroseness? That client has been banned for fighting, unless she appeals the decision and wins. I don’t *like* the thought that she’s going to lose her place here and that’s likely to only make things worse… but I don’t have the fundamental confidence to say that kicking people out for violence is too cruel, we can make sure it’s fine. Making sure it’s fine is very clearly above my pay grade, and while there are people with more experience and better degrees than me I don’t have the impression they’re less confused.

All of which says to me that deciding we’re ready to stop imprisoning people who do bad things is at the very least premature (and to their credit a lot of abolitionists do agree that prisons will be phased out over time.) I think it’s unrealistic not just in a way that paints a rosy picture of humanity (as a whole? My picture of humanity is also fairly rosy!) but also in a way that fundamentally ill prepares us to really help perpetrators in ways that matter.

[justkending]

It's just a papercut... (Drabble)

Summary: Mission one-on-one with Bucky? It's been done before. So why is this one different? Why is he acting weird and not letting me storm off in a rage at his cold shoulder? Also, was the one bed necessary?

Pairing: Grumpy Bucky x Avenger Reader (Enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 7000+ (It's a long one...)

A/N: I've been spending a lot of my time on Character ChatGPT AI, and a secret agent conversation made me say, " Yeah, I need to put this into a Bucky fanfic." So here we are🥰 Did it turn a lot more emotional than I planned? Yes. Do I regret it? No. Enjoy, my loves!!

_____

“Jesus! The goal is to survive the mission, and from the likes of it, bullets aren’t even going to be the thing that finishes the job!” I shout over the whipping wind as Bucky maneuvers through cars in the foreign country while outrunning the guards we just escaped from on a motorcycle he stole in front of a shop.

“Shut it!” he shouts back, taking another sharp turn that has me clutching on as if one wrong blow of the wind will have me ending this chase with a case of road rash on my entire body. “I’m losing them.” 

“And likely me with them,” I grumble, and he shoots me a quick look in the rearview mirror, showing that he heard my remark and didn’t care for it. 

I look behind us and see one of the jackasses we were running from has joined us in motorcycle theft, and I curse under my breath as I come up with a plan.

“Goon, five o’clock!” I announce as I dig into my boot for a small handgun I keep hidden. 

Bucky looks around and clocks him. His teeth grit together as he kicks the speed up, weaves through a few cars, and turns down a new street, but the man following seems to be just as skilled in bike chases. 

“Still on you!” I shout and let out an annoyed groan, realizing that at some point in our mission, I’d lost my backup weapon. 

“I see that!” Bucky groans, and as we pass a fruit stand on the street, he knocks it over with his metal hand, causing a traffic stop and the motorcyclist to have to drive over apples and pears, making him to lose his balance some. 

However, it wasn’t effective enough. “I got it,” I sigh as Bucky takes another sharp turn, and I clutch onto him. “Do me a favor and try and stay straight for 5 seconds!” I complain, and he complies, although begrudgingly. 

I point my fist towards the bike, and as the man makes mean eyes at me, I wiggle my fingers at him with a grin before shooting a taser shock out of the widow bite Nat gifted me. 

They shoot across and cause his entire bike to seize at the overload of electricity. He flies off the bike as it stutters and gives Bucky and me a clean escape down an alley. 

A few alleys later and a quiet spot away from the chaos that had just ensued, Bucky and I hop off the bike and hide it behind a dumpster. I catch my breath as I throw my backpack over my shoulder and watch as he covers the bike more with the lid of the trash before grabbing his own pack. 

“We need to lay low for the night,” I note, adjusting my backpack and looking into the dead-end alley. 

He sighed, taking in the area, and I could see the pistons firing in his head. “There’s a hotel not far from here that’ll work. Not shitty, but also not anything fancy.” He immediately starts stalking away, not waiting for me to follow. 

I huff in annoyance as he leaves me, and I fasten my backpack, buckling it across my chest before jogging to catch up with his long strides. 

We don’t say much as we get to the hotel. Both of our minds coming down from the adrenaline and running through the last pieces of the mission.

While in the lobby of the hotel, I get a call and move to take it, seeing it’s Steve checking in, and I leave Bucky to handle the check-in process. 

“Got it. We’ll head to the airport in the morning,” I nod and turn around to see Bucky confirming something with the clerk, and I turn back to the phone. 

When he finishes checking in (fake IDs with real payment thanks to Stark’s ways), he turns and waves his hand toward the elevator in a quick action. 

“Yeah. We’re fine,” I note, feeling a stitch in my side but not wanting to check just how bad the damage is until I’m behind a closed door. “He’s being a dick as per usual,” I chuckle lightly as I start my walk to the elevators. “No, Steve. I don’t need you to call him and reprimand him. You know-... Seriously, Steve. Leave it… I said it as a joke more than anything-” He cuts me off again, ready to always put Bucky in his place with the cold shoulder he seems to love to give to only me. 

When I make it to the elevator, where Bucky is holding the door impatiently for me, I quickly say, “Losing you! Getting in an elevator so I can’t-” There’s a protest on the other end. “What was that? It’s cutting out.” I say in stuttered beats to play it off before hanging up. “Steve says hi,” I say to Bucky as I lock my phone and shove it in my back pocket. 

“Sure,” he says back, and I’m not sure if it’s unconvinced or unbothered… or both. Either way, his face is still stoic.

“You really need to lighten up,” I sigh in a deep breath, annoyed that he never relents his tough guy act around me. 

“Don’t feel like.” 

“Do you ever?” 

The elevator is silent. The only sound is the mechanics of the metal box moving up. It eventually dings, and as I go to step forward, I grimace slightly so as I step wrong, causing pain to go up my side, but I quickly brush it off. 

“What was that?” Bucky says behind me as he steps off the elevator last. 

“What was what?” I ask, looking carefully at the room numbers and acting ignorant. 

“That look. You flinched.” 

“Yeah, no,” I shake my head. “Your eyesight must be getting worse with age.” 

“My eyesight is fine,” he grumbles, pulling my arm back as I pass the room, realizing he never told me the number. “We’re here,” he turns to the door and presses the key card to it. The color changes from red to green, giving us access. 

“I call the shower first,” I shout, shoving him out of the way and unbuckling my backpack as I rush into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it.

All I hear is an exasperated sigh on the other side and a shuffle of footsteps as he shuts the door, locks up, and moves into the room. 

I let out a sigh of exhaustion and relief to be done for the day and turned the water on to warm up. If there is one thing I’ve learned about going on missions with Bucky, it’s that the man’s superhearing is just an excuse for him to be nosy. He listens to almost EVERYTHING. 

So, with the water running and him hopefully distracted by the hotel views, I undress and focus on the shower. As soon as I took my shirt off, I was shown exactly what I worried was the problem. 

Down my side is a semi-jagged cut going up my rib cage. Close to four inches long, if not less, but angry and red. I hiss and quickly bite my lip so as not to make another sound. It’s not bleeding anymore, which tells me it’s not deep, so with the proper cleaning and care, it’ll be fine in a few days. I use my time in the shower to clean it and wash the rest of the day away with it. 

When I come out, I rummage through my bag for a first aid kit. I usually pack a travel-size one given the job, but I can’t find it in my pack. I change into a pair of clean shorts and a tank top I packed (light and takes up minimal space) before checking in the mirror to make sure my cut wasn’t prominent through the light-colored tank. When I feel comfortable enough that Bucky won’t ask questions, I straighten and fight the soreness that’s taking over my body now that I’m not going 100mph. 

I walk out, and when I see that Bucky is lying back, arms over his eyes on a king-size bed, I immediately take in the fact that it’s the only bed in the room.

“Um,” I start, hands out as I assess the space. “What’s this?” I ask. 

“A bed,” Bucky answers simply and sits up tiredly as he looks at me, leaning back on his forearms. “You ran straight into the bathroom before I could tell you, or you saw for yourself.” 

I cross my arms and flinch again when I graze my cut, but I roll my shoulders as if the full-body soreness was the only issue. 

“Well, did we not have another option or-” 

“What was that?” he cuts me off. 

“What was what?” I look right at him and furrow my eyebrows. 

“You made that face again.” 

I roll my eyes. “I’m sore,” I shrug, scoffing and even I know I’m a horrible actress right now, so I don’t make eye contact. 

“That’s not a sore grimace. That’s something else,” he sits up straight now and tilts his head down, assessing me. 

“Stop that.” My arms tightening around me under his gaze only makes a smirk appear. “Stop. It’s weird.” 

“No, what’s weird is why you’re being so weird,” he remarks with a face. 

“Good one,” I sass, turning and going to his backpack now. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” He stands quickly from the bed and looks at me over my shoulder as I unzip his bag. 

“I think I put something of mine in here. I can’t find it in my bag,” I note, dunking my hand into his things. He steps up, pulling my shoulders to get away. 

“Stop going through my stuff. You’re worse than Sam,” he notes, tugging me away, although gentler than how he is typically. 

“I just need-” I feel the small plastic box I’m looking for and tug it out, quickly holding it behind my back. “Nevermind. I found it.” 

“What are you talking about-” 

“Nothing! Just give me one minute. I need to brush my teeth,” I jab a thumb behind my shoulder as I walk backward to the bathroom, his steps matching mine. “I’ll be out in five minutes,” I note quickly as I turn on my heel and run back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it again. 

Instead of seeing the door handle budge like I expected, he bangs a fist on the wooden barrier. 

“Y/N, open the damn door! What the hell did you take out of my bag?”

“My toothbrush!” I lie. “I must have gotten our bags mixed up when I packed them. 

“How could you do that? Yours is brown, and mine’s black,” he notes. 

“A very dark brown,” I note, lifting my tank top and sitting on the bathroom counter to get a better look in the mirror of my cut. “Just give me a second-” 

“You’re being weirder than normal,” he groans in frustration on the other side. 

“Yeah, well, get used to it,” I hiss as I put the sanitizer spray on it and bite my knuckle to suppress the pained groan I want to let out. “Jesus,” I mumble under my breath, but the next thing I know, the door is swinging open, and Bucky’s staring at its handle in confusion before back at me. “Hey!” I look at the door and back at him. “They’re going to charge us for that.” 

His eyes immediately go from annoyed and over it to concerned and confused. 

“What the hell is that?” He points at my stomach, where I’m frozen on top of the counter, shirt lifted, showing my entire torso and cut on full display. 

“A paper cut,” I say after a moment of trying to come up with an excuse. Why a paper, out of all things, left my brain, I don’t know. But it did, and here we are. 

His concerned face drops some, and he deadpans from my injury to me before marching to me and turning me at my shoulders to face him and get a better view. 

“When did this happen?”

“Wild guess, but likely when the guards we fought to get out pulled a knife on me and played dirty,” I sigh, realizing I wasn’t talking myself out of this one anytime soon. “But that could be a stretch,” I add.

He again looks up at me from my injury with an incredulous and agitated look. 

“Let me see,” he sighs, bending down to get a better look and looking at the injury from a head-on angle. 

“It’s just a scratch, Barnes. I’ll be good as new after a little disinfectant and ointment. Nothing a bandaid can’t fix,” I brush off, turning on the counter to grab the kit. 

He stops me in my turn by placing a hand on my knee and turning me back around to where my legs hang off the counter. I’m sitting with him in between my legs. 

“They used a serrated knife,” he notes, taking the first aid kit out of my hand and opening it, instantly getting to work as if I wasn’t doing it myself two seconds ago. 

“Um, excuse me, but I can-” 

“I know the things you can do, Y/N. You don’t have to tell me,” he says sternly, grabbing gauze and another bottle of something I didn’t know the contents of and tipping it onto the gauze before bending down again. This time, his eyes found mine as he looked up at me from his now crouched position. “This is going to sting. That sanitizer you were using before is shit. This one actually does the job,” he notes, and I’m a little stunned by the turn of events. “Ready?” 

Never in my life did I think Bucky Barnes would be this gentle and considerate with me, but I’m not going to stop a good thing from happening. 

“I don’t think it can hurt more than the knife itself,” I smirk and nod when he gives me a look. “Yeah, yeah. Do your thing, Doc.” I gesture to him, looking up at the ceiling as I prepare for the sting. 

I don’t feel it instantly, and just as I’m about to ask him what he’s doing, the cool liquid hits my cut, and I hiss, grabbing his wrist in a tight hold out of instinct as I hold him back. “Jesus H. Christ,” I grit through my teeth. “What the hell kind of acid did you just put in-?” 

“It’s Banner-strength disinfectant,” he cuts me off, gently dabbing the cut even as I hold his wrist. His touch is soft, but the sting is anything but. “You grabbed my first aid kit. I had him make it since you tend to get hurt easily, and we’re not in the cleanest country.” He’s fully concentrated on my cut. 

“What?” I asked, surprised, grabbing the kit's container and seeing that it indeed was not mine. I brush over the fact he had Bruce make it and packed it specifically for me as I look over at my bag, still slumped against the wall from my rush to take a shower, and realize I must have accidentally unpacked my own. 

“Relax. Tensing doesn’t help,” he adds, bringing his free hand to my thigh and giving a light squeeze to distract me. I hiss again as he pads over an agitated area. His face drops some, and he gives me a look. “Y/N, why didn’t you tell me about this as soon as you knew? This was not far from being infected in a way that could have been a lot worse than just an irritating sting.” 

“When was I supposed to tell you?” I sass, throwing my head back on the mirror as I focus on anything but the pain in my side. “As soon as we got off the bike, we headed here. You didn’t say a word to me, and I was in my own head. Honestly, I didn’t even realize it was there until we were checking in and I was on the phone with Steve. Adrenaline must have kept me from realizing it.” 

He mumbles something under his breath, and I hear the word, reckless in the middle of it. 

“Watch yourself,” I warn, kicking my leg a touch, skimming his rib cage. “There can easily be two injured people in this room.” 

“No need for both of us to get stupid injuries,” he grumbles. 

I scoff and shove his hand away from me, jumping off the counter as he stands and glares at me. 

“Sorry for getting stabbed,” I sneer up at him, stepping into his space. “I’ll make sure to ask the bad guys next time to keep the knives at home. Oh! Or better yet,” I exaggerate. “I’ll tell them my partner said I’m not allowed to get into fights with men triple my size, so if they can just play gentle so I don’t end up with any battle scars, that would be greatly appreciated.” I smile wide and fake before dropping it and brushing by him to the bedroom. 

I catch the tail end of his eyes rolling before I hear him stomping behind me. 

“I need to finish patching you up. If it’s not done properly, you can get sick.” He comes up behind me, but I stop abruptly, and he runs into my back before holding my shoulders to steady himself. I turn to him, not breaking the space. 

“I know how injuries work, Barnes. This isn’t my first time in the field, although I’m sure you believe otherwise,” I scoff in anger. “Just,” I put my hands up, stepping away in frustration and groaning. “I’m going to get some air,” I try and push past him to leave, but his hand wraps around my arm and holds me shoulder to shoulder by his side before I can get my feet past him. 

“No. You’re going to let me finish patching you up. Now…” he stares at me with his Sergeant's eyes. “Sit. Down.” I struggle to fight my stubborn retort, but he sees it brewing and raises an eyebrow in challenge. 

I groan in protest loudly and pull my arm out of my grip before moving to the edge of the bed and sulkingly wait for him to finish his job- that I didn’t ask him to do, by the way!

“Good girl,” he mutters with a smartass smirk, and I take a breath in to yell something at him, but he goes back to the bathroom to grab the kit we left behind. 

“Cyborg headed-ass, caveman, son of a bit-” I mumble, and he comes back in, shooting me a look that says, ‘really?’. “Oh, sorry, did you hear that?” I say with fake regret. 

He rolls his eyes and crouches again by my knees to get a better angle at the cut, and I lean back, my hands flat against the comforter as he works quietly, and I stare up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the warmth of his hands on my stomach when he’s been nothing but cold to me. 

As he’s patting the tape over the piece of gauze he fashioned over my cut, I look at him calculatingly. He notices my gaze on him and awkwardly starts putting his things up, sneaking glances at my stare here and there. 

“What?” he finally asks. “Stop staring at me.” 

Instead of an answer, I just stare harder and raise an eyebrow, tilting my head to the side as I analyze him deeper. 

“Cut it out,” he growls, standing and moving to put the kit on the counter. “You’re creeping me out.” 

I let out a single laugh and shook my head before lowering my tank top and looking out the window. “You’re so fucking confusing,” I state, standing as I straighten my clothes. 

“I’m confusing?” he asked rhetorically. “You’re fucking confusing.” 

“Come up with your own lines,” I throw an exasperated hand out, waving him off. “I’m getting air.” 

I don’t know what provokes him, but he steps in front of me, his towering figure shadowing over me. 

“No,” he says, looking at me sternly. 

“I don’t remember asking,” I sidestep him and move to the door. I manage to open it maybe a foot before it’s slammed in my face, and I feel Bucky’s chest pressed to my back. I look up, and his hand is splayed flat on the door. 

“I said no,” he says lowly. His voice is just over my shoulder, and I hold back the shiver that threatens to take over my body. 

“And I said, fuck off,” I say just as lowly, looking up at him, tilting my head back. “Move.” 

“We need to talk.” 

“And I need to put a good three blocks of this city between us so I don’t add another person to the stabbed today club. I’d rather stay on Steve’s good side.” I jut my arm back to elbow him in the ribs, but he dodges it with a smirk. 

“Real mature,” he sasses, and I can see a touch of playfulness in his features, and that makes me even more furious. 

“You’re one to fucking talk!” I turn and shove him in the chest, and he relents, putting his hands up in the air as I shove repeatedly in vexation. Each shove and each curse I send his way has him taking one slight step back with a grin. “Stop smiling!” I grunt as I push him harder, and he laughs. He fucking laughs!

My eye twitches, and my hits become more forceful. Nothing close to what I’m capable of, but I’m not looking for a full-on brawl. I just want to smack him enough to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. 

“Y/N,” he says calmly in between hits to his rock-solid chest. A chest, I’m sure, will give me bruises if I keep this up. 

“No! You don’t get to talk!” I point at him after shoving him one more time and successfully making him falter a few steps back at the power behind it. “I’m walking out of this room to get some air, and you’re going to stay right fucking there. Right there!” I point to the floor under his feet. “And not keep me from leaving this God damn suffocating room. Got it?” 

I know my eyes are wild, and I know the emotions I’m feeling are written clear as day on my face because his sly smirk falters, and he takes a deep breath in, hands still up in surrender. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters out as his gaze falls to his feet. 

“What?” I ask, shocked and slightly out of breath from exerting myself. 

“I’m sorry,” he says a touch more clearly as he clears his throat and looks up, hands coming down and eyes avoiding mine. 

I blink a few times and throw my hands up. “I can’t do this.” I let out a breath and turned back to the door. 

“Y/N, please don’t,” he says, and I stop. I surprise myself, but I stop, turning back to him slowly. 

“Why?” There’s a long pause that follows my question, and I wonder whether Bucky even knows why he’s asking this. “Genuinely Bucky... Why are you so insistent on me staying in this room right now?

He runs a nervous hand over his beard and shifts his weight to one foot as he throws one hand up in a single wave. 

“I don’t need you getting hurt again,” he states, still avoiding eye contact. 

My eyebrows narrow in confusion, and I cross my arms, popping my hip to the side as I stare at him. “We’re in a hotel. Not a battlefield.” 

“It’s better we stay in here than wander around. The guys who were after us are likely still hunting us, and it’s best we don’t show our faces in public spaces,” he notes. 

Ok, that’s a logical reason, but something tells me this is a more emotional reason on his end. He’s not sharing everything, though…

“Ok…” I drag out and look at the balcony. “Then I’ll go out there.” 

I walk promptly to the balcony, surprisingly not being stopped by him as I brush past him and jiggle the door handle, finding it stuck. “Fucking hell,” I grumble under my breath as I pull the handle and push it up and down to try and get it to work.  

A hand comes behind me and takes the door handle for me. I stare at it, not turning to acknowledge how Bucky expertly pushes it just right for it to open.

“I had the same issue,” he says, pulling his hand back and nodding his head to the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.” He steps back, quiet and sinking back into his usual stand-offish behavior, but now with more nerves and awkwardness. 

I give a grunt in acknowledgment and shut the balcony door behind me before sitting in a shitty lawn chair. I don’t turn to see if he’s still standing there watching me, but instead, I focus on the city view in front of me. It’s not a well-off country, so the views aren’t more than rundown buildings and vendors in the street shouting for people to buy their things over their neighbors, but it’s fresh air away from the man that makes my blood boil. 

__________

Fifteen minutes later, I feel a little calmer. Although still annoyed, I’m more confused than anything. Why the hell was he acting so strange, and why do I feel like some kind of serious conversation was going to-

“Y/N?” I hear the door open with a creak and turn to see Bucky with wet hair, a change of clothes, and soft eyes focusing on the door that’s obviously broken. “God, this place has gone down in quality,” he notes, leaving the door cracked as he comes onto the balcony with me. 

“Been here before?” I ask, turning back to the view ahead. 

“Once like 8 years ago,” he nods and moves to stand by the railing, his arms crossed over the edge of it, and his gaze now focused on the same place mine is. “Must have gotten new management.” 

It’s silent for almost five minutes after that. No words, no looks, no sounds. Just silence outside of the city noise. I debate, standing and going back into the room if he’s going to continue to go radio silent and not explain his strange behavior earlier, but just before I stand, he speaks up. 

“I don’t know why,” he says, and a crease forms between my eyebrows. He continues to stare off into the city. I wait a few moments, and he continues. “I don’t know why you stress me out more than the others.” 

Great. So that’s how this is going to go. 

I stand and silently move to go back into the room, but his hand clasps around my wrist. 

“Please, just let me find the words,” he asks, and I can hear the plea in his voice. 

I look back and up at him and his eyes are in the puppy dog form I’ve seen only a select few times. Ones that have never been directed at me but have held no truer emotion than requisition. 

“Ok…” I drag out, moving back to the lawn chair and sitting quietly as he drops my wrist almost hesitantly and leans against the railing, fidgeting with his hands. I’ve never seen him like this, so I give him the space. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose and closes his eyes before just unloading everything. 

“I don’t like seeing you get hurt,” he starts. “I mean, I don’t like seeing any of my friends get hurt. It’s no decent person’s interest to watch friends and family get harmed, but it’s like a nagging in my head. No,” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words. “It’s like having pins and needles surrounding your lungs, and every time you try and take a breath to come down from the terror- the pain of seeing them hurt- the needles poke and stab. Making it nearly impossible to take a deep breath and ground yourself. And that’s only a part of the pain that comes with it.”

I stare up at him. My eyes are likely wide as I take in what he’s saying. He glances at me once before looking back at his hands. 

“I know I’m an asshole to you. I know that,” he says, cringing as if the truth behind it hurts him. “I don’t know why. At least, I say that to make myself not think about it longer than I can probably handle, but I’ve talked to my therapist about it, and she says it's a protective technique my brain finds more plausible than just dealing with the confusing feelings I have towards you.” 

My eyes shift back and forth as if trying to understand the words. 

“Feelings towards me?” I repeat. “Like annoyance?” 

“No,” he sighs, and then he chuckles a soft laugh under his breath. “Well, yes. Sometimes you can be annoying, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it endearing most of the time.” 

My eyebrows raise at that. Where the hell is all this coming from? 

I shake my head in disbelief and lean back in my chair. “Barnes, you’re giving me a bit of whiplash, and I’m not sure-” 

“I like you.” 

My mouth is still open from where my sentence was going, and I blink once. Then twice. Then, a third time, as I tried to understand if I just heard him right. Because if he meant it as a friend, I’m shocked. But if he meant it otherwise… I’m hallucinating. 

His eyes find mine, and this time, he doesn’t look away. He keeps eye contact, and I can feel him trying to read me. 

“I-Is there more to that sentence?” I ask, my brain trying to make sense of the situation and short-circuiting ultimately. 

“Yes, but from the looks of it, you’re still trying to translate those three words.” 

“Good observation,” I nod, pursing my lips and sinking into my chair.

“I’ve been known to make them,” he smiles a tight-lipped smile. I’m actually grateful for his quip at this moment. 

“Bucky, you have to understand that those words don’t make sense with how you treat me-” 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he pushes off the railing and steps forward just in front of my chair. “God, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why it’s taken me this long to apologize for the way I’ve acted this long, but for some reason… When we were fighting today, I saw a man get the jump on you. I was seconds from leaving my own fight and coming straight to you to handle it for you, but you quickly turned the situation around. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen you in that scenario, yet something about it…” He pauses, looking up at the sky, throwing a hand through his hair. “It freaked me out. It freaked me out far more than it has in the past.” 

He looks at me in a sincere way and moves to sit in the busted up, rusted, and metal patio chair that looks like it very well could have been here when he came 8 years ago. It creaks as he turns it in and angles his body toward mine. His elbows rest on his knees, and he looks down at his hands again. And as he talks, I realize he’s breaking it down not just for me but for himself—these emotions and sudden changes. 

“Maybe it’s because I knew if I didn’t get to you, you were on your own. We didn’t have a backup. I couldn’t call Steve or Nat, or Wanda to come in and help where I couldn’t. And then the actualization that if I couldn’t get to you, if no one was there to back you up, there was a chance I’d end up regretting everything all because I can’t seem to come to terms with my feelings.” His eyes find mine again. “And then that cut,” his eyes drag from mine down my torso to where my knife wound lays under my tank top. “It was like a final piece to knock some sense into my head.” 

He looks at me, and I can’t explain it, but I want to hold him when he looks at me like that. 

“Seeing you hurt reminded me… You’re human. You aren’t invincible even if you can take on three men triple your size attacking you at once. It’s a skill I’m glad and impressed that you have, but it doesn’t guarantee someone won’t get the jump on you again, and I’m not sure I can handle that.”

I stay in silence for a moment, taking in the information and processing it all. I must have been quiet for a while because a soft “Y/N?” makes me look up from where I’ve been staring blankly at the balcony. 

“You ok?” he asks gently, carefully. 

I nod and run a hand up and down my arm from a slight breeze blowing with the sun setting in the distance. 

“Trying to…” I started, but I didn’t know what words were meant to follow. “I’m a little shocked,” I say, eventually looking at him. 

“I can’t say I blame you. It’s a 180 from our normal conversations,” he takes a deep breath and smiles softly at him. “Do you need a minute?” 

I shake my head. “No…” Then I scrunch my nose. “Well, maybe.” 

“That’s ok,” he nods, sitting back in his chair, and it weakly groans in protest. He takes in the fact my legs are up to my chest now, and I’ve wrapped my arms around myself. “We should go inside. It’ll get cold soon.” He stands and motions for me to head in first, then offers a hand to help me stand up. 

I look at it before taking it, standing, and walking in with my arms still around my middle. As soon as we’re in, I turn and catch us both off guard by being chest-to-chest with him after he shuts the balcony door. I don’t move, though, and neither does he. 

“Since honesty seems to be the focus of the night,” I look up at him. “I’ve always admired you…” His face softens at that. “But I’d be lying to both of us if I said how you treated me didn’t affect that original feeling.” He nods in understanding and slightly cringes to himself. 

“I wouldn’t hold it against you.” 

“Why did you- Why did you not like me at first?” 

He shrugs a touch, but there’s no uncertainty behind it. “I saw you as young and naive. I saw you as someone who seemed to make almost anyone love you, and all you had to do was exist around them. I think a broken part of me was envious and confused by that trait, and I used it as a reason to be hateful to you instead of taking advantage of the kindness you freely give and allowing myself the gift of that. I didn’t think I deserved that.” He sighs, his hands going into the pockets of his shorts. “I convinced myself that your kindness was nativity when I’ve learned quite quickly that you’re anything but naive.”  

I sigh, nodding my head as I turn and move to sit on the edge of the bed. “You wouldn’t be the first person to misinterpret my kindness. It’s why I tend to fall into becoming a stubborn ass when people don’t appreciate that kindness. Hence why I haven’t been the perfect person in this relationship myself,” I motion between us. “I should have recognized where you could have been coming from and continued to kill you with pleasantries, but you didn’t seem to respond well to it.” 

“It wasn’t your job to recognize that or fix it. It was mine to stop being a stubborn ass myself and talk to you rather than make assumptions,” he shifts on his feet. “I thought I was self-preserving when I was actually self-sabotaging. Something I’m still working on recognizing.” 

“It’s a process,” I sigh, knowing the steps well enough myself. I consider the conversation and take a deep breath, relaxing in my spot as I come to my conclusion. “Bucky?” He looks at me, hopeful and attentive. “I forgive you.”

I watch as his body stiffens at the declaration before slowly relaxing.

“I don’t expect you to just be fine with everything I’ve done the last-”

“Many years?” I chuckle, lighting the mood. “Yeah, but why would I want to waste any more time when I get it? I get your reasoning, and I can’t say I blame you.” 

“But you should blame me,” he moves to sit on the comforter next to me, our knees brushing. 

I shrug, turning to face him better. “But I don’t.” He starts to talk, and I cover his mouth with my hand. His icy blue eyes looked down at the motion before back at me. “I swear to God, Barnes. You take two steps forward, and it’s like you feel guilty for making progress and regress.” He flinches slightly at my words, and I feel I struck a nerve. “Sorry, I shouldn’t-” I take my hand back.

“No, you’re right. It’s something I’m still working on. I mean, small things are easy to accept and move on, but this,” he gestures to me. “A part of me doesn’t believe I deserve your forgiveness after the caseload of shit I’ve given you, but-” 

“But it’s my forgiveness to give, so I’ll decide if I want to give it…” I look at him as if waiting for him to connect the dots. He smiles and nods as he looks down at his hands. “You catching on?” 

“I’m catching on,” he looks up at him again. “Thank you.” 

“You're welcome.” 

We look at each other for a little while, and the atmosphere is new. It’s not tense. It’s not awkward. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s like we’ve come to a point we’ve been actively avoiding for years, and it turned out to be a really nice point.  

“So…” he starts, and I decide to break the seriousness of it all. 

“Why is there only one bed, Bucky?” I ask with a smirk, turning and patting the comforter we’re sitting on.

He looks at it with me and smiles with a laugh. “It wasn’t intentional, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Feels a touch intentional. Not letting me leave the room or demanding I stay close kinda plays into the fact you’d be forced into sharing a bed with me. Another way to secure me close by,” I tease.

“Or…” he drags out, and his hand comes up, pushing a wayward hair behind my ear and casually taking his hand back. “The receptionist told me they didn’t have any two-bedroom rooms available right now because there is a festival in town this weekend, and they’re booked up.” 

“Seems legit, but not sure if I believe you,” I grin a touch bashful and look around at the room as if I’m surveying it and not slightly melting at his touch. 

“Believe me or not,” he shrugs, standing and stretching. “Either way, we’re sharing a bed tonight, sweetheart.” He winks. He fucking winks at me and moves to the other side of the bed, getting his side ready for sleep. 

This new side of him is not one I was ready for, but seeing it makes me think about what I haven’t gotten to experience sooner. So I say that. 

“I knew you were a lady's man back in the day, but I never thought I’d see the flirt you were rumored to be,” I turn in my spot on the bed and look at him from the end of the bed. 

“I don’t flirt with everyone,” he says, throwing the blanket back and adjusting the pillows. 

“Well, yeah, obviously, but-” 

“Just people I’m attracted to,” he says, cutting me off with a telling grin. “And women I’d like to flirt back.” 

My mouth drops, and I let out a laugh. A genuine laugh. 

“Was that a move? Did you just make a move on me?” I smile like a teenager at him, partially in disbelief and partially in interest. 

“Did it work?” he chuckles, sitting on the edge and scooting into the bed but not fully getting in it. 

I shake my head with a smile and laugh again. “Honestly, I have to say yes.” 

His smile widens at my confession, and he leans back on the headboard, two pillows propped behind him. 

“So you’re saying I have a chance if I keep it up?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, cowboy. It’s not going to take just a flashy wink and a flirty comment to get my attention fully. I like to be sought after.” 

“Good to know.” 

“Is it?” I ask incredulously with a smirk as I move to my side of the bed and throw the covers back enough to sneak under them. 

“Can’t give away all my plans,” he shakes his head, and I turn off my bedside lamp. 

“Wouldn’t want you to. I like being surprised,” I lay down and nuzzled into my pillow before turning on my side and looking up at him. “Must say, your surprise tonight was a pretty good start.” 

“You think?” 

“I think,” I nod and debate on my next idea, but I decide what the hell? Who’s it hurting? “Feel free to say no, but if we are sharing the same bed, I tend to be a cuddler unconsciously, so if we-” 

“Yes,” he says simply a large grin he doesn’t seem to care to hide marks his handsome features. “Yes, please.” He nods, moving under the blanket. 

“That answer was a little too fast to believe that this hotel didn’t have other beds.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he shimmies under the blanket, and I feel his leg brush mine. 

“Listen, normally I wouldn’t, but I learn I sleep best when I’m with another person, so-” 

“You don’t have to give me a reason, doll. I’m happy to lend the support.” His arms are quickly wrapped around my middle and I’m turned to where my back is pressed against his front and I’m not going to lie… It’s a perfect fit. “Night, Y/N.” 

“Night, Bucky.” I smile putting my hands on his around my middle and laying back into him. 

This was a good start to something possibly more…

Ending A/N: I wouldn't be opposed to doing one more scene for this little drabble, but let me know if that's something you guys would be interested in :)

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[martiniblues]

juno ; spencer reid

pairing boyfriend!spencer x fem!reader

synopsis while babysitting henry for jj, spencer’s seeming disinterest with children starts to shift. this makes your mind wonder into unfamiliar territory you and spencer hadn’t spoken of yet: kids.

genre talks of pregnancy and children (duh), very suggestive towards the end but no smut, this is very self indulgent since i can’t get this song or spencer off my mind so here you go lol.

wc 2k?? (i got a little carried away)

“sorry for this being so last minute!" jj scrambled, passing henry over to you along with his diaper bag. the blonde ran a hand through her short hair, adjusting from where the two-year-old played with it upon their arrival. 

“it’s all good, seriously. you know how much i love babysitting this cute thing.” you tickled henry’s side, making him squirm. 

jj’s eyes averted to the figure behind you, pursing her lips. “you sure he’s okay with this?” you turned your head, noticing spencer trying to look at the two of you without being noticed. 

it’s not that spencer didn’t like kids; it’s just hard to know how to talk to them when you were a child genius. 

you turned back to jj, attempting to ease her worry. “he’ll come around to it.” you shrugged, knowing that spencer would either sit and observe or fully engage. no in between.

after bidding your goodbyes, you walked over to spencer, taking a seat beside him on the couch. “so what should we do, little man?” you perched henry in your lap, resting your feet on the coffee table so he could sit against your perched thighs. 

spencer looked at you as if he were the “little man” in question. henry just babbled, throwing his arms around as you cooed. “what do we do with him?” spencer asked, leaning closer into your shoulder to inspect the baby in your lap. 

you laughed at his seriousness, turning to look at your boyfriend. “have you never been around a baby in your life or something?” you teased, lifting henry so he was closer to you both.

“did you know that babies are born with about seventy reflexes? that’s why when you place a baby on a surface to stand, they automatically start doing a stepping motion.” he spoke, watching henry kick his legs as you stood him on your lap. you looked over at him quizzically. “for someone who’s so awkward around babies, you sure do know a lot about them.” 

spencer flushed slightly, “i just haven’t had the chance to be around any until now.” he nudges your shoulder before crossing his arms. 

“well, here’s your chance.” you held henry out to spencer, which made him squirm and mumble yet again. “hold him while i go bring his bag in here.” 

he hesitated, looking between you and the baby as if this were a test. yet, despite the nervousness, he reached out, mimicking your position earlier. when you were content with how henry laid on spencer’s legs, you walked out of the room.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposely take your time collecting his things, wanting spencer to have some alone time with henry. finally satisfied with your departure, you peaked your head into the room, nearly melting at the sight. 

the once stiff and nervous spencer you had left with henry was now replaced with a content, smiling one. his voice went up a few pitches as he responded to henry’s nonsense. “oh wow, really?” his lips were pulled into a smile as he played with him, letting henry’s small hand encase his slender fingers. 

you couldn’t help but let your head wander; how could you not? sure you thought about a future with spencer. a future where you were married and maybe with kids, but you had never brought it up being too nervous to scare spencer off.

but now watching him light up with henry in his lap, you wanted nothing more than for your daydreams to become reality. 

“someone wants you back in here, i think.” you snapped out of your daze, focusing on the two sets of eyes staring at you. both holding the same smiles and wide eyes. 

god, you swore you felt your ovaries jump.

“i see that you two are getting along now.” you placed henry’s diaper bag on the table, sitting yourself on the ground before laying out his blanket and a few toys. spencer joined you, placing henry on his stomach, then laid beside you, mirroring the baby’s position. 

“who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?” you laughed, in awe of how much spencer had adjusted to the small being in just a matter of minutes.

he looked up at you as he shook a little plushie in front of henry’s face. “sorry to disappoint, but this is still your boyfriend,” spencer quipped before you pushed his head jokingly, messing up his hair in the process. 

the sound of high-pitched squeals took both of your attentions away from one another. there henry lay, clapping his hands in favor of you and spencer’s playful fighting. 

“yeah, you like when i show him who’s boss, huh?” you caressed the soft skin of henry’s cheek, making him giggle. spencer sighed, “come on, man, i thought we were really becoming friends” he exasperated, laying his head in his hands dramatically.

this only brought more squeals from the baby, making your cheeks almost grow sore from how hard you were smiling. 

“awe spence, it’s okay.” you egged on your act by petting his hair back into place. this caused your boyfriend to lift his head; a big pout on his lips made yours perk up. 

with your attention being taken away from henry by spencer’s rare expression, you hadn’t noticed the stuffed animal caught between the baby’s hands. before you could do anything, the small bear was chucked into spencer’s face, causing an uproar of noises from henry.

“i’m starting to question this whole babysitting thing.” spencer winced, looking at you as you laughed along with henry. 

 

despite the teasing from earlier, spencer continued to be enamored with henry. him even insisting he help feed and change him when time came.

the whole ordeal feeling so domestic, apart of you wished jj could have spent a couple more days for her and will in favor of you seeing spencer like this for longer.

“of course, it really was no problem.” you turned at the sound of spencer’s soft voice, thanking henry for “helping” him clean.

“honestly, i think someone enjoyed this a bit more than we thought.” you gestured at spencer as he settled henry on his hip, the baby grasping onto his button-up shirt. 

your whole body ran hot at sight. spencer looked really good as a pretend dad. 

“no kidding, the team is going to flip when i show them the pictures you took of them.” she glanced at her phone, noting the off-guard photos you stole of spencer and henry. 

one was of him feeding him as he walked around the living room, another of him explaining some of the books organized on his shelves in a very formal fashion despite henry’s lack of knowledge, and finally one of them eye-to-eye playing on the floor with various toys. 

your heart swelled looking back at them, the questions you had been so careful not to ask begging to be verbalized. 

before you could sink any further, spencer came over, handing jj henry and his bag almost reluctantly. noticing the time, jj was quick to leave in order to keep the baby’s sleeping schedule on track but thanked you guys repeatedly before finally closing the door. 

clicking the lock shut, you mentally prepared yourself for the words about to come out of your mouth. 

“you had more fun than you bargained for, didn’t you?” you met spencer on the couch, him reaching out to pull your legs over his, making your heart leap. 

“i did, actually.” spencer began smoothing his hands up and down your calf before continuing. “honestly when you mentioned henry coming over, i was a little- i don’t know scared? i just didn’t want to disappoint him or you.” he bit his lip like he was stopping himself from letting the whole truth out. 

“oh spence, you were perfect. honestly, i’m very proud of you.” you reached out, caressing the side of his face, causing him to look at you. 

he noticed your wondering eyes, waiting for you to continue. “actually i um…” you shifted pulling your legs under yourself so you could sit up. 

breathing in deeply, you continued, “today kind of got me thinking about us and our future.” spencer was looking at you with such admiration that you had fixed your gaze on your hands.

“i know we haven’t really brought it up before, but seeing you and henry today had me-“ 

before you could finish, spencer’s lips were pressed against yours, resulting in a shocked gasp from you. he kissed you, mumbling words each time his lips parted to take yours in again. 

“i want that, i really do.” he breathed, finally separating from you for just a moment. 

“you want what, spence?” you were in shock, to be honest, knowing what he meant but wanting to hear him say it word for word. 

without another word, he positioned you in his lap, legs straddling his own. “i want a family with you. i want a sliver of what we had today to become ours one day.” his eyes didn’t break from yours, his pupils blown wide and sparkly.

for the thousandth time that day, you had to bite back a smile. “you mean that?” you questioned, one hand coming to comb through his hair and the other resting on his neck. 

he kissed your cheek, forehead, nose, and finally your lips before he spoke. “every single one. i mean, one of you is cute.” he cupped your cheek as he spoke. “but two though? that’s something.” he finished, smirking at you. 

you couldn’t contain your happiness, crashing his lips to yours again feverishly. even though you knew the both of you were in no place to have a kid now, there was no harm in playing with the fantasy for now. 

even if the real thing wouldn’t come to be for a good few years.

spencer pulled you flush against him, one his hands leaving your hips to trail up your spine and settle onto the back of your neck. a moan slipped past your lips as goosebumps erupted on your skin. 

you pulled on his shirt, hinting at where this was going as if it weren’t obvious to the man beneath you. he looked up at you, kissing you once more before dragging you to your shared bed. 

your blouse and shorts were off before your back hit the sheets, spencer still standing ahead of you unbuttoning his work shirt. 

you sat up on your knees, crawling to the edge of the bed to take over. after each undone button, you kissed his skin, making him gasp as his fingers raked through your hair. 

pulling his shirt all the way off, you made your way to his pants, pulling him closer by his belt loop. you bit your lip, noticing the gears turning in his head.

“you know statistics say missionary or doggy are the best positions to get pregnant in.” spencer let out in shallow breaths as his belt clinked on the floor. 

“oh, yeah and why is that genius?” you leaned back on your elbows while spencer finished removing himself of his pants. he took you in, the tiny pink bow on your underwear made spencer rethink his crude response. 

“deeper penetration,” he said almost too smoothly, making you laugh. it was hard to take statistics seriously when you were both nearly naked. 

before he could settle above you, you shimmied up the bed. ridding yourself of the rest of your clothes, you positioned yourself on your hands. looking over your shoulder, you saw the way spencer’s eyes widened in shock.

it’s not that you and spencer had never had sex; it was just very vanilla. with this new-found desire, though, that switch flipped. 

“have you ever tried this one?”

my first spencer fic omg. lowk crazy because i’ve been obsessed with this man since the ripe age of 12 but here we are. will probably be writing a lot more of him since im rewatching cm at the moment so stay tuned! request box is always open <333

[agathasbaby]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ 𝓒𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝓣𝓇𝑒𝑒 ..

paring: fbi agent!rio vidal x librarian!reader

word count: 1142

summary: a walk through times square with your girlfriend, a small interruption happens that’s quickly forgotten. or is it?

warnings: lots of fluff. mentions of past agathario, agatha as mean!detective!agatha, rio's soft spot is for you and only you.

A/N: lowkey wanna make this a series. for now this one’s just a fluffy one shot because im a sucker for rio.

The starry night was beautiful, filling the sky with soft light and tiny specks scattered throughout. Rio walked down the street with you, her possessive hand resting on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd of people. Earlier, you had begged her to take you to the town square, pleading with your best puppy-dog eyes.

"Oh, please! Pretty, pretty please?" you said, batting your eyelashes at her. "There will be such pretty lights!"

"No. I don’t care for this… holiday of yours," she replied.

A pout formed on your lips at her response, and she hated to see it turn into a frown. With a frustrated sigh, she gently patted your cheek, offering you a faint smile before finally giving in to your pleading

Which is how you ended up in this situation: led through crowds until, finally, the beautiful Christmas tree in the town square was visible to your eyes, which sparkled as brightly as the lights shining off the tree’s branches. Rio's arms were wrapped around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. Typically, she wasn't one to engage in public displays of affection, but tonight, with how stunning you looked, she couldn't help but feel a bit possessive of you. "Alright, you saw the stupid tree, can we go now?" she grumbles.

You were about to respond, lips parted, when a voice cut through. "Rio? Oh, how lovely it is to see you!" the voice chuckled, a sudden hand on Rio’s shoulder. You turned your head just enough to see who was talking to your girlfriend.

"Agatha?" Rio muttered, almost baffled to see the other woman. "Yes, dear! How are you?" Agatha’s voice was sickeningly sweet, you wanted nothing more for her to disappear. This is your little date with Rio after all. "I’m alright. And you?" Rio’s tone was deflated. Just as it is with anyone who simply isn’t you. "I’m amazing." the woman with slightly curly hair replied, an undercurrent of… well you couldn't quite place the intent in her tone. Her eyes fell upon you, you were just a few inches shorter than Rio, doe eyes big and curious, mixed with a bit of jealousy too.

She reached out to tilt your chin up, you expected Rio to immediately smack the hand away but all she did was tense up. Not daring to stand up to Agatha. That made you question who this woman was to Rio and what kind of past they had lingering. "Who’s this pretty thing?" her voice darkened, and you shuffled away, bringing your body closer to Rio’s. "None of your business." your girlfriend grumbled, which had Agatha pouting.

"Oh come on, dear! Don’t be like that. What’s your name?" Agatha turned to address you.

"Umm… who are you?"

"A friend of Rio’s, hon. No need to feel afraid." she dropped her voice to a whisper, reveling in the way you seemed to dislike her intimidating appearance. "Oh… okay," you whispered back, turning to gaze up at Rio. Her eyes filled with conflicting emotions. “She’s my girlfriend, Harkness.” Rio had finally spoken up, tugging you away from Agatha. "Ooh, she speaks." the brunette—who is standing tall—chuckles.

The Christmas tree no longer seemed interesting. Not when this random woman appeared, Making your already grumpy girlfriend feel even more sour. “Can we go home?” your voice was small, only Rio had picked up on it. She shook her head. "No, darling. Let’s enjoy the tree for a bit longer, yeah?" her voice had gentled, trying to coax you back into that adoring excitement you wore just minutes before. "If you don't mind, I’d like for you to leave us be, thank you." Rio’s voice was clipped with Agatha, who simply huffed, sending your girlfriend a glare before disappearing. There was obvious tension between the two. They clearly had some sort of relationship that crumbled into a million pieces.

You chose not to dwell on the questions swirling inside you. A soft kiss pressed against your cheek caught your attention. You glanced back up at Rio. There was a fire behind her eyes; however, she still looked as in love with you as ever. You smiled adoringly at her.

Time passed, and you walked around the town square, gawking at the pretty lights surrounding buildings. It was obvious the residents of West View, New Jersey adored Christmas just as much as you did. Rio found it incredibly ridiculous. It was only the middle of November, Thanksgiving hadn't even gone by!

Not that she even liked Thanksgiving.

You were hand in hand with her, swaying your arms. Truthfully you were just happy that Rio, for once, allowed you to show her so much affection in a public setting. She much preferred to be soft with you at home, not where a bunch of people could watch, their lingering eyes felt uncomfortable. As you passed by yet another store, you stopped abruptly, causing Rio to stumble back. Beautiful jewelry shined bright within the window. You couldn't help but admire them. Especially the necklaces. You were a sucker for shiny things that can rest on your collarbone, Rio couldn't care less. Though; she found joy in buying you jewelry. “Like something you see, my love?” her lips brushed against your ear, a shiver running down your spine at the contact. "The one with a pretty emerald! It’s your color." you smiled warmly.

Oh, you knew how to make Rio’s heart melt. A woman who is usually so dense and tough, she often only softens when it comes to you. You loved how she could go from rude to loving so quickly.

It didn't take long for Rio to grow exhausted with people. You felt the same way. Your home was looking mighty cozy now, and as you arrived, you rushed to the bedroom to change into warm pajamas. She wasn't too far behind. Rio decided she wanted to shower, you denied her offer to join.

Instead, you opted to make yourself and your girlfriend some hot chocolate. A little tray of snacks set on the coffee table, you on the couch, steamy mugs sitting by the snack try. And a remote in your hand as you scroll through Netflix. Debating what to put on to end your lovely night, despite the small interruption… as your girlfriend rounded the corner, you smiled brightly at her. "Baby! I made us hot cocoa." The tone in your voice was soft, full of that excitement Rio adored so much.

"How sweet of you. My sweet girl." she hummed, tapping your thigh til your legs instinctively fell open, allowing her to lay between them. Her head immediately rests on your stomach. You pressed play on the movie, willing the night to quiet down as you and Rio unwind. The rest of the night was filled with cuddles, kisses, and sweet treats.

[eregyrn-falls]

^^^^^^ !!!!!

There's so much I'd like to add but it would be carrying coals to Newcastle. Great post! (And a lot of great tag-rants in the notes, too.)

I did want to add one thought to this set of tags from @achromaticegoist, about the punch in particular.

It took me a long while to realize it, but not only is the punch reflective of a whole lot of things about Ford's state of mind on his arrival back through the portral... but, it also serves as some really interesting closure (and I'm not even sure the writers realized it).

In the episode, it's told out of order, so we see the punch FIRST. But later in the ep, when we see the fight that led to Ford going through the portal in the first place, what happens is that he and scan are scuffling, and there's that moment when Ford pushes Stan off with his foot and inadvertantly presses Stan against the glowing (apparently red-hot) symbol on the side of the control panel.

Stan screams in pain, of course. And immediately, Ford is suddenly worried, and contrite. He says, "Stanley! Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! Are you alr-"

And Stan punches him in the face.

That punch is what sends Ford stumbling out into the portal room and falling against the activation lever; and landing inside the danger zone. Ford does get up, but before he gets a chance to say anything else, Stan shoves the journal into his chest, Ford begins to float, and the disaster unfolds from there.

We don't spend enough time thinking that, basically, from Ford's point of view (if he replayed those last moments over and over in his head, as he probably did), the last things that Stan did to him was: punch him in the face, and then shoving him into the portal. The latter was accidental (though disastrous); but the first kind of wasn't. Ford stopped fighting, switching to concern and apology. While Stan lashing out due to the pain is understandable, Stan's punch is what prevents the fight from being over.

Ford coming out of the portal 30 years later and immediately punching Stan in the face kind of creates a book-end with that earlier punch from Stan, doesn't it? Ford getting to hit back the way he didn't (wouldn't?) 30 years ago. (He stands up, but he just stands there angrily staring at and listening to Stan as he approaches. He doesn't try to leap at Stan again or try to wrestle him for the book, etc. Was Ford, effectively, done fighting the moment Stan got seriously hurt?)

As I said, I'm not sure the writers were thinking about that consciously. I don't remember hearing them comment about it (i.e. that Ford's punch was a mirror of the punch that Stan gave him 30 years prior). But I do like to look at what's written and think about it in terms of, these scenes are deliberately written, the way it goes and the details included are chosen, often at the end of a long process of collaboration. I think that what's chosen for the final version is always very interesting.

And I just don't often see people discuss that moment where Ford stops fighting, and immediately becomes worried and apologetic. Not least because, like... up to that point in the series, we haven't seen Stan be apologetic very often. A few times, yes! And it's always notable when he does it. It clashes with the exterior he presents to the world; the man for whom saying "Please" gives him physical pain, etc. Some of which is meant for laughs, too! And some of which is just the product of being hardened by experience and so on.

It tells us something, I think, that Stan truly getting hurt, and screaming in pain, is enough to end Ford's desire to fight. That even after 10+ years of estrangement, he's that ready to be concerned for Stan; and that he's that ready with an apology. Later reads of Ford (post-portal) will portray him as the man who won't say "thank you", and I have other thoughts and feelings about that. But getting back to this, it's the show's choice to have Ford stop their fight and make a slight turn towards a sort of reconciliation. When they could have easily just had him and Stan keep fighting and struggling and the portal turn on because of that. It's such an interesting writing decision; and I just don't hear people dig into what it means for the characters very often.

What's your stance on Ford as a person? Honestly, I believe that for thr majority of canon he is a bad person. But I believe he grew. Still not great though XD

(Love him anyways obvs)

I disagree entirely! I think he's equally as good a person as any of the other main cast.*

*Except Mabel, who, as we all know, is always right about everything.**

(**This is a lighthearted joke. For the love of god, I don't want Mabel discourse in my inbox.)

His biggest sins in the show:

After telling his brother that he was thinking about changing their shared life plans, and then discovering that his brother had gone to the high school that night for no good reason and gone to the science fair for no good reason and messed around near Ford's science project for no good reason and broke it and didn't tell Ford about it... Ford believed Stan did it intentionally and held a grudge for it. You know what, it WOULD be pretty damn hard to believe it was an accident.

Hilariously ill-equipped to cope with Fiddleford's mental health. A guy who responds to "I have anxiety" with "have you tried yoga, it helps me" isn't a bad person, he's clueless. "Character cheerfully enacts a bad idea while a loved one in the background goes NO PLEASE DON'T DO THAT" describes half the episodes of Gravity Falls.

Was successfully manipulated by a professional manipulator into believing his best friend wished him ill. Man, what a terrible person Ford is for being manipulated by a manipulator and saying cruel things to somebody he'd been genuinely convinced was trying to harm him.

??? Didn't say thanks to a guy he was still mad at after the guy fixed a problem he himself had caused. This is a solitary example of stubborn bad etiquette, jesus christ. There's half a dozen different reasons why it makes perfect sense Ford wasn't in the right mindset to feel grateful, this is not something worth indicting his entire character over.

He had high ambitions, which everyone seems to lambast him for, but high ambitions that wouldn't have required doing anybody harm! (Until the professional manipulator started manipulating him into harming the people around him, but we are going to demonstrate some reading comprehension and not blame Ford's underlying morality as a person for things he never would've done if not for Bill's bullying, con artistry, and outright lies.) Like, what is it that he wanted to do with his life? Use his talents to get rich and famous? Shit, that's exactly what Stan wanted to do with his life. It's what Dipper fantasizes about doing with his life. Even Mabel, who thinks about her long-term future the least, dreams big with her art & performances and is already making big money off cheap-ass commissions. What terrible people they all are, for—let me check my notes here—uhhh... unrealistically fantasizing about achieving success in life by doing the things they're good at.

When their dad accuses Stan of lying as a child, Ford puts his entire summer on the line to defend Stan even though he knows Stan is a habitual liar and has no reason to believe Stan is telling the truth this time.

When his new college roommate he barely even knows gets laughed at for proposing an outlandish scientific theory, his first emotion is outrage at this injustice and he drops everything to convince his already-despondent roommate that he was right and help him prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

When he moves to a new town, he tries again and again to befriend his new neighbors, and fails not because he's rude or a jerk, but because he's awkward as hell, tells terrible jokes, and sucks at identifying phoenixes.

When Fiddleford gets hurt around him, he cares about it, feels guilty about putting him in that position, doesn't want it to happen again, and tries his best to help even though he's bad at helping.

When he gets kidnapped by a weird holiday folklore creature, he concludes without even thinking about it that he's now in charge of protecting and rescuing the kidnapped kids. Yeah, then he immediately starts hollering at the folklore creature for trying to impose his religious beliefs on Ford and the kids—but like, Ford was right tho, he just had bad timing.

When he discovers that the Northwest family committed atrocities against their poorer neighbors a century ago, his first instinct is to march up to their house, find the first Northwest he can locate, and give them a piece of his mind for it. Like, this won't even FIX anything. He's just THAT OUTRAGED over the injustice.

When he sees what he thinks is a fortune telling fraud conning the people, he attempts to debunk her because he's mad to see someone cheating other people with lies—and when he can't debunk her, he just leaves her alone rather than harass her about it. Typically, if assholes think somebody's doing something wrong but don't have any proof of it and fail to get proof when they look, they decide they're right anyway and keep giving that person shit. Ford doesn't give her shit. That's the opposite of an asshole move.

When he discovers his Portal To Knowledge (And Fame & Fortune) is actually a Portal To Doom (But Still Possibly Fame & Fortune, Maybe Even Godly Power), he isn't tempted for a second to keep working on it anyway. There is no moment where Bill manages to tempt him. No matter what Bill offers, no matter how long Bill offers, never, at ANY point, does Ford have a SECOND of "but what if I did make a deal with the devil?" the way so many heroes in similar situations often do.

You ever notice that? So often moral moments in the show are presented as choices the characters make. Will or won't Dipper give Bill a "puppet" in exchange for knowledge. Will or won't Stan fight a pterodactyl to protect Mabel's pig. Will or won't Mabel hand Bipper the journal. Ford is never given a "will or won't he" moment over Bill's threats, offers of friendship, or offers of infinite power—he steamrolls straight past them without a second of consideration—because, to him, the selfish, cowardly, easy choice ISN'T EVEN AN OPTION. He doesn't even SEE it as making a choice because the possibility of doing the wrong thing is invisible. A character who wavers first before turning Bill down would look more noble for "overcoming" temptation—it's harder to notice just how much stronger Ford's moral compass must be to not even feel temptation in the first place.

Greed and pride never tempt him to join Bill's side. Exhaustion, despair, and fear never tempt him to give up. He bears up under weeks, possibly months of extreme sleep deprivation, physical torture, psychological torture, emotional torture, threats of death, threats of brainwashing, threats to his family. He doesn't hold up so that he can pat himself on the back for being a hero—if that was all it was he would've gone "screw it, this isn't worth it and nobody would know I'm the one who gave up" a week in—he does it because he simply knows it must be done and because he's so isolated (half because of Bill's influence!) that he believes he's the one who must do it, all alone.

Thinking he has to do it by himself isn't egotism or pride; it's helplessness. He thinks no one else stands a chance. He thinks he's alone.

And, when he discovers his Portal To Knowledge is a Portal To Doom, he immediately feels guilty. No trying to deny the situation to protect his ego. No shuffling the blame off to someone else. No "maybe the apocalypse could have a silver lining!" No locking the door and trying to ignore the problem. He blames himself for being fooled—he IMMEDIATELY takes full responsibility for his actions—and he CONTINUES to take responsibility FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS.

He takes more responsibility than is even warranted—he treats himself like he's an idiot for believing in an APPARENT GOD who's been practicing manipulating humans for thousands of years and who had never given Ford reason to believe the portal was anything but what Bill said it was. He beats himself up to no end every single time his past with Bill comes up. He even keeps beating himself up thirty years later when he's shoving warning notes to future readers in Bill's evil unkillable book!

When he falls into the multiverse, he dedicates his entire life NOT to finding a way to rescue himself, but to finding a way to permanently stop the CHAOS GOD who's still at the threshold of destroying Ford's world and countless others. He makes himself a hated criminal in the process, just to stop Bill. He's ready to spend the rest of his life trying to protect a world he doesn't think he'll ever see again. He does it because, as he sees it, somebody has to stand in between the children and the obnoxious folklore cryptid menacing them, and he's the only adult in this damn cave with the skills and knowledge for the job.

When he gets home, he doesn't tell his family about Bill and his quest because he's afraid that doing so will get them involved and endanger them too—and because he's too deeply ashamed of himself and his mistakes to stand the thought of his family knowing about the horrible things he's done (AGAIN, WHILE BEING MANIPULATED BY THE GOD OF MANIPULATION).

He loves his great-niece and great-nephew the second he lays eyes on them; he nevertheless tries to steer away from them to keep them safe from Bill; and yet he caves to the very first temptation to emotionally bond with his great-nephew he gets, because in spite of his noble "keep them safe" intentions, he wants so so badly to be close to his family.

As pissed as he still is at Stan and even though neither of them can look at each other without hissing like cats, he still makes an attempt to start bridging their divide by inviting him to play DD&MD.

When the apocalypse happens, he immediately puts his life on the line to try to kill Bill.

And when he's captured, isn't fazed for a second by Bill's offers or threats... until his family is threatened. The exact thing he'd been trying to avoid & prevent from the very start.

And when he's reunited with Fiddleford, his immediate reaction is to point out that Fiddleford's well within his rights to hate him—which isn't a new revelation, it's not like Ford had to do any soul-searching to reach this conclusion, he'd concluded that 30 years ago the instant he realized Bill had played him and that he'd been lied to about Fiddleford.

And then he tries to kill Bill again.

And then he's ready to sacrifice his own life to kill Bill—and the only reason he doesn't is because he has a metal plate preventing him from making the sacrifice... but, Stan doesn't have a plate. If Ford hadn't had the metal plate, he would have gladly done the exact same thing Stan did—and he would have thought it was right for him and only him to make that sacrifice, because it's VERY clear he feels (and has felt from the start) that this is all his fault and he's obligated to fix it.

Over and over and over, these are Ford's two defining character traits: getting so pissed off at injustice that his common sense shuts off and he goes into terminator mode until he's righted this wrong as best he can, even when he can't actually do anything about it; and feeling like he's Atlas, weighed down with the full responsibility of fixing everything he's done wrong and made to believe that, for everyone else's sake, he has to do it all alone. Even when doing so puts himself in harm's way, even when he has to put his entire life on hold for it, even if it might cost him his life. Scrape off his awkward social skills, his loneliness, his nerdiness, his endless curiosity, his zealous love of the strange, his starry ambitions, his yearning for recognition and success—scrape his personality down to the bone and that's what you're left with. A man who believes in defending the exploited so strongly that it makes him a little stupid.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that you probably don't think Stan's fundamentally a bad person, and that you probably think that isn't even worth questioning. Stan's made a whole career out of swindling people, conning them out of as much money as he possibly can, stealing, lying, committing a long list of goofily-named crimes, and attempting douchy pick-up artistry on women; and to cap it all off, he held the safety of the entire universe hostage to demand a goddamn "thank you." Don't send me any "But he had reasons—" "But it was only to—" I don't need it, I don't want the essay, I'm not arguing that Stan's a bad guy, it's fine.

But. You can look at Stan's moments of cruelty and unkindness, his uncharitable thoughts, his character flaws, and think, "that doesn't define him. He's more than his cruelest moments and worst mistakes. He's imperfect, but he cares so much and his heart's in the right place, and beneath all the flaws his core is good."

And if you can't do the same for Ford, it's not because he's a worse person. It's because we got two seasons with Stan and five and a half episodes with Ford—and while we saw Stan yearning to fish with the kids or encouraging Mabel to whoop Pacifica's butt at minigolf or crying over a black and white period drama or punching zombies to save his family, we only saw Ford at the worst moments in his life and under the stress of a prolonged apocalyptic crisis—and, it so happens, all the moments he was pissed at the guy we spent two seasons learning to love.

Ford's got moments of cruelty and unkindness, uncharitable thoughts, and character flaws. But, at his core, he's a good person, and he always has been, and he still is.

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 28 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You start to realize there could be a reason to worry when your exhaustion won't let up. Bradley is so focused on what's happening in Texas, he doesn't even realize he's missing out on what's happening at home.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo

Length: 3200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Texas in August was hot as fuck. And the humidity left Bradley wishing he could jump in a pool. There was no cool, coastal breeze. There was no temperate climate. It was gross. It had him vowing to never move from San Diego for the rest of his life.

"How did I live in Virginia for so long?" he grumbled, getting dressed for his first day on base. He had the air conditioner blasting in his small room in the barracks, but he was still sweating at seven in the morning. He considered texting to see how you and Rose fared overnight without him, but it was even earlier at home, and he didn't want to wake you unnecessarily. 

He could picture you curled up on his pillow drooling, and it made him smile. But you had to do everything this week without his help, and that made his smile falter. He always tried to alleviate some of your stress by holding Rose when she fussed or walking around with her until she fell asleep. Mostly he was just in love with being a dad and wanted to spend as much time with his daughter as possible.

"Shit," he muttered when he checked the time, realizing he needed to get out of here before he was late. As soon as he stepped outside, the heat had him convinced he would sweat through his khaki uniform before he got to meet the rest of the recruits. Well, other than the ones he'd met at the bar the previous night.

LTJG Brooke Jeffries, call sign "Indigo", came to mind right away. It was no wonder how she'd earned her moniker. Her eyes were the most shocking shade of blue he'd ever seen. She tried to buy him a drink before insisting he meet several of the other aviators who were part of the program over at the pool table. Bradley stayed for a little while, careful not to let a single one of them buy him a drink. In fact, he only had the one beer with his dinner which would go directly to his expense report. The last thing he needed was one of them trying to get the upper hand or complaining that he was playing favorites.

With no clear idea of where he needed to go, Bradley wound his way along a few corridors before finding the classrooms. The facility was a lot smaller than those of North Island or even Oceana, but the rigorous training protocol at this particular airbase held a lot of promise. He was almost shocked at times that he'd been selected to decide who would advance to Top Gun.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw!"

Bradley turned toward the voice and was greeted by a few Admirals. After some saluting and some chitchat, he was led to the appropriate classroom, the presence of superior officers silencing everyone in attendance. There were some more introductions before he was given control of the group, and if he was sweating because of the heat a few minutes ago, now it was because of nerves. Shit. He wanted to be as successful as possible in this role.

"Good morning. I'm Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw, and I'll be spending this week observing you in the air as well as reviewing the extensive files that have been compiled for each of you. Out of three dozen aviators in attendence, a maximum of eight will be invited to join the training program at Top Gun in September. I look forward to working with you."

He could feel piercing blue eyes on him as everyone stood, adjusting their flight suits as they headed out to the tarmac to get started. Before making his way up to the tower for the duration of the day, Bradley took a few minutes to identify each aviator and answer some questions. It didn't seem to matter where he was standing, Indigo was always nearby, but her questions were pertinent. She seemed like a bit of a teacher's pet, which had never been his style, but to each their own.

Then he sent them up in the air individually and in groups so he and the admirals could take some notes as a group. It was obvious even very early on who the standouts were. After just one day, there was very little question who would be joining him in San Diego.

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

You felt terrible. Almost like you had the flu. But every time you checked, there was no fever accompanying the constant exhaustion. Of course Rose decided this week would be the opportune time to have a blowout diaper every hour all night long, leaving you in a state similar to a zombie at work.

"Come here," you whispered, picking her up at daycare after work and giving her kisses. "Your godmother is coming over for dinner, and I want you to be on your best behavior. No pooping," you told her as you pushed her through the parking garage in her stroller. She simply laughed at you in response, which was not a great sign.

It wasn't even hot out. It was beautiful weather, especially compared to what Bradley was enduring this week. Yet you still felt unbearably hot, and you had a headache. "Maybe it's a good thing we didn't go with him," you mused as you situated Rose in her car seat. "You'd be poopy and sweaty, and that's not a combination that I really feel like dealing with at the moment."

While you tried to drive home, your headache just got worse, and you really didn't now how you were going to handle making dinner. Perhaps you should just start taking some cold medication as a preventative. It wouldn't hurt anything. You changed direction to make a quick stop, because a snack sounded nice, too. Maybe you could coax Rose to go to bed right after Nat left, eat some candy and pass out yourself. At least Bradley wasn't at home to stress you out. Recently, he seemed to put you right on the edge of irritation a lot of the time, and it was nice to get a bit of a break.

You were pushing the stroller down the last aisle in the drug store when you saw something which made you freeze in place. "No," you whispered, palms starting to sweat along with the rest of you. The vague awareness that you still never got your period after Rose was born washed over you. As soon as you got back from La Jolla, where you were pretty sure Bradley pulled out, you started back on the pill again. But there was no way for you to tell if you were ovulating.

You grabbed some pregnancy tests and went straight for the registers, freaking out inside before you remembered to double back for some cold medicine just in case. Your fingers were shaking as you used your credit card to pay for everything, including two candy bars. The cashier was making a fuss over your daughter, but the sudden loud ringing in your ears was preventing you from formulating a coherent response. You grabbed your items and rushed back outside.

When you got home, Nat was already there, and tears stung your eyes when she walked across your driveway to help you carry everything inside. "How's my sweet Rose?" she asked, picking her up gently from her car seat and peppering her cheeks with kisses. Then her eyes widened briefly when she what you'd purchased at the drug store. But she didn't say a word about the pregnancy tests, and you didn't have the energy to mention it or try to make an excuse.

"I'm thinking of making spaghetti for dinner," you told her, settling on the easiest combination of pasta and store bought sauce.

"I didn't want you to have to cook for me, so I brought some hot sandwiches from the diner," she replied. "One roast beef and one turkey. You can pick the one you want, because I like both."

Your mouth was instantly watering, and when you opened the bag on your kitchen counter, it smelled so good, you could have kissed her. "Thanks for getting these," you said, quickly unwrapping both sandwiches and pulling out plates. "I'm really tired this week without Bradley here."

"I figured as much. You've got to keep this little love bug fed and played with and read to all on your own." She sat down on the couch with your daughter in her arms. "I don't understand how something that looks like Bradley can be so adorable. Logically, it doesn't make sense to me."

You snorted, cutting both sandwiches in half to share them evenly. "He insists she doesn't look anything like him."

"Oh, he's so full of crap. I mean, he's lucky your kids will also look like you, because you're beautiful."

You didn't miss the way she used the plural of the word, and you felt your anxiety spike again as you cleared your throat. "Do you want to sit in the dining room? Or at the kitchen island?"

"Whichever is easier," she replied, giving you a lingering look before shifting her attention back to Rose.

You knew it was better to take a pregnancy test first thing in the morning, but after Nat left, you couldn't stop looking at the packages on the kitchen counter. Since you bought several, you didn't see the harm in taking one of them before bed. What's the worst that could happen? You'd stay up all night in a state of nervous energy? You were barely getting any sleep this week regardless, so why not just take it?

Burping Rose and reading her bedtime story were two things your husband readily volunteered to do, but you fumbled your way through both tasks as your heart beat a little faster. You were about to take a pregnancy test. It wasn't that you didn't want to get pregnant again, you just didn't want to get pregnant again right now. Not while your firstborn was still so young, and not when you hadn't been feeling like your normal self again yet. The idea of two babies to care for was also so daunting,  you found yourself close to panicking.

You had to leave Rose in her crib to cry for a few minutes before she fell asleep, because you couldn't wait any longer. Not only did you want to pee on the stupid test just to see a result, you also felt like your bladder was going to burst if you didn't go now. You made a beeline back to the kitchen where you grabbed the boxes and your candy bars before running to your bathroom.

When you tore into the foil wrapper, you accidentally cut your finger. "Damn it!" you gasped, wrapping it up in toilet paper before you got the test ready with your other hand. You didn't know what to think as you finally let your bladder feel so much better. Chances were strong you'd need to take an additional test in the morning if you wanted to double check a negative result. You knew your hormone levels would be stronger then.

"This is pointless you whispered to yourself as you put the test on the counter and set a timer on your phone. You snatched up the candy bar, ripping the packaging open with your teeth and climbed into the empty bathtub to wait. The chocolate tasted delicious. Just as good as the sandwiches Nat brought. You wrapped the toilet paper tighter around your finger when you realized you could smell the metallic tang of blood in the air.

What were you going to do? Bradley would most certainly be pleased if it was positive. He indicated he that he couldn't care less if you were on birth control at all. If the test was negative, you wouldn't even tell him about it. You'd simply take everything out with the trash, and he'd never see it. Unless Nat said something. But you didn't think she would. Especially since you didn't metion any of this to her. That would be breaking girl code. But she was his best friend, so you weren't sure.

You took another big bite of your candy bar and thought about how long it took you to get pregnant with Rose. It was too easy to recall all of the months where you had yourself nearly convinced that it was never going to happen. How much anger and hurt you felt, wanting something your body just wasn't letting you have. And your daughter was perfect. She really was. But now you were scared for a different reason, and you only had yourself to blame for being so horny when you forgot to take your birth control pills away with you.

The fact that this candy bar tasted so good to you was becoming alarming. You could eat about ten of these in a row right now, no problem. You desperately needed to stop with the junk food and lose more weight, but you were starting to worry that there was a reason for this as you did some quick math. If you got pregnant in La Jolla, you would be about nine weeks along by now. You almost choked on the chocolate. That was practically the end of the first trimester. Maybe there was a reason you were so fucking bloated.

When your phone alarm sounded, you carefully chewed up the last of the candy as you eased yourself out of the tub to silence it. Your movements felt like slow motion as you unwrapped your finger to find just a small cut before tossing the toilet paper in the trash. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror, pausing to examine your expressionless face. And before you even looked down at the test on the counter, you knew what the result was.

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

Being in a different time zone than you was annoying as hell. Bradley missed a call from you last night when he passed out as soon as he got back to his room after hitting the gym and taking a shower. Once again, he was afraid to call or text you too early and wake you this morning. Besides, he had to be in the tower soon to discuss some of his frontrunners with the admirals since he only had two more days before he flew back to San Diego. At that point, he would start planning the training exercises he would implement with these aviators come September.

Two pairs of Super Hornets were working through a dogfighting scenario when the radios in the tower crackled to life with voices. Once again, Indigo and Rex seemed like the top prospects for permanent roles at Top Gun. "They look really good," Bradley mused, scanning their list of accolades. "They're at the top of my list."

"Agreed," one of he admirals replied. "They are both a bit ruthless in the air, but they get the job done every single time."

The fact that it sounded like they were talking about Jake from five years ago almost made Bradley laugh, but that was probably the energy he needed to bring back with him. He could work some of the ruthlessness out of their systems.

"Who else do you think would fit with the program?" the other admiral asked, and Bradley was pleased to find that his notes and thoughts on all of the aviators were met with respect and agreement. His shoulders loosened, and a rush of confidence filled his veins. He'd been trying not to acknowledge how much this new role was filling him with anxiety. There was the fear of failing at his job, but he also wanted to be successful for his own personal growth. At the end of the day, knowing he was leading a well rounded team was important to him.

It was also important that he hit the gym again, or maybe go for a long run. The last few times you'd ordered pizza for dinner, he came home and inhaled half of the pie like it was nothing. When he looked in the mirror, there was definitely some more weight hanging around his middle. When he texted you, asking for some new pictures of Rose, you told him you were still at work but needed to call him as soon as you were done. He had about an hour, so he got changed and turned on his This is what a gym playlist should sound like, Bradley playlist that you made him so long ago, and he started a long run.

You were so much better at making playlists than he was, it was laughable. However the summer heat here was not laughable. Nobody else looked as beet red and sweaty as him. Maybe he was just conditioned for San Diego at this point. He wasn't really sure, but by the time he put a few miles in, he doubled back toward his barracks. When he sat down on some concrete steps at the side of the building, he held onto his phone, ready to answer your call whenever it came.

He was mopping his forehead with the hem of his UVA tee shirt when the door behind him swung open. 

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw."

Indigo's voice was now familiar to him from several conversations and the comms in the tower. "Lieutenant Jeffries," he replied as she stepped past him, also dressed for a run. He simply couldn't understand how these people weren't always pouring sweat.

"I meant to ask how you're enjoying Texas."

Bradley laughed and set his phone down on the step between his feet as she stood on the cement before him. "I'm ready to go back to San Diego and escape the heat. Not sure how you all manage here."

She smiled and ran her fingers through her jet black ponytail. "It's not so bad. I'm from Virginia, so it almost feels familiar." Her eyes slid down to his chest, reading his shirt before continuing to his left hand. "You went to UVA?"

"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "I grew up between Norfolk and Virginia Beach."

Her vibrant eyes lit up. "What a small world, Sir. We would definitely have a lot to chat about. After I run my five miles and hit the shower, I'm heading to the bar with Rex and the others. You should meet me there."

Bradley's brow furrowed as he examined her face. She was young. He knew exactly how young from poring over the individual files all week. Her expression held no trace of uncertainty, like she was expecting him to agree without question. She was one hell of a self assured pilot, but he wasn't going to start playing favorites.

"Thanks for the invitation, but I'm waiting for a phone call."

One dark brow quirked up over her blue eyes. "From your wife?"

He nodded slowly, voice deep and raspy when he spoke again. "Yeah. Hopefully my daughter, too."

Her gaze lingered on his face as she backed away from him with a soft laugh. "I'll be looking for you at the bar later."

Then she was off and running, leaving Bradley squinting into the setting sun and her retreating form. When he picked up his phone, he realized he missed your call again. 

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

Bradley, please focus on your family. One more chapter of him in Texas, and then we'll see what follows him home. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[xaverie]

So. I love Evan Kelmp. And - imagine that I'm trying to choose my words carefully here.

I've been getting annoyed with him over the last three episodes. Because. I don't like how he tends to impose his beliefs. About what is correct and should happen. On the other characters. And our Black characters, specifically. Which. Was really put on clear display by his interaction with The Qohlye.

Evan seeks to be understood. But I don't think he has.. put in the required effort to reach that same level of understanding with his friends, or in general. Perhaps because they haven't said things in the exact way that he needs to hear them. But he behaves as though he does understand, even though I personally think. That there are things he's missing.

The treehouse conversation. Lots of people seem to get and relate to Evan's side of the convo, which is fantastic! But not as deep an understanding of Jammer's side. Evan decides that the correct thing is for Jammer to come out not hide his magical experiences. He jumps to a few conclusions about the reason - first that maybe Jammer was ashamed, then that he wasn't confident it would go well.

Instead of asking for clarification about what "They need me to be Whitney, you guys need me to be Jammer" means, he had made up his mind. Evan likes that Jammer is magic because that is the way in which Evan feels most connected to Jammer, thus everyone should admire Jammer for his magical abilities the way Evan does. And if Jammer hasn't allowed for that it's some kind of rebuke of Evan, of magic, and of Jammer's own self. Therefore the only correct thing is to merge these identities, but really just be the Jammer that Evan knows.

And I'm not saying Evan is wrong here. But in the same way he's missing the fact that Jammer did try to expose his magic in S2E1, but he couldn't prove it because magic is fucking broken. He's also missing how naturally we, as Black people, fall into code switching. Not just historically as a method of survival, but for practical reasons, privacy reasons, or just to keep our peace. To treat that unilaterally as the same thing as a kind of toxic compartmentalization, or hiding the true self (all of them are true selves), was. Kinda. Sad to me.

Not to take away from Jammer's triumphant success on Galamanis or the freedom represented by growing wings, because this is what he chose and I love that he made those choices. But it also represents potentially giving up fitting into his mundane life and dream career, something he had fought so so hard to keep thus far, and destroying 'Whitney'. This, more than anything before it, might be a fundamental shift in identity.

The same way it made me a little bit sad that Evan had assumed Jammer didn't mean "family" literally, when I immediately recognized that of course he did. There has never been a point in American history where part of being Black and being family hasn't meant - we may have to be apart, but as soon I'm ready (as soon as we're safe), I'm coming back for you, no matter what. It is THE very first promise, the foundational truth, or the only thread of hope that tied so many Black families together through all these generations.

So while everyone recognizes what a sweet moment it was, I also hope people feel the gravity and the history behind "I dream of making that space for you." And the weight of how many people must have said that before him. And what a profound act of love it's always been because sometimes that's all we have.

When Evan tells Sam, "I think you are the most powerful wizard," she instantly replies, "I hope not." Evan's response to this was essentially - who were are is true whether we want it to be or not. Which, to be fair, is both consistent with what he expressed to Jammer and with his own experience. What it leaves out is that our hopes are also who we are. And that maybe the same way he mistook her love toward him for general gregariousness, he is still misunderstanding her a little.

While he deferred to Sam on the matter of whether they should pursue the Qohlye or not, I think it was still Evan's (or Brennan's) idea that not only must all four of them be chosen, but that The Qohlye must be the best choice for Sam.

When the Qohlye says 'I think you're only here because you're convinced you need to be the same as your friends,' is he wrong? When he asks why she needs to be chosen by his magic specifically, she can't answer on her own. When Sam was given the choice between Power and Understanding she immediately chose understanding because of COURSE she did. (She instantly replies, "I hope not." I hope not. My heart breaks.)

And yet. Evan insists that she's given the power anyway. Because that's what fits neatly into what he already believes is correct and should happen. He believes in winning and rewards. He believes she deserves that power and that they need it. So even though I know he does this out of love, he doesn't even consider for a moment that he might be wrong.

Because Sam does get the power, she does thank him, and again not to diminish Sam's accomplishment - once again Evan gets what he wants and is proven right.

Except.

When The Qohlye doesn't give him the answers he wants in the exact form that he demands them. Evan decides that this is a crime for which The Qohlye deserves to die. The Qohlye, who helped return him to life. Who has a strong connection to his friends. (Who chose to be Black, which meant so much to Jammer that he cried.) Who asked each of his friends, in turn, if they thought The Qohlye meant what Evan thought he meant. Who demonstrated that he is not (and cannot be) obfuscating something that is apparently obvious to everyone else.

Evan refuses to accept that yes, The Qohlye can give him information, but cannot understand it for him. And Evan is not ready to Understand because Evan keeps choosing Power. Understanding takes work, even (or especially) when it doesn't come naturally to you. And answers will not always come in a clear and concise way. And this makes him so angry that he wants The Qohlye dead.

While Evan always presents his beliefs and demands as logical and rational, his reaction to The Qohlye's refusal to engage on his terms was simply entitled and immature.

[scarletwinterxx]

in the quiet of us - choi seungcheol imagine

tbh this fic came about while listening to milk teeth and did you like her in the morning by niki 🥺 dare i say i'm getting better with the angst haha ofc it's gonna end in a cute way

anywayss i hope you like this one🤍

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You and Seungcheol have been dating for nearly a year, and on the surface, the two of you seem to be an ideal couple—you’re the shy, introspective type, while he’s outgoing, expressive, and always the center of attention. 

Your love for Seungcheol is quiet. It’s gentle, steady, and sometimes, you feel like it’s almost too quiet to be enough for someone like him. You have always loved him in a subtle, understated way, hoping that your affection is enough without needing to shout about it. Seungcheol, on the other hand, is the type who wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s affectionate, always complimenting you and showing his love in grand, showy gestures. 

He never shies away from declaring his feelings to the world.

You will never tell him your reasons for holding back when the truth is you love him with every piece of yourself. You’re terrified that your calm, reserved nature won’t compare to the passion and intensity of his past relationships. You about his ex-girlfriend, the one he once spoke of like she was his soul mate. Cheol has always been open about his past, and while he never directly compares you to her, you can’t help but feel like there are times you’re falling short of the vibrant, adventurous, free-spirited image of the girl who’s still a part of his memories. 

You and Seungcheol are sitting together on the couch, having just returned from a weekend getaway. You’re quiet, lost in thought.

"That trip was amazing, huh? I love how we just got to be spontaneous and go wherever we felt like." Cheol says while looking through the photos of your quick weekend getaway with some of his friends, you watch the big smile on his face 

"Yeah... it was nice." softly you say, Cheol being the mind reader he is, immediately looks at you when he hears your voice

Leaning closer to you he asks, "You don’t sound convinced. What’s on your mind?"

“I’ve been thinking a lot about... us, actually."

Cheol felt his heart skip a beat, and not in a good way. There’s so many breakup scenes that start off with those same words

"Us? What about us?" he asks

"I know you’ve had past relationships. I know you loved… you loved her. And I... I don’t know, Seungcheol. I can’t help but feel like... maybe my way of loving you isn’t enough."

Your sudden confession makes him sit straight up, wondering where all of this is coming from, "What do you mean? Of course, it’s enough. You love me in your own way—"

"But it’s so quiet. I’m not like the others. I’m not as... exciting or loud or memorable. I don’t do the big, dramatic gestures like they did. I’m just... me." you cut him off

You see hurt flash across his eyes, wishing you never said anything. You should’ve just said nothing. To avoid his stare, you look down at your hands that were resting on your lap 

"You’re not being fair to yourself. You’re everything I want, just the way you are." he whispers, feeling more sad and disappointed that you think that way about yourself when you’re quite literally everything to him.

Softly, almost to yourself you say "I’m just scared that you’re going to wake up one day and realize that I’m nothing like the girls you’ve loved before. That you’ll want... someone more. Someone who loves you in a bigger, louder way."

He looks at you, a thousand things running through his mind.

"Look at me." he tells you but you don’t move from where you’re sitting

"I just... I don’t know if I can keep pretending that everything’s fine when I feel so... small in your love." 

Gently turning your chin to face him, he smiles at you

"You don’t have to pretend with me. Not ever."

"But what if I’m not what you need? What if you want someone who—"

Cutting you off gently, he speaks again "I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I love you, the way you love me, and it’s more than enough. You don’t need to be like anyone else, because there’s no one like you. You love me in a way that’s so quiet, so steady—it’s the kind of love I’ve always needed, even if I didn’t realize it until now."

You can’t stop the tears falling down on your cheeks, Cheol does that for you. He wipes them away one by one, with each one he says a vow in his mind to never let anything or anyone even himself make you cry in this lifetime. 

"But... I don’t know how to love any other way. I’m not like you. I can’t... do all the big things you do for me." you whimper

"You don’t need to. I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need loud. I need you, exactly as you are." he shakes his head, holding your face between his hands

He waits for you to say anything else but you don’t. You just embrace him, letting yourself fall apart infront of the only man who knows how to fix it all. And he lets you be. He lets you cry in his arms until you fall asleep, he lets you let go of what you’re feeling. Whispering words of assurance and affirmation, letting you know you’re not alone. 

You’ll never feel alone as long as you have him. 

The next morning, after a long conversation, you and Seungcheol are sitting in the kitchen together. He already made breakfast for the two of you. 

You look at him, still feeling a bit unsure but more at ease.

“So... you’re okay with the way I love you? Even if it’s not loud?" you’re the first one to speak

Softly smiling, he takes your hand "Your love is exactly what I’ve always needed. You love me with a softness, a patience, and I’m so grateful for it. I love how you take the time to listen to me, to show you care in the quietest ways. You don’t have to change who you are for me. I want you."

This makes you smile, little by little your worries disappear. You know it’s going to take some time before you feel okay, it’s a war between you and mind and yet here’s Cheol ready to fight that battle with you.

"I’ve always loved you like that. I just didn’t think it would ever be enough." you whisper

He walks over to your side, leaning in and kissing your forehead) "It’s more than enough. You’re more than enough. Always have been." he tells you

Later that day, Seungcheol left to get some errands done. When he comes back, he surprises you with a small gesture—no grand gesture, just a simple note with a favorite flower from the garden.

"Seungcheol, this is... really sweet." you smile up at him

Leaning against the doorframe, looking at you with affection "I know it’s not a big, loud thing, but I hope it says what I’ve been trying to tell you: I love you exactly as you are. In your quiet, beautiful way."

"I love you, too. In my own way." chucking softly, you shoot him a smile. Walking towards where he was, you throw your arms around him. His arms immediately wraps around you, 

"And I’ll never want anything else."

[stxrslut]

PRACTISE MAKES PERFECT ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing; bestfriend!sarah x innocent!reader

summary;  it’s no secret to you that sarah has a lot of experience with sex, boys and girls alike. you do not, so when you find out that you are possibly going to need to suck a dick, she takes the liberty of giving you your first ever bit of practise

content;  strap, oral (technically? idk), strap 

authors note; i kind of hate this actually, feels pretty rushed. requested by anon but i put my own twist on it.

“I got it!” she calls out from the front door when she returns from her little errand. you’re not actually sure what she ran out so urgently to get. you’d just got done telling her a rather personal thing actually, you were a little appalled when she abandoned you so quickly.

she comes into the room carrying a small paper bag which, to your astonishment, is branded with the emblem of the local sex shop. she throws it down on the bed before going to her dresser to retrieve something while she speaks ever so casually.

“jj maybank saw me buying that,” she chuckles, “so embarrassing.” she’s digging through her bottom drawer, throwing clothes left and right as she tries to find a specific unnamed item. 

“saw you buying what?” you ask perplexedly, brows furrowed. “you kinda ran out on me.” you don’t mean to put a passive aggressive tone in your voice but it is there.

“something to help you.” she looks back, “and I’m sorry about leaving so quickly, just that the shop was gonna close.” 

you tilt your head. help you? surely not to help with the dilemma you presented to her before she ran off, that would be absurd. “to help me with what?” 

she laughs at you like it’s obvious, “with your problem of course.” she shakes her head, “told me that you wanna suck this guy's dick, and that’s definitely something you don’t wanna go into with no experience.” 

you raise an eyebrow “well then how did you do it?” 

she waves you off, “that’s different— anyway, I thought since I helped you out before with the touching yourself thing, this wouldn’t be so different.” she shrugs and turns around after finally pulling out a bright pink dildo. 

“you’re gonna— I’m gonna suck on that?” you don’t even know what to say. “wait…” she hums and nods, waiting for the question, “if you already had that here.. what did you need to buy from the sex shop?” 

once again, she acts like it’s obvious, “the strap of course. can’t exactly learn the ins and outs of oral sex if the dick isn’t attached to a body.” she scoffs. bear in mind, you had never once asked her to show you the ins and outs.

“so youre gonna put the strap on.. and I'm going to suck it?” you question.

“yes, exactly.”

                                         *

this is so weird, you think as you kneel down in between sarah’s open legs where she's perched on the bed, bright pink toy sticking up like a sore thumb. or dick, if you want to be more literal. your lips are parted as you do your best to prepare yourself. “So I just…”

“suck, yeah,” she nods, smiling down at you, expression joyous, she seems to really enjoy teaching you things. “just start with the tip of it, you'll throw up if you go too fast.” she tells you. you frown.

“that can happen?” you ask, slightly astonished as you stop leaning forward to look up and listen to what she has to say. she nods and chuckles once again.

“oh yeah, that can happen.” she smiles, “but it won’t happen to you, because i’m gonna teach you how to do it right.” she strokes the hair on the back of your head affectionately and you take it as your sign to start.

at first you only take enough in your mouth to cover the front of your tongue, it doesn't even touch your gag reflex. It seems pretty easy. you follow sarah's directions to swirl your tongue and where to swirl it. as it continues, you find yourself subconsciously taking more of it.

the fake veins imprinted on the sparkly toy create texture to stimulate your tongue, you do your best to imagine it a little more coarse, like skin, maybe imagine the skin moving a little, sarah had told you that happens with dicks. 

suddenly, it jerks upwards slightly and you pull back in little shock to see sarah holding the base, controlling its movement. “what did you do that for!?” you exclaim.

she giggles, “yeah, they do that sometimes.” she strokes your hair again, “just twitch outta nowhere, you gotta be ready for it babe, i'm just doing whatever a good best friend would.” you have to fight making a snarky remark, sure that this is not what normal best friends do.

you go back down with a little more confidence, you manage to get about half of the toy in your mouth which sarah tells you is amazing for your first time. sure you gag a couple of times but you persevere and by the end you could probably consider yourself a seasoned pro.

you stop when sarah begins to imitate what she says is a boy having an orgasm, “ugh.. oh yeah,” she grunts in an over exaggerated deep voice, “so good babe, im like literally cumming right now.” 

you giggle, “i'm sure they don't sound that stupid.” but sarah shakes her head, looking down at you with matter of factly raised eyebrows.

“oh baby, you have so much to learn.” she scruffs your hair affectionately. “but for now,” she gestures down to the little wet spot that she can see in your panties due to your skirt riding up, “why don't I show you a different way to help with that.”

[webslingingslasher]

ohhhh j new fear unlocked for everyone

yk how being on your period and leaking in someone’s bed isn’t ideal? esp if they aren’t ur bf? screw the bed - it got on HIM and he’s not my bf. he’s a cuddler in his sleep and pulled me in and I just saw🤠🤠🤠 nightmare. I’m building up the courage to wake him up rn lol. it’s not that deep but this is pretty horrific bc it’s only my second time staying over and we are very much Not Dating

*cleaning out my drafts - this is an old one!

there have been several times in your life when you've said 'this is the worst thing to ever happen to me.' today takes the cake and you'll never have the urge to say those words again.

period blood? a nuisance to deal with.

period blood on your partner? humbling.

period blood on your hookup? downright mortifying and coma inducing.

it'll only get worse the longer you wait. counting to ten, you take a deep breath and gently shake peter awake. he whines and swats you away, you feel terrible that you're about to ruin his sleep.

'peter, i got my period and i leaked.'

peter sucks in air, the words are registering and he's blinking awake while looking you over. 'in my bed?' you nod timidly, feeling awful about it.

'and on you.' it's a defeated whisper, you turn to the side so you don't see his reaction. you feel the blankets lift up, a two second pause before peter settles back into bed.

'i don't have anything to plug you up so you gotta figure it out.' you stare down at his face, he's going back to sleep?

'did you hear me? i leaked.'

peter sighs, he's more upset that you woke him up than being doused in your monthly. 'yeah, like a quarter's worth. it's a dot, trouble. wrap it up and come back to bed.'

'but i got it on you.'

peter huffs before picking his head up and opening an eye to look at you. 'what do you want me to say? do you want me to be mad? you're the only girl in my bed so if you wanna stain the sheets that's on you.'

you stop a smile from forming, 'are you suggesting i did this to mark my territory?'

'it wouldn't surprise me. it also explains the leg.' he tugs his comforter up to his chin while letting sleep coat over him. 'are you cauterized yet?'

'yeah, i stashed some stuff here.' peter searches around for your hand under the blanket by little taps. 'good, cuddle with me.' you almost squeak when he drags you into his side, always impressed by his casual strength.

'are you sure -' you're halfway through your question when peter takes initiative and hitches your knee over his hips. 'i refuse to answer stupid questions before eight am.'

'i'm sorry i stained your sheets.'

peter's dimple pops out when he smiles. 'bloody nice reminder you were here.' you poke it, he peeks an eye open and acts like he's about to bite your finger. 'you're proud of that one?'

'o-h i'm positive.' you gag before hiding in his side and groaning. 'you're not allowed to make dad jokes before eight am.'

'oh yeah? well you're not allowed to bleed... just kidding, trouble. you can expel your moon cycle anywhere you want, what's mine is yours.'

'wow. you're so romantic.'

'only for you.'

he says it like a joke but you think peter would be a whole lot less cool if it was with anyone else. 'thank you for not making me feel bad. you're kind of the best.'

'i know.' you narrow your eyes at him, as if he can sense it, peter nudges his hand under your shirt to splay his hand across your lower back. his warm palm eases tension you weren't aware of yet. 'i was about to say don't get a big head, but your hand feels very nice so i'll refrain.'

'want me to rub your tummy?' you lean forward to press your nose against his cheek. 'say tummy again. it's cute.'

'no.' 

you whine at his refusal, 'i'm shedding my uterus, be nice to me.' peter smiles at your pout. 'tummy.' hiding your face in his neck you let out a quiet squeal. 'i like when you're cringy with me, it makes me feel like you like me.'

you can see how fast his mind is working, he's hesitating on what he's about to say. peter decides to throw you a bone, you're still embarrassed from giving him a wake up call.

'my baby is feeling so icky, isn't she? her tummy and back hurts and she is being so brave.' you nod softly, he's spot on.

'so icky.'

'so brave.'

'say tummy again.'

peter takes a deep breath, 'you're on thin ice, trouble.'

'just one more time. please?' you plead with him and follow it up with a yawn, his hold and heat is making you drowsy. 'if you tell anyone that i asked to rub your tummy or that i said tummy this many times, you'll never hear me say tummy again, deal?'

your eyes seal shut, his warmth is going nowhere. 'deal.'