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vanteguccir · 5 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　SLEEPLESS NIGHT

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Where Spencer finally has a night to sleep at his apartment with his girlfriend, but the current case doesn't even let him close his eyes, leading him to study the files until ungodly hours. But who said that Y/N can sleep away from him?

WARNING: Slightly mention of age gap (reader is still in college), tooth rotting fluff.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Spencer hated bringing work home, and he had two very specific reasons for it. First, he loathed the idea of mixing his work life with his personal life. The BAU was a constant source of darkness; gruesome crimes, twisted minds, and the unrelenting pressure to solve the unsolvable.

His home was the opposite: a place of light and warmth, a refuge from the horrors that haunted him on a daily basis. But more importantly, home was where Y/N was. She was the one person who could pull him from the depths of his thoughts, her mere presence offering a calm that he couldn't find anywhere else. She was his life, his anchor, and his sanctuary.

Their time together was sacred, especially with the demands of his job taking him away so often. Whether he was chasing unsubs across the country or spending endless hours poring over case files at the BAU, being away from Y/N was the hardest part of his job. When he was home, he wanted to be fully present, to make up for the time he lost while he was away.

He cherished the quiet moments, the lazy evenings where they could simply exist together without the weight of the world bearing down on him. He wanted to give her every ounce of his attention, to make her feel just how much she meant to him.

But then, there were nights like tonight, when the case followed him home despite his best intentions, forcing him to divide his focus in a way that always left him feeling guilty.

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, filtered through the sheer curtains that hung over the windows. The clock on the nightstand read 2:37 AM, its gentle green glow a quiet reminder of how late it had become.

Spencer lay on his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling, though his mind was far from still. It raced, chasing the loose ends of the case, replaying details, searching for the missing link that could unravel everything. The unsub was smart, meticulous in his planning, calculating in his movements. It was unnerving, the way this case was so close to home, right here in Quantico.

Hotch had granted the team a rare night to return home and rest, knowing the work would pick up again with relentless intensity in the morning. Spencer knew he should be grateful for the chance to sleep in his own bed, to hold Y/N close, and let her warmth lull him into rest. But sleep felt impossible.

Beside him, Y/N slept soundly, her body curled against his. One arm rested across his chest, her hand fisting tightly the fabric of his white shirt and her hand tucked beneath his shoulder, as if even in sleep, she sought him out. Her breathing was soft and even, the slow rise and fall of her chest a soothing rhythm against his side.

Spencer turned his head slightly, watching her. She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips, probably remains of a dream. His heart clenched with love, a wave of warmth and tenderness washing over him.

With a soft sigh, Spencer slid his right arm beneath her, his hand resting gently on her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the fabric of the sweater she wore - his sweater. He brought his other hand down to her bare leg, carefully shifting her until her right one draped across his thighs, her body instinctively curling closer to him, almost laying fully above him.

His fingers trailed softly along her thigh, the smooth skin warm beneath his touch. The gesture was soothing, grounding him in the present moment, in the feel of her against him. His thumb stroked lazy circles on her flesh, his touch light and reverent, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of her - as if he already didn't had each part of her craved inside his head.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment as he breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of her hair. It was a mixture of her shampoo and something uniquely hers, a scent that had always brought him comfort. His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her closed eyelids, another kiss pressed to her temple. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her hand tightening its grip on his shirt.

His right hand traveled across the fabric of his sweater, slipping below it, his fingertips sliding higher, brushing against the bare skin of her back. She was so warm, her skin so soft, and the feel of her made something inside him settle, if only for a moment. He continued to stroke her thigh with one hand, his other one gently massaging the muscles of her back, feeling the way her body relaxed further into him.

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind flickering between her and work. He didn’t want to leave her alone in bed, didn’t want to let it drag him away from her. Spencer knew Y/N deserved a good night's sleep more than anyone. She had been tirelessly studying for her college finals, always the most academically involved and dedicated in her class, which caused her to staying up late, buried in textbooks and research papers - just as he spent sleepless nights away on cases.

But even as he held her close, the details of the case gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

With a reluctant sigh, he carefully began to shift, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb her. His hand on her thigh slid away, and he gently eased her leg off his hips, tucking it back beneath the blankets. She mumbled softly in her sleep, her body instinctively moving toward his warmth even as he slipped out from under her.

Spencer sat up, pausing for a moment as he watched her stir. Her hand reached for him in her sleep, her face burrowing further into his pillow as if searching for his scent. The sight made his chest tighten with both affection and guilty.

With one last glance at Y/N, Spencer stood, moving with the quiet precision of someone who was used to slipping away in the dead of night. He padded silently out of the bedroom, the soft sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath his feet.

The apartment was shrouded in a heavy, comfortable darkness, the only sound breaking the quiet being the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Spencer moved with practiced silence, stepping lightly through the familiar space until he reached the small room they’d turned into a makeshift office. It was cluttered with his books, scattered papers, and, more recently, case files.

He flicked on the desk lamp, casting a soft, amber glow across the cluttered desk. His movements were slow, careful not to disturb the serene quiet that enveloped the apartment as he sank into his chair, rescuing his folded glasses from between all those papers.

In front of him lay the case file, the photographs of the victims staring back at him as if mocking his inability to piece it all together. He scanned the reports for what felt like the hundredth time, his brow creased in thought, eyes darting over the details.

Minutes bled into an hour, maybe more. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose as he leaned in closer to the desk, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the crime scene photos. His other hand tugged at the cuff of his pajama sleeve, lost in the rhythm of his restless thoughts.

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor reached his ears, the faint shuffling of bare feet snapping him out of his thoughts. He barely turned in his chair before he saw her; a sleepy, disheveled Y/N standing in the doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the hallway light. The sleeves of his sweater were falling over her hands, causing her shoulders to become exposed, and her eyes were heavy with the remnants of sleep.

"Spence..." She mumbled, her voice raspy and thick with drowsiness. The sight of her tugged at his heart in the most tender way.

Spencer’s face softened instantly, guilt creeping in at the edges of his thoughts. He’d woken her.

"Hey, sweetheart." He murmured, pushing the file aside and giving her his full attention. His voice was quiet, filled with concern. "What are you doing awake? You should be asleep."

Y/N blinked at him, the bleariness in her eyes making her seem even smaller and more vulnerable. She swayed slightly on her feet, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I woke up... and you weren’t there." She slurred softly, taking a small step toward him, her expression confused and sleepy.

His heart clenched at her words, a wave of guilt washing over him. He hated that he’d caused her to wake up, especially on a week that she spent too much time studying and having little to no rest. He adjusted his posture above the chair, motioning her closer with gentle hands, but Y/N was already moving on her own, shuffling across the room with slow, sleepy steps, her gaze never leaving him.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, dove." He whispered as she reached him. He reached out with his hands as she practically fell into his arms.

She pushed his arms open with little effort and maneuvered herself onto his lap, pressing against him as if seeking out the warmth she’d missed. Her legs straddled his thighs, her knees resting above the sides of the chair, her body curling around his like a koala hugging a tree. The weight of her felt perfect, grounding him as she nestled closer, her chest rising and falling softly against him.

"Spence, don’t apologize." She murmured, her breath tickling the skin of his neck as she shifted, her nose nuzzling into the curve of it, seeking his scent. She pressed her face against him, her lips brushing feather-light against the sensitive skin just below his ear as she planted a sleepy kiss. "You know I just can’t sleep well without you."

Spencer let out a shaky breath, the soft, familiar feeling of her lips against his neck sending warmth coursing through him. His left hand instinctively found her back, his fingers running to the hem of his sweater and lifting it slightly, making room for hand to enter under the fabric and meet her skin, spreading his fingers as he began tracing lazy circles along her spine, soothing her.

Y/N sighed in pleasure, her left hand gently crawling up to his face. Her fingers softly traced the rough stubble along his cheek before instinctively pushing his glasses back up to their proper place, her fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose in a familiar, soothing motion.

He smiled softly, his guilt still lingering but melting slightly under the comfort of her touch. She was so close, so vulnerable in her half-asleep state, and it made him feel even more protective of her.

"You should be in bed." He whispered, his voice low and affectionate, his hand continuing its gentle caress. "You have finals tomorrow... and this position’s going to make your back hurt in the morning." He tried to sound stern, but the amusement in his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly as Y/N shifted again, her hand leaving his face and meeting the other side of his neck, her right arm tightening around his torso in silent protest.

"I don’t care." She mumbled into his neck, her lips brushing against his skin as she spoke. "I love you. I want to be here."

His heart swelled at her words, an overwhelming wave of love flooding him. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the comforting scent of her.

"I love you more." He whispered back, his voice barely audible as he nuzzled his cheek against her hair. His hand never stopped its rhythmic movement along her back, his touch gentle and tender.

Y/N hummed in response, her breathing already slowing as the warmth of his embrace lulled her back toward sleep. Spencer could feel the way her body relaxed against his, her weight becoming heavier as she melted further into him. She was so peaceful, her soft breaths brushing against his skin in a steady rhythm.

Spencer's eyes drifted to the case file still resting on the desk, his mind unwilling to let go of the details he was trying to piece together. His hand continued to trail soothing patterns on her back, and he tilted his head down, pressing another kiss to her temple, noticing how her body was giving way to sleep again.

"Let me tuck you back into bed, sweetheart." He whispered against her skin, insisting. "You need the proper rest."

But Y/N shifted in his lap, shaking her head, clearly unwilling to move.

"No." She mumbled, her voice soft but convincing. "What I need is to be with you." She burrowed her face deeper into his neck, pressing her nose against his skin and nuzzling him like she was trying to become a part of him. "Let me stay here. Please."

Spencer sighed softly, feeling torn between the the case and the warmth of Y/N in his arms. He glanced back at Y/N, her soft breathing and her peaceful face pressed against his neck, shaking his head with how stubborn she could be.

Wrapping his arms fully around her, he held her close, one hand still caressing her back while the other pulled the case file closer to him again, reopening it and going back to the first page.

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underratedbreadcrust · 20 days ago

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Chance Equals Fortune — Prologue

Squid Game | The Salesman x F!Reader

Summary: parasites. that is the only thing he thinks of when he meets the players he is meant to recruit. but what happens when he meets you and you are nothing of what he expects.

an au where the salesman lives and becomes a player.

Warnings: swearing and classist thinking. in the future there will probably be canon-typical violence and i'm still debating on smut.

a/n: happy new years! i'm sorry i couldn't upload this earlier i had to deal with some long distant relatives. however, due to popular demand here is the gong yoo fic as promised. this was originally supposed to be under 1k words...

Words: 2.1k

next part>>

Click. Click. Click

Those are the sounds of pristine perfectly polished black shoes on concrete. The soles of the shoes worn by a handsome-looking businessman echoed loudly, causing the sounds to reverberate into the jet-black sky. As he walked beneath the faint luminescence of street lights, case in hand and his head held high, his eyes searched for the next prey to fall victim to his silver tongue. The same mouth that twisted dark truths into sweet promises others couldn't dare reject. Never once has his articulate way of speaking failed to deliver the precise words necessary to provide his superiors with a new batch of fresh meat to satisfy their sadistic tendencies. To him, it was all the same. One less piece of vermin in the world, and more importantly, one less leech to drain the well-oiled machine that is society.

Today was no different as he strolled along the sidewalk of a small park near the outskirts of Seoul. While he walked, he felt indifferent towards the small details, like the light breeze swaying the tree branches above or the faint smell of dog shit wafting through the air. Having trained himself to ignore anything and everything that could be a possible distraction from his mission. What was his mission again? Ah yes, currently that would be you.

His steps immediately halted as he spotted your figure in the distance, a dark shadow looming over a bed of flowers and a trail of smoke emitting from the cigarette between your fingers. There you are. He squared his shoulders as he fixed his expression into one of casual ease. Now, all he had left to do was to convince you all of the problems that have stemmed from your pathetic life could be solved in the blink of an eye. That your worries could dissolve as quickly as skin in acid.

He began to move again, taking long strides to where you were standing. In the time he took to reach you, he jotted some quick mental notes.

One. Your relaxed stance oozed confidence and uninterest despite being a young lady positioned in one of the most crime-infested spots of the city in the dead of night. Meaning you either had a weapon on you or had sufficient defense skills, possibly both. He must tread carefully.

Two. You were positioned next to a tall fountain, atop stood a small marble figure of a gumiho. The spot infamously known for the shady transactions dealing with drugs and other nefarious crimes. Perhaps you were waiting for someone? He'd have to keep an eye out for any newcomers that could interrupt his process.

Three. Your mouth was...moving?

His steps faltered. There was no other person around within a 3-mile radius whom you could be conversing with, nor did you have a phone in hand. How odd. In his time as a recruiter, he has encountered all kinds of people. Drug addicts, the mentally ill, and one memorable case a delirious man on the brink of death, hallucinating from hunger. You, however, seemed perfectly sane. Keyword…seemed. He shook his head, quickly putting a halt to his thoughts. He had no time to ponder over whatever weird traits you may have, he came here to do one job. He resumed his trek towards you and was soon standing mere feet from you.

Show time.

“Excuse me miss, may I have a minute of your time?”

You remain standing still, making no indication that you had noticed him. Your eyes were distant while you continued to murmur but no sound came out. He wasn’t sure if you were ignoring him or if you really were that unaware of your surroundings. Now that won’t do.

“Miss?” He tried again tentatively, his head tilting curiously as he stepped in your line of sight. “Are you alright?”

Finally, your eyes shifted into focus, taking a moment to adjust. For a brief moment, it appeared as if you were lost. However, that moment soon passed and your eyes narrowed, annoyance filling your features.

“Why did you interrupt me?”

The bite in your tone was enough to make him raise an eyebrow. Perhaps you really weren’t in the right state of mind after all. “Interrupt?”

You scoffed, ignoring the question you brought the cigarette back to your lips. Taking in a long drag before you released the smoke right in his face. His mouth turned downward in displeasure.

“Do you need something?” You snapped, your jaw clenching as you slid your free hand in your pocket. He caught the way your finger twitched as you did so. Weapon it is then.

His face instantly changed back to that previous pleasant expression, his lips curving into a kind smile though with a lack of warmth in his eyes. Instead replaced by an empty, clinical look.

”I don’t mean to be a bother ma’am, but I’m here to offer you a proposal you’re sure to like,” he states in a neutral tone, having uttered a variation of those words dozens of times. “A way to better improve your current economic situation.”

Your body tenses as your eyes dart over his figure eyeing the suitcase, no doubt analyzing him as a threat. “Look I already said I’d pay him back!” He watches as you chuck the cigarette to the ground and stomp on it. “If he keeps rushing me like this then don’t expect to get a single won out of me! I don’t give a shit who he is!” Your volume rises as you take a step back, ready to sprint if needed.

He raises his arm in surrender. “That’s not what I’m here for. As I’ve stated, I only want to help.” His mind is conjuring up the best way to ease the tension.

He hesitantly takes a step forward.

Your eyes immediately look back down. “What’s in the case?”

Another step.

“I work for a group of people whose only interest is to help those who are struggling. Our objective being to ease the burden of the majority.” He swiftly places the case at the base of the fountain, unlocking the latch but leaving it closed. “See for yourself.”

You were the one to take the final step, closing the gap between the two of you. You gave him one more skeptical look before you focused all of your attention on what was in front of you. Slowly, both hands reached out and flipped the top wide open. Your eyes widened as you took in the contents of what was inside, or more specifically, the big wads of cash.

You remained silent, frozen as a statue as you simply stared. In an instant, you whipped your head in his direction. You took the time to study him, your mouth slightly agape and a certain look in your eye he couldn't quite place. A couple of seconds passed, you clamped your mouth shut and swallowed thickly, licking your lips before you finally managed to whisper, "What do you want?"

His mouth quirked upward in a smirk. Got you. "I'd like to play a game."

You belted out a high-pitched, contorted laugh. A childlike glee completely overcoming you. "Ab-so-fucking-lutely," you grinned from ear to ear, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

It dawned on him what that look in your gaze was...

Unstable.

A jolt of thrill shoots down his spine. "I'm sure you're familiar with the game ddakji," he reaches until he grabs the two colorful squares, carefully placing the red one on the ground, "for every time your square manages to flip mine, I will pay you 100,000 won."

You nod enthusiastically, your hand shooting out as he draws his hand in at the same time. "However, if you lose...you must pay me back the same amount."

You snatched the piece from him. “Deal.” You don't waste a single moment in hurling it, the force of the impact causing the sound to ricochet like a gunshot. The square goes flying, becoming a red blur. It stays in the air for a couple of seconds, but that time is enough for the experienced recruiter to know that you've already won. By the time it hits the ground, he doesn't even have to look to know it's flipped.

You look up expectantly at him.

He glances at her, jaw clenching. Well, this isn't how it usually goes. Before he can move to pay you, your voice cuts through the silence. "From the look on your face, you didn't want me to win, correct?" The lack of response on his part encourages you to continue. "How about, instead of doing whatever the hell you were thinking, I propose a new rule," you lean forward, your eyes sparkling with mirth, "we both keep throwing until one of us loses. If I win...you give me everything that's in that case."

"And what if I win?"

Your mouth twists into a devilish smirk. "Don't worry, you won't."

His eyes look you up and down, scanning you. His hands twitch in anticipation at the challenge, adrenaline manifesting itself as electricity in his veins. His bruised ego from losing the first round combined with his competitive nature was enough to make him agree. This was not part of the plan. He could just give you the money, the card, and go about his day like he has so many times before. He has no reason to play along other than he just wants to beat you.

"Alright," his previously fabricated smile now becoming genuine, "my turn."

With renewed vigor, he launches his square and as expected, it flips. He lets out an arrogant chuckle as he fixes his suit and stands up straight, his lips stretching into a satisfied smile.

This cycle continued for multiple rounds, the money long forgotten. The need to succeed fueled the violent fire between the two of you. After a while, he lost all track of time, fixating all of his attention solely on the game.

By now, his hair was disheveled and sweat dripped down his forehead. He panted as he recovered, his arm muscles aching from the consistent use. It was taking more energy than he was willing to admit in order to keep going but like hell if he'd let exhaustion be the cause of failing.

On his turn, he prepared himself to once again launch the disc. He readied himself, drawing his arm back and—

His eyes suddenly flickered to your lips, where your tongue darted out lick them. He watches intensely at your now damp, chapped lips, mouth slightly parted as you breathe heavily from fatigue.

In his moment of distraction, the square slips from his hand. He scrambles quickly to catch it but it's too late...

He's lost.

There is a long pause of silence, before your high-pitched cackle cuts through the air. His eyes widen in shock, the realization slowly setting in.

How...

He breathes out deeply through his nose, trying his best to compose himself. What the hell was that? How on earth could he have lost? He Never. Loses. He doesn't have any longer to dwell on the fact as you practically skip in joy to the case, already counting the amount. All of this because you managed to distract him.

Your voice soon interrupts his thoughts. "Maybe the next time you want to win, you might try not to let your eyes stray so far..." you say as you wink.

How did you even notice? Wait...was that on purpose? He clenches his fists until they turn white, the thought making his blood boil. He has half the mind to kill you and call it an accident just to quell his anger.

He closes his eyes in frustration. No, I can't ruin the games.

He takes in a couple of deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Once he knows that his voice won't betray any conflict he feels, he speaks again, "you know, there are other games such as the one we just played. And for much larger prizes as well."

He's back in his element, his persuasive tone of voice exuding reliability. He hands you the card, explaining how it works, how to enlist, and so on.

By the time he finishes his speech, you look mostly convinced. After inspecting the card more closely, your stare finds his, "I appreciate what you have done and thank you for the opportunity. I will consider your offer. If I do accept know it will only be due to a singular fact," your head leans closer, voice lowering to a whisper and your breath fanning over his, "I never lose"

On that note, you step back and walk away, never once turning to glance back at him. You soon disappear into the dark Seoul night, shadows blending with that of buildings and trees.

He lets out a small huff in amusement. If that is true, then he's excited to see how you'll fare in the games.

please don't be a silent reader i love reading comments and hearing your thoughts.

#squid game #squid game 2 #the salesman x reader #the salesman #gong yoo #gong yoo x reader #squid game x reader #salesman x reader

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obsessedwrhys · 9 months ago

Note

Can we have a part 2 Deadpool reader with the boys and maybe soldier boy too❓❓ if you want to of course

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Boys x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader's origin will be explained underneath, reader is still an asshole lol that comes with the character, mention about killing,death,gore, weed, drugs, Reader is gn!!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the seven, kiss kiss <3

Origin:

Quick summary, when you were born, your parents had agreed with Vought to have you be pumped full of Compound V so you could grow up and be a hero working under them, but the problem was when you were around 7, they changed their mind so Vought ended up sending several people to come to your house to settle the matter.

Your whole family was massacred in the living room during thanksgiving and when they tried to capture you. You were able to run away. Homeless and living on the street, you grew up in a life of crime, depending on nobody but yourself. Make sense? No? Good! Let's start now.

BUTCHER

To him, you were like a fly that won't leave him alone.

How he knew you was through Mallory, she thought you were okay and fit for the job since you hated Vought just as much.

Obviously he didn't like you once you were introduced to him and the two (M.M and Frenchie)

"No way am I lettin' a supe join us"

":("

Though after what happened to Mallory's grandchildren, the gang pretty much dispersed but wherever Butcher went, you followed. Since he was the only person you trusted... and also enjoy annoying the shit out of.

He'd head inside a club, relieved he hadn't seen you for the past few days so he decided to grab a drink by the bar to unwind.

"Whiskey" He said with his eyes looking around, paranoia shown on his face.

Once his drink was served, he would look back to find your eyes smiling at him, you were wearing a bartender disguise over your red suit.

"Did you miss me?"

"Oh christ..."

When you heard word that he was gathering back the team, you had to be there. What kind of friend would you be if you didn't?

Undoubtedly he had to admit, there were times where he was grateful to have you on the team but there were also other times he regretted it.

For example, that time when you guys needed to sneak into a lab to get something and the goal was to stay quiet but even that simple rule was hard for you to follow.

"Room's up ahead. (Y/N) I need you to—"

"Heads up!" You said as you threw a bomb at the metal door.

The explosion causing the alarm to turn on and it had the whole lab now on high alert. You shrug innocently when Butcher glared at you like he wanted to tear you apart.

Also, you enjoy constantly pissing him off. You can't die so you don't really care if he'll kill you for it.

"Maybe, if you didn' press the fuckin' button, we wouldn't have to come bac' to save yer ass from the guards"

"OOH GOD SAVE THE QUEEEN!! Please, cry me a fucking river. I got us the target didn't I?"

"He's dead"

"Well you weren't being specific when you said to capture him"

But it's fine, all his frustration will be solved once he uses you as bait. He knows you can't die but hey, it makes him feel slightly better watching you get shot at.

Despite your ups and downs, he appreciates you. When the team would turn against him on his insane journey for revenge, he always found you the only one still standing by his side. You're loyal and he likes that.

Compatibility? 75%

HUGHIE

You treat him like a child.

No seriously you baby talk him sometimes and it annoys him

"Awwwww is little hughie angry?"

"Stop..."

"Does baby want his milky?"

Since he's pretty much the only person who isn't that exposed to crime as the others, he's terrified 100% everytime when he's paired up to do any dirty work with you.

"Now listen buddy, you better start talking or I'm gonna shoot" You said, gun raised at the man who seemed to be begging you to spare his life in a language you didn't speak.

"I don't think he speaks English"

"Ah shit... ENGLISH!! SPEAK!! ABCDEFG??!"

"How is shouting in English gonna make him understand?"

"Eh, you're right"

BANG

"WHY'D YOU SHOOT HIM??!"

"Well did you expect me to pull out Duolingo and start taking classes?!"

You had to admit, it was a pain in the ass each time he starts giving you the cold shoulder whenever he gets mad at you for doing something terrible. It was like his way of guilt tripping you so you always try to apologise in your own ways.

"Hey..." You said, handing him ice cream.

"...I uh... I don’t like Strawberry ice cream... I thought I told you that"

"God you're so ungrateful!!"

Since he was such a scaredy cat, you try to tone down your craziness a bit. For the sake of him not going into cardiac arrest.

"(Y/N) STOP!! She has nothing to do with this!! She was tricked" Hughie grabbed you by the arm to pull your gun away from the innocent woman.

You turn your head to look at him, then at the woman, then at him again, then the woman, then him again.

"Ugh finnnne... you're boring..."

However, he does appreciate you trying to be a better person. Even you had to admit, after you met him and became friends. You noticed yourself being less brutal than you used to be. The thought keeps you awake at night and it scares the shit out of you.

But oh well, how could you ever say no to those scared little puppy eyes?

Compatibility? 55%

FRENCHIE

He's like your hype man which is concerning.

Not because you're not afraid to get the job done but also because you always have his back.

"Well... I need some gunpowder but I've run out of them" Frenchie said, telling Butcher that the plan was most likely not gonna happen.

"Hold on" You said with the typical comical ☝🏻 gesture before heading into a different room. Everyone exchanging confused glances at what you could possibly be doing.

After a few minutes you'd return with a bag of gunpowder while struggling to zip up your pants with the other hand.

"Don't tell me how I got it. It almost tore me apart" You said, rubbing your ass.

On stressful nights, you guys would enjoy smoking weed together by the sofa and share stories of your traumatic childhood. It's how you guys bond and it's oddly wholesome.

Also when he needs a shoulder to cry on, you were always there for him. You two shared a type of relationship that even Romeo and Juliet couldn't compete with. To be fair they're dead so they actually can't fight.

"Hey reader!! If you're gonna keep reading then you might as well give the post a like or a repost. C'mon, pleassssseeee pleasepleaseplease"

"Ma cerise, who are you talking to?"

Although he doesn't mind your behaviour sometimes but he won't tolerate it if you ever cross the line on something. He's like the owner who sprays water at his pet cat when they don't listen.

"What are you mad at me for?!?!"

"You damn near tried to get us killed!!"

"Hey! You're the one who said it would be a suicide mission so I made sure it was a suicide mission!!"

"WHAT?"

There's no way he can deny how curious he is about where you get your guns and things. He once went in your room to find boxes of dynamite and a RPG just placed against the wall like furniture.

Like do you have a supplier or are you your own supplier?

Compatibility? 99.9%

M.M

Everybody deserves second chances.

He always tells him that to calm himself down everytime you managed to fuck up a thoroughly planned mission.

"What did I say about pressing buttons (Y/N)?"

"Honestly I stopped paying attention after you said 'Listen here'."

M.M has to be the only person you fear to the fact you try very hard to avoid him, this is because his long ass lectures are such a pain to deal with.

"How many times do I have to remind you? You can't just go around doing shit like that. You gotta consider the amount of danger you'll put everyone in..."

"(Blah blah blah... he's still going... uggggh... make it stop...!)"

Unable to handle the lecture any longer, you ended up shooting yourself in the head.

"(Y/N)!" His tone more disappointed than concern since this wasn't the first time you did this to escape his talks.

You know that russian dollhouse he tries to build in season 2? Well you'd constantly be found standing or sitting near him when he's trying to finish the set.

Since you're aware of his OCD, you like to edge him on by sometimes rearranging the parts or stealing some of it so he ends up searching high and low for the missing parts.

You had to admit it was entertaining to watch him accuse other people for touching his stuff when it was you behind all the schemes.

I'd like to think that after every mission when you happen to die, he'd be the one in charge of collecting your remains so you'd grow back.

That's why it comes naturally that his job is to make sure you don't do anything extreme.

"Where are my bombs??!?!" You'd shout, storming around the place looking for them.

"I sold them. Thought it'd do us more good knowing you won’t accidentally blow us up"

"WHAT?! GOD! It's like the writers of the show couldn't afford another explosion for this season so they had to use this DUMB of an excuse!!"

Though he does see some good in you through the messed up parts, he once saw you give his daughter a cute teddy bear when they've been burned by Vought.

She still has the bear and M.M likes to think that maybe you have a soft spot for kids since you never had a proper childhood. That's why he chooses to understand you rather than just being ignorant about your behaviour.

Compatibility? 80%

KIMIKO

She finds you a little odd but she doesn't mind once she realises how everyone is used to you being like that.

Whenever you're bored, you'd come to see what she was up to. Just imagine you sitting on the sofa like a curious kid as you watch her write alphabets on the book.

She also tries to communicate with you since she thought maybe your fucked up mind would understand her better in a way. Like how in season 2 she was repeatedly writing 'boy' to Frenchie but he didn't understand, so she came to you.

"Woow... watching you try to talk to me is like watching a baby take it's first breath..."

"😐"

"It's beautiful..."

Turns out her theory was wrong, you had a harder time understanding her compared to the rest.

Since you're the only two people in the group with powers, most of the time you two are sent on dangerous missions together. It's a nightmare for her because everybody knows communication is key but one is mute and the other doesn't listen.

"(Be quiet! There's people in the other room!)" She'd sign to you but you were busy humming a song while throwing around the enemies equipment.

"Oooh, what's this?" You held up a Homelander figurine which made you laugh as you show it to her.

"Hey look! 'I'm Homelander, I'm God's favourite. I play golf with Jesus every Sunday."

"(Can you please take this seriously?)"

"You're right, you gotta stop messing around Kimiko! We have a target to kill here" You said and you threw the figurine away which apparently clashes into a stack of boxes that came crashing down. The sound making everyone inside the building grab their weapons and began cornering you two in the room.

"😡"

"Okay that wasn't me that was gravity"

For the boys, you were plan A and she was plan B. That's because you always end up rushing into a fight first which most of the time resulted in you getting dismembered, which she later comes in to save you.

For example when Stormfront had stopped you guys, your bright ass thought it was a good idea to charge at her even though everyone was signalling you to stop. Next thing you know you were just a head being carried by M.M, you ended up watching as Kimiko fought Stormfront with the help of Starlight and Queen Maeve.

"That's my girl!! Now can anyone lend me a hand? I think I lost mine"

Compatibility? 97%

Bonus +

SOLDIER BOY

You know the scene where he walks out of his containment with the gas surrounding him? You swore when you watched him step out butt naked, you could hear angels singing and trumpets playing inside your head.

Shockingly enough, he was the only person who appreciated your humour. Could be a generation thing. He's just relieved not everyone has gone soft over the years.

In a way, you feel like you've become his babysitter. Everytime Butcher and Hughie left to do some business, you were in charge of making sure he doesn't blow up anyone. You kept him entertained so he didn't mind. That's why on the hunt for his former team members, he immediately chose you to be by his side.

"I'll take red with me"

"Red as in the american flag or the russians?" You asked which had him do the typical boomer laugh.

"I like you, you're funny" He said with a strong pat on your shoulder.

Butcher doesn't mind you with him cause he trusts that you can keep him under control. Hughie on the other hand isn't sure if you can even keep yourself under control.

"Shhh... wait... do you hear that?"

"Ah shit, did I accidentally said my dirty thoughts out loud? It's just you look breedable in that suit"

Another thing he likes about you is that you're okay with killing pretty much anyone, just try not to overstep cause that could potentially piss him off.

"I told you he's mine" He said as he had you pinned against one of the trees, apparently you had shot Mindstorm in the head when he literally made it clear to you minutes ago that was his kill.

"Quite possessive aren't you? I can recommended a therapist I know. Her names Martha—"

"You shut your mouth before I shove my shield up your ass"

"Gasp don't you DARE threaten me with a good time!!"

At the end of Season 3, you would obviously side with Butcher when everyone started to turn against Soldier Boy. He had to admit he was kinda hurt though, he expected you to be on his side.

"So what? You're crawling back to him now? After what we've been through?"

"Sorry big daddy, but Butcher has been my day one and I also happen to love him veryvery much"

Cue Butcher rolling his eyes out of disgust.

Compatibility? 100% but after the betrayal? 0% 😔

2K notes · View notes

theyluvlyss · 1 year ago

Text

𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 !

and it's me getting to write henry being a simp🥴🥰. thank you for requesting, I honestly didn't think I'd get any for henry danger, so just this one has me allll /ᐠo⩊oマ !!! So ya, enjoy :).

𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

《 ♡ 》 oneshot

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

being the girlfriend of swellview's resident sidekick could be tough sometimes. always covering for him, constantly worrying about his safety, forever missing him...

but, regardless, he always made sure to remind you that you are the most important thing in his life. even if he has to wake you out of a dead sleep to do it...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

fem!girlfriend!reader x henry hart - she/her/hers pronouns! - knows henry's super-identity/works with captain man!

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

during season four (and up) (vaguely) - it's mildly implied to be winter

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

cursing (I think? I don't remember, but just in case lol) - yelling (in a jokey/lighthearted way tho) - henry being so boyfriend - a poison ivy knock-off gets featured in here cuz I thought it would be funny lmao - lmk if I missed anything /ᐠ~˕~マ.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

As you stocked shelves and marked down certain pricey items for the holiday's swift approach, you couldn't help but huff. Couldn't help but wonder why it was you had agreed to such a position. Hardly anyone even comes into Junk n' Stuff! Why did you have to play pretend employee for a vacant audience when you could be down in the Mancave with Charlotte and Schwoz, observing and maybe even solving crime and mysteries?

At this point, you might as well have taken real a job at a real shop or store.

But, then again... you were getting the bonus perks of higher pay, given as your boss was a literal superhero. And, because of the fact that the whole of Junk n' Stuff was a front, customers were rare. It was like being on break from three to ten, only ever selling to the occasional old person looking for a rare trinket, or a curious kid looking to resell something "vintage." Whatever the case, you were on your phone for most of the time, and were always happy to work alongside your best friend and your superhero boyfriend.

The third perk, you realized, even if you weren't exactly on the field beside him. You supposed it wasn't all bad. It's not like a lot of other girls had the guilty pleasure of saying the same.

"I work at a fake mom and pop shop that barely gets any customers, but it's okay because it's just a cover up for my boss who's actually Captain Man, and his sidekick, Kid Danger, is actually my boyfriend. My best friend Charlotte and I work to keep him safe every other day, and to top it all off, I get paid more than what my parents make in a week."

You shook your head, huffing to yourself in amusement. Not only was it a mouthful to say, but it sounded insane. Not that you'd ever actually say it to anyone but yourself in your head. But, speaking- er, thinking of...

You pulled your phone from your back pocket, taking your focus off of the box of probably stale snacks you were stacking near the front desk and onto Henry's already open contact. You scanned over your thread of texts between each other, your last message from earlier in the day still left on delivered. You didn't take this to heart, already aware of how busy his missions tended to get. And dangerous, too, hence why you had initially sent...

─────────────────────

my man😙❤️

───────────

Be careful out there today, k?

Ily💞✨️

Delivered

─────────────────────

And sure, after checking now, seeing you'd been left on delivered the whole time mildly stung. But you understood and didn't allow that to be the thing that slightly dampened your mood. Instead, you remained worried for your boyfriend, contemplating if you should send another text his way. Or maybe even call him. Just to see...

You fanned the idea away, setting your phone face down on the floor and continuing to do your "job." Anything to take your mind off of the peril Henry could be facing right now, and the last thing he needed was you distracting him. You wouldn't be needy. At least, not right now. But you'd continue to wonder what was happening, where he was, what dangers he was facing...

"Oh...! (Y/N)."

You turned at the sound of your name, smiling as Charlotte stepped out of the elevator.

"It's past ten, I thought you'd be home by now."

"Me too...!" You sighed, a dry chuckle leaving along with. "I guess I was just subconsciously hoping Ray and Henry would be back by now."

Charlotte gave her own chuckle and an understanding nod at your half-joking confession, moving closer until she was squatted beside and assisting you with the rest of your stocking.

"I wouldn't worry too much. They got this. They always do."

"I know, it's just-"

"-Besides, it's only Greenleaf. And you already know..."

You two shot each other a knowing glance, finishing her sentence at the same time together before laughing.

"...She always folds for Ray."

As you set up the last of the snacks, the two of you stood, cardboard box on your hip while Charlotte had scooped up your phone and handed it back to you.

"You're right, you're right." You admitted, tossing your head from side to side with a shrug. "Plus, I'm pretty sure her goals are relatively Mother Nature related. Can't say I blame her."

"Excatly." Charlotte agreed. "She rarely ever does any real harm, so trust me, Henry will text you back before you know it."

And with that, you two shared your final goodbyes for the evening, and your fret had subsided. Like you said, she was right, Greenleaf more of a particular "low level" classified supervillain, which meant an easy battle. If you'd even call it that. You predicted that right about now, Ray was doing his best to appeal to her charm and romance to subdue her, and though gross... it always seemed to work, so you didn't question it.

With that in mind, you finally decided to call in, clocking out for the evening and daydreaming on the walk home of a hearty dinner, a hot shower, and the warmth and cozy of your bed.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

In the comfort of your room with your nighttime routine accomplished, you remained settled in bed with your eyes glued to your phone. Maybe not the healthiest option, but TikTok was very compelling in the late evenings. Especially when you needed a good laugh or a new song/audio to discover and add to your playlist. You scrolled endlessly, allowing the time to tick by without worry or care because tomorrow (in an hour or two) would be a stress free Saturday.

The millionth swipe upwards of your thumb brought you to your next video, a boy and a girl close in age to yourself participating in a trend that had been circling around for a little bit. It was cute, the way they both adorned wide, cheesy smiles, and their pajamas matched with each other. Even while they performed a popular dance, sticking to routine, you could sense the chemistry they had with one another through the screen. All of it ending with the boy scooping her into his arms, littering kisses across her face that she giggled at over the music.

If anyone asked, you'd be a little embarrassed to admit that you had let the video replay several times before giving it a like and then scrolling away. But, you couldn't - no - wouldn't deny the achy feeling it left you with.

Suddenly, you were no longer laughing at everything you saw and/or heard. No longer wishing to be on the app itself any longer because the ache in your chest was growing too much to bear. Too much for you to ignore, thinking about that random couple and their adorable antics.

How much it reminded you of your own boyfriend; how much you really did miss Henry. It wasn't like you didn't see each other often, practically every day. But it didn't stop you from always wishing to be near him, that he was with you. Family, school, and being a superhero did take up quite a bit of his attention, not that you doubted you were the fourth thing on his list. Selfishly, you assumed the second, at least...

But anyhow, in an attempt to rid yourself of the ache and to refrain from pestering him, you migrated from TikTok to your gallery, scrolling around until you reached a large cluster of pictures and videos from days past.

First thing, you were met with a short thread of silly pictures, Henry striking poses and making faces he'd forbid from showing to anyone, and you immediately sent them to Charlotte and Jasper agreed, for the sake of his dignity. Or just some random action shots, the complete blur of his figure due to moving too fast, which you would keep because they were still funny, after all.

But eventually, you came across a video, it automatically playing as you watched in reminiscence of your time at the mall together. You were both fresh from a Bath & Body Works, your phone's point of view shaking and aimed as though it were snooping around in your bag before pulling away and revealing your hand being held by none other than Henry himself.

"What'd ya' get me?" You chirped as though you hadn't just shown the audience already. But, it was clear you wanted to hear it from him at the time, both past/video and present you giggling at the way Henry shot a smirk your way with eyes that read, "Really?"

"What I always get you." He answered simply, looking ahead as you two walked. "The world."

"Harhar." You could be heard giving an equally sarcastic laugh before adding, "Yes, but specifically this time."

"Boba and (signature/scent)."

Again, both past/video and present you shared another laugh, and you were sure of the fact that you were admiring him shamelessly with your eyes full of love at that moment, just as you were now as the video went on.

"How come?" You pressed with glee, Henry's head shifting back towards you as he spoke.

"'Cause I love you. 'Cause you deserve it. 'Cause it feels gooood."

He laughed along with you at the way he elongated his words at the end of his sentence, a quirk he picked up from who-knows-where that always had you playfully rolling your eyes. In real time, though, the video had ended there, and you were swift to find another one, craving more of that feeling... that mock-comfort of Henry being with you when he actually wasn't.

It was the best you could do, for now, so you'd continue, snuggling deeper into your blankets and pillows while his voice kept ringing out from your phone.

"You smell really good." Was his first comment, ironically per the last video, stated while you admired yourself in selfie mode before switching to the back camera.

He was already stalking closer towards your position on his bed, in his room, before flopping down right into your lap and looking up at you like a puppy.

"And I love your eyes."

"My eyes?" You questioned, as though you were surprised, or as if he should be talking about someone else's.

"Mhm." He nodded slowly. "Your beautiful eyes and those lips of yours. You're too perfect, y'might have to get that checked out or something."

Your laugh at his joking statement caused the camera to shake, and it made you realize that in the moment, you had missed the way he continued to behold you. To cherish the rest of your features and run his hand against your lower stomach as his face flushed with red at the sound of your giggles. Laughter he caused, which made him happy, you assumed, given the way he couldn't even fight his own smile.

You wished you hadn't missed it all at the time, but were glad you were seeing it now; all of his love that then went poured into one gesture before the video ended.

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a gentleness you were still currently missing, the video ending, and the silence of your room setting in.

It didn't help the ache like you thought it would, possibly even making it worse. And because of that, you thought it wise to call it a night, giving your messages one more check before making the last minute choice to send another. A final one for the evening, because at least that would bring you peace of mind.

─────────────────────

my man😙❤️

───────────

Be careful out there today, k?

Ily💞✨️

Delivered

Goodnight

I love you sm<3

❤️✨️

Delivered

─────────────────────

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

"So, uhh... you ever try Olive Garden?"

The woman, hair fiery red and a fitted suit made from the vines and plants she created (which were now being chopped away at by police in light of her villainous attempts), shot the man, Captain Man, a look of confusion and disgust. If her wrists hadn't been bound by handcuffs, she'd send another vine after him just for his obliviousness.

"No. I would never in my life..."

She didn't even have to finish her sentence, the tone implying that she wouldn't be caught dead eating from a place that required slaughtering animals and ripping plants from the ground just to serve "fine" cuisine.

"Is Olive Garden not vegan?"

Greenleaf couldn't even fathom a rebuttal to such stupidity, that fact clearly written all over her face as she was hauled away by more policemen. Ray, of course, didn't exactly catch on but jumped at Henry's shout from behind.

"Dude...!" A pause, striking out a hand to further enforce his demand. "Stop flirting with the supervillain...!"

"I'm-! . . ." Ray couldn't even deny that he was doing such a thing (granted, Greenleaf is an attractive woman), but would take advantage of his older age anyhow, pointing an index finger towards his younger partner sternly.

"Mind your business! Unlike you, Kid Danger, I have had the pleasure of time, which has allotted me the grace of perfecting my wit, savvy, and charm, I'll have you know. So-"

He was interrupted by Henry's gloved palm resting against his face, serving as a method to stop him from strolling any closer while Henry casually scrolled through his phone, his tone all the same.

"Hang on, my girlfriend just texted me."

Ray scoffed, seconds away from letting Henry know that he shouldn't be distracted on the job. That is, until he continued to go on with a flat tone, underlying bits of hilarity under it in attempts to get under Ray's skin.

"Y'know, the thing you don't have? The girl I used my natural born wit, savvy, and charm on to win over?"

"I get it!!"

Henry looked up with a smile at Ray's exclamation, innocently nodding with a swift, "Yeah." before putting his attention back to his screen.

─────────────────────

my wife❤️

Be careful out there today, k?

Ily💞✨️

9:23p.m.

Goodnight

I love you sm<3

❤️✨️

11:37p.m.

─────────────────────

What had been giddiness at first morphed into a feeling of guilt, thoughts of your saddened face sinking deep into his brain the moment he realized he had missed your texts. That you had apparently even gone to bed without hearing so much as a word from him all evening.

And sure, he knew you'd probably excuse it the next day, simply telling him that it "was fine" and that you "understood." And while that might be the case, he couldn't help but give in to the thought that you'd much rather have gotten to hear from him tonight. At the very least.

Besides, it's not like he didn't miss you, too. He missed you a lot, actually. You constantly on the brain every single time he fought and/or solved any crime, because if there was one person he'd guarantee the safety of while being in Swellview, it was you. But, along with your safety, he also wanted to make things up to you. He wanted your happiness. And he knew he was one of the sole people who could provide that, therefore...

"Alright, I gotta' get outta' here."

"What?" Captain Man blinked rapidly, unexpecting of Henry's sudden announcement of departure. "No-! No, we have to clean up this mess. Look at all of these vines!"

"Yep, it's...quite the jungle." Henry admitted lacklusterly, nodding to himself before throwing a thumb over his shoulder and slowly backing away. "But, uh, it's Friday, and..."

"Exactly! Friday night, no school, which leaves you plenty of time to help me out. You're on clean-up duty tonight, bud!"

Henry, again, nodded along with Ray's words. He continued to take his giant steps away from the scene, talking fast and only thinking about you in the process, hence why his logic came out a little more than flawed...

"Right, except no, because last I checked, the saying goes, "Blow bubbles fight crime, feels good." Not, "Blow bubbles, fight crime, clean up a mess that's not mine." And, I gotta be honest, that would not feel very good. It would actually feel baaaad, which is exactly how you-know-who is probably feeling right about now..."

"Don't even say her name, kid."

A pause lingered in the air before Henry disobeyed direct instruction.

"I gotta go see (Y/N)."

And he was gone before the conversation could continue, Ray left on his own to help the police with deforesting the city's town hall. And, as much as it behooved him to do so, he couldn't help but admit to himself that if he was still Henry's age with a girl like you, he'd probably do the same.

He huffed, giving his sidekick the benefit of the doubt for tonight.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

Tossing and turning slowly as you woke, you hadn't yet processed what it was that had actually brought you from your slumber until you were fully sitting up in bed, finally able to recognize the sound as a gentle knock.

This then alarmed you, your head whipping around your surroundings in a flurry in an attempt to pinpoint the sound that had spiked up your heart rate in the dead of night. But, once you had managed to place the noise coming from your window, your fear settled into more of a light curiosity and confusion. It brought you from your bed, your feet now met with the cold air around you as you crept forward towards your window.

Steadily pulling back your curtains, your caution slowly turned into joy and surprise, a smile spreading across your face that matched the one on your boyfriend's own face behind the glass.

"Henry...!" You whisper-shouted, his name muffled as he watched you move to unlock your window. He was grateful that you were quick with this action, no longer having to mildly shiver outside while you pulled him through and onto your bedroom floor, admiring his figure in the dimness of your room.

"It's so late, what're you doing here?"

Your question escaped in the midst of a yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes while his own darted back to where the clock sat on your nightstand.

12:54a.m.

"I know, I'm sorry, (N/N). I didn't mean to wake you." He apologized, using a nickname that brought another smile to your face once the yawn had passed.

"I just...didn't want you to think I was ignoring you, y'know? I would've answered your texts sooner, I was just-"

"-I know." You cut in with a nod. "I understand, it's okay."

He laughed quietly to himself, all too correct about your compassion when it came to him that he sometimes felt he didn't fully deserve. Like now, keeping his hands hidden behind his back with something that'd hopefully make up for it all.

"It's not, though. I wanna be fair to you with my time. Want you to know that I care about you and that I'll be there for you, whether I'm Kid Danger or just Henry Hart."

"Woah, hey, you're not... just Henry Hart." You corrected, coming closer and placing a tired hand on his shoulder. It was only here that you realized he wore nothing but a white t-shirt, the rest of his super-apparel tied around his waist, red cargo pants and combat boots still intact. Pretty on point symbolism for the moment, if anyone asked you...

"You... are Henry Hart. You're my boyfriend with a lot on your plate, and I know that it's just not fair of me to expect all of your time, which is why I don't. But no matter what, I do love you for giving me whatever you can, so it's very much okay."

You didn't have to be able to see his face clearly to know he was probably just as red as he was in your videos from earlier, his bashful smile going hidden when he let his head drop for just a moment.

"I love you, too." A pause before he quickly debunked your reassurance with some of his own. "And it's not okay, which is why I got you these..."

And suddenly, you realized why he had kept his hands hidden behind him like some wise old man, revealing to you a bouquet of flowers of all kinds. An almost randomized assortment that'd be pretty hard to find in any flower shop. At any shop at all, given...

"Oh my gosh, they're so pretty! It's like, midnight, though, where did you get these?" You squealed quietly, doing your best not to wake up any family in the house while you took the flowers into your hands and admired them the best you could under the moon's light.

"Uhh..."

Henry really didn't know how to answer that, scratching the back of his neck in remembrance of his horrid sneak attempt through his neighbor's backyard.

"I stole 'em." Was what came out way too nonchalantly, leaving you to choke on air while your eyes widened.

"What...?! Henry-!"

"I'm kidding, I didn't steal-... Well... I mean, technically, yes, but not in the way that you're thinking."

"I don't know what I'm thinking...!" You burst through confused laughter. "My boyfriend just told me he stole flowers for me. From where?!"

His eyes shifted from you, to the side, and then back again, folding at the sight of your expecting face looking back up at him.

"My neighbor..." His voice strained quietly, and you could all but sigh and shake your head, letting your nose bury itself back into the makeshift bouquet of freshly stolen flowers.

"That old lady is gonna strangle you with her bare, wrinkly hands."

Henry snorted, sparing you his impulsive thought of the fact she'd have to know it was and catch him first, and instead, fake pain at your light slaps to his chest.

"You're supposed to be a superhero, not a midnight theif...!"

"Hey, c'mon..." He cooed, tugging you closer and smiling when you did begrudgingly move forward towards him.

"...You know I'd go rogue for you any time."

"Y'know, I'm starting to miss Kid Danger." You quipped with a smirk. "At least he'd know better than to pluck flowers from someone's garden."

"Mmm. Fair." He nodded before obnoxiously pushing his forehead up against yours. "But does he kiss you the same way I do?"

"Mmm-"

And before you could pretend to debate the matter, he had done just that, forever gentle with you as he placed his lips on yours and stole any thoughts, stability in your legs, and air in your lungs you had left.

Well, maybe not steal. You'd let him have that any time, the same way he'd bring you flowers at midnight to make up for any of his absences.

Just the thought had you breaking the kiss with another giggle, your turn to grow shy at the attention before you were finally able to fully heal the last little remnants of that ache in your chest.

"You should stay."

You threw it out as a casual suggestion even though you were practically screaming inside for him to say yes. And of course, you got your wish, because what wouldn't he do for you?

"I will."

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭, 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐨🤭...

but seriously, I really hope you enjoyed, this was super fun and cute for me to write. got me wishing he was under my tree for xmas😔✋🏽.

also, I apologize for this taking as long as it did, there's reasons I have that will be later explained in a separate post/announcement, so ya :'D.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

@junknstufff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

3,877

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

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bradleybeachbabe · 2 months ago

Text

Dating Battinson Headcanons

pairing: Battinson!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

request: hi!! sending in a battinson request. could you write some general dating headcanons? how do you see him in a long term relationship?- anon

warnings: none, just fluff :) most likely just some spelling mistakes, but if i actually missed anything, please let me know

a/n: i hope i did okay on this, anon <3 also i saw the other request you sent in the same ask, i’ll probably go ahead and write it!

Bruce has a huge soft spot for you, and only for you

Bruce is more of a private but not secret person when it comes to your guy's relationship

Yeah, everyone in Gotham City knows that he’s in a long term relationship with you, but still, he keeps your relationship more on the private side of things

Speaking of long term relationships, Bruce never was the type of person to get into one, he was the loner type

But then Bruce ends up meeting you, and it feels like love at first sight for him

He was very shy and awkward at first in your relationship, but then over time he warmed up

Bruce loves to spoil you

He buys your favorite jewelry, favorite shoes, favorite heels, favorite clothes, favorite perfumes, favorite designer bags/purses, you name it

Bruce is the type of boyfriend who will carry you/your heels when your feet hurt after attending any sort of Gala Event

I feel like Bruce's love language would be gift giving and physical touch

For gift receiving, I did mention that he loves to spoil you with your favorite things

For physical touch, Bruce would be the type of boyfriend who would put his hand on your lower back to guide you through crowded places

Once in a while, I could picture him putting his hand on your thigh, especially when he’s driving, and you’re in the passenger seat, or even when you’re sitting next to him at the dinner table

Also for physical touch, Bruce is a kisser, but in a more private setting

But Bruce doesn’t mind PDA once in a while

He loves giving forehead kisses, I feel like that’s his main thing

But of course, he loves kissing you on the lips and on the cheek too

Bruce is 100% a gentleman

He always opens the door for you

Pull out your chair for you

Takes you out to dinner when he isn’t out solving crimes with Gordon

Speaking of dinner, I feel like he tries to take you out at least every other week

When you two do, he loves seeing you all dressed up

The same goes for you too, you love seeing him all dressed up in a nice suit

Bruce is protected when it comes to you

He never wants anything bad to happen to you

follow @bradleybeachbabe-library to be notified when i post any new fics!

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #the batman #the batman 2022 #battinson #battinson headcannon #bruce wayne headcanon #battinson fanfic #battinson fluff #dc fanfic #dc universe #dc fanfiction #dc x reader #batman headcanon #pattinson!batman #bruce wayne x you #dc headcanon

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twisted-writing · 3 months ago

Text

Simmering Rage

For Anonymous

Who asked: Could I have headcanons of the vice dorm leaders (with Floyd replacing Ortho) fem S/O blowing up after finally having enough of Crowley's incompetence?

POV: First Person

Characters: Female!reader, Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucci, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper, Rook Hunt, Lilia Vanrouge, Floyd Leech

Pairing(s): vice house wardens x fem!reader (separate)

Note: Floyd replaces Ortho in this.

Warning: This will contain HEAVY Dire Crowley slander.

WC: 1,339

Note 2: I decided to take a different approach with this piece! Let me know what you think!

Opening scene: A week was all you wanted. Seven days off to yourself, so you could give your body and mind the chance to relax. Ever since you had arrived in Twisted Wonderland, in Night Raven College, you've been running ragged, solving everyone's problem and fighting overblots, functioning on little food and basically no sleep.

And so when you had approached Crowley to request for the week off, the headmaster had at the time agreed, and you thought for once, he was actually having your best interest in mind.

You should have known better.

Why did you ever think that Crowley, that damn cheapskate, would actually let you have even a moment of rest?

On Monday morning, what should have been the start of your vacation, you had been called to Crowley's office and immediately he went through a very long list of tasks that he wanted you to complete on his behalf since he was so busy as headmaster.

The rage that had been growing with each insult and slight you had taken ever since your arrival in Twisted Wonderland, simmered over.

Like a volcano that was finally erupting.

You had stormed out of Crowley's office, not even giving him a response.

In a deserted corridor, you pulled out your phone, an old model that Crowley had “gifted” you, to show his appreciation and sent a long text to your boyfriend, venting your frustration.

~~~~~~~~~~

🧁 Trey 🧁

❣️Y/N❣: I'm so fucking pissed Trey! I've been looking forward to having this week off! Crowley had even agreed to it! But what does he do? He gives me a long list of tasks to do! That will surely go past the week I need off. I'm so angry that I want to hit something!

❣Y/N❣️is typing…

❣Y/N❣️: I'm sorry, I must be coming off as ungrateful huh?

🧁Trey🧁 is typing…

🧁 Trey🧁: No, I don't think you are. You have every right to feel that way. Out of everyone, you deserve time to yourself.

🧁Trey 🧁: What were you planning on doing today?

❣Y/N❣️ is typing..

❣Y/N❣️: Well, I was planning on catching up on sleep.

❣Y/N❣️: Then doing my skincare.

❣Y/N❣️: And after that, going to Sam and see if he has any discounts.

🧁Trey🧁 is typing..

🧁Trey🧁: Then you should go and do that.

🧁Trey🧁: Don't worry about anything else.

🧁Trey🧁: And I'll take notes for you, if you miss anything.

❣Y/N❣️ is typing…

❣Y/N❣️: You're the best, Trey!

❣Y/N❣️: I love you 💞

🧁Trey🧁: I love you more 💗

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🐾Ruggie🐾

💓Partner in crime💓: I can’t believe that old cheapskate! I should have known better than to trust his word!

🐾Ruggie is typing…🐾

🐾Ruggie🐾: I assume we’re talking about the headmaster?

🐾Ruggie🐾: And I thought you would be catching up on the sleep you missed.

🐾Ruggie🐾: Doesn’t your week off start today?

💓Partner in crime💓 is typing…

💓Partner in crime💓: Of course we are!

💓Partner in crime💓: I was supposed to but that’s not happening and thinking about it, makes me angry all over again.

💓Partner in crime💓: It was supposed to but instead I was giving a long list of tasks to do since he’s apparently so busy as headmaster.

💓Partner in crime💓: Busy my ass.

💓Partner in crime💓: More like he’s going to be busy slacking off.

💓Partner in crime💓: I really don’t want to this long list of tasks.

🐾Ruggie🐾 is typing…

🐾Ruggie🐾: So don’t do them then.

🐾Ruggie🐾: This week is for you.

🐾Ruggie🐾: Go to my room in Savanaclaw and sleep the day away.

💓Partner in crime💓: You’re right! Peaceful nap, here I come!

💓Partner in crime💓: Thanks Ruggie! You’re the best!

🐾Ruggie🐾: Tell me something I don’t know 😏

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍄Jade🍄

💜 Darling💜: Jade! I won't be able to have my week off after all. And I really need it!

🍄Jade🍄 is typing…

🍄Jade🍄: Why not, darling?

🍄Jade🍄: You've been so excited about it.

💜Darling💜 is typing…

💜Darling💜: Because of the headmaster!

💜Darling💜: He wants me to pick up his slack again!

💜Darling💜: All I want is to rest!

🍄Jade🍄 is typing…

🍄Jade🍄: Go and rest, darling.

🍄Jade🍄: Don't worry about a thing.

💜Darling💜 is typing…

💜Darling💜: Oh, I'm so exhausted.

💜Darling💜: Thank you so much, Jade.

🍄Jade🍄: Anything for you, my darling 💕

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🐍Jamil🐍

🐍Jamil🐍 is typing…

🐍Jamil🐍: How are you feeling now? Better?

💝Beloved Heart💝 is typing…

💝Beloved Heart💝: I’m still pissed.

💝Beloved Heart💝: But I am feeling much more relaxed now, thanks for letting me hide out in your room, Jamil.

💝Beloved Heart💝: And thank Kalim for me too please.

💝Beloved Heart💝: I would do it but the battery drains really fast.

🐍Jamil🐍 is typing…

🐍Jamil🐍: It’s no trouble at all. Even Kalim lets me get a break every now and then.

🐍Jamil🐍: You really need a new phone.

🐍Jamil🐍: I’ll tell Kalim that you said thank you. Go and take a nap.

💝Beloved Heart💝 is typing…

💝Beloved Heart💝: I will.

💝Beloved Heart💝: Ugh 😑 the battery is on 🪫

💝Beloved Heart💝: I love you!

🐍Jamil🐍: I love you too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Message!

📱Tech Topia📱: Thank you for your patronage! Your package will arrive at the end of the week!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🏹Rook🏹

🏹Rook🏹: how is your time with Roi du Poison, my dear?

💞 Ma belle 💞 is typing…

💞Ma belle💞: It's going well, Rook!

💞 Ma belle💞: Thank you so much for doing this for me.

💞 Ma belle💞: I feel more relaxed already.

💞 Ma belle💞: I just don't want the headmaster to find out and try to get me to do tasks for him, that he could easily do himself.

🏹 Rook🏹 is typing…

🏹Rook🏹: Don't fret, my dear.

🏹Rook🏹: I won't let anyone interrupt you during your relaxation time.

🏹Rook🏹: So just take all the time you need.

🏹Rook🏹: I adore you 💞

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🦇Lilia🦇

🦇Lilia🦇 is typing…

🦇Lilia🦇: How are you enjoying your time in Diasmonia, my dear?

🦇Lilia🦇: I hope the boys aren’t giving you too much of a hard time.

🦇Lilia🦇: I’ll be leaving the headmaster’s office soon, you’ll have the rest of the week to yourself.

💓Little bat💓 is typing…

💓Little bat💓: Oh I’m having fun in Diasmonia, Lilia!

💓Little bat💓: The boys have been wonderful company, in fact we’re playing a board game!

💓Little bat💓: Didn’t you just leave fifteen minutes ago? You sure work fast!

🦇Lilia🦇 is typing…

🦇Lilia🦇: I’m glad to hear that you’re having fun and relaxing.

🦇Lila🦇: We’ll definitely have to play a console game together when I get back.

🦇Lilia🦇: What can I say? I know how to make quick work of things, especially when they upset those dearest to me.

🦇Lilia🦇: My heart is yours 💗

💓Little bat💓: I love you too, Lilia 💗

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🦈Floyd🦈

🦈Floyd🦈 is typing…

🦈Floyd🦈: Shrimpy! Are you sure that I can’t squeeze him for you?

🦈Floyd🦈: Any trouble I get in, Azul can handle it!

🦐Shrimpy🦐 is typing…

🦐Shrimpy🦐: Yes, Floyd. I’m sure. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.

🦐Shrimpy🦐: I just don’t feel like staying on campus right now.

🦈Floyd🦈: How about we go on a date? Right now? We can go off campus. There’s a new cafè that just opened that everyone is talking about.

🦐Shrimpy🦐: Can we do that?

🦈Floyd🦈: Life is too short to not do it!

🦐Shrimpy🦐: You know what? You’re right! Let’s do it!

🦈Floyd🦈: That’s my Shrimpy!

🦈Floyd🦈: …I love you.

🦐Shrimpy🦐: I love you too, Floyd 💓

277 notes · View notes

pinkiceee · 1 year ago

Text

Summertime Service

Summary: Reader throws the BAU team a summer barbeque feast. Spencer is so moved by her hard work that he feels there's only one way to truly show her his gratitude.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut (18+, minors DNI)

Content Warnings: coworker relationship, descriptions of food, mutual pining, heavy kissing, praise, worship, begging, leg and feet massages, use of a gendered nickname ("pretty girl"), fingering, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, reader wears a sundress. please let me know if I missed any!

Author's Notes: This is the first fic I've written and published in a very long time, so please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like more! Huge thank you to the lovely @fortheloveofwonderland for reading over this for me 💗 Also, this was written as a part of @imagining-in-the-margins's Summer Sunshine Challenge!☀️

Word Count: 6.1k

As you stepped out onto Rossi’s patio, the summer sun beat down on the skin of your exposed shoulders. The different, yet still prevalent heat radiating from the large serving dish of meat you carried also played a role in the ever-present sweat gathering on your upper body, but you trekked through the grass with a smile, attempting to appear unaffected.

Tara and Luke rushed to help relieve you of the burden in your arms, but you insisted they refrain.

“Ah, nope! This barbeque is all about you guys, okay—no helping!” You said to their many protests. Lightheartedly dejected they sat back down, offering their thanks as they helped themselves to the food.

You set down the tray amongst a swarm of arms crossing, reaching for utensils in bowls of potato salad and plates of freshly grilled vegetables. You took a moment to admire the feast occurring before you, then turned on your heel to fetch more.

You and Penelope had made this plan weeks ago, just as summer was beginning to heat up and just around the time you’d joined the BAU team as Emily’s personal assistant. After a series of difficult and depressing cases, Penelope suggested that a family get-together was in order, and she enlisted your help to plan it. She, with Rossi’s help, secured the tables and canopies for the event, while you handled the menu and the serving.

You weren’t much of a gourmet chef, but you had a few tried-and-true summer recipes in your back pocket for times like these. From years of family barbeques of your own, you’d honed techniques for preparing brisket and grilling chicken, and you’d also learned a thing or two about making macaroni and cheese and fruit salad.

Under the shade of your sundress, nerves wracked your steps. Despite the bubbly facade and easy-going assurances to the team that you didn’t need any assistance, tremors radiated through your body with each dish that was carried to the outdoor tables. The shaking wasn’t due to their weight or your lack of strength; it could all be attributed to anxiety and stress and upcoming exhaustion.

This was the first time you were attending a BAU “family” event — let alone orchestrating one — so you had put a lot of pressure on yourself to impress the team.

They saved lives and solved crimes across the country while you did mostly clerical work — filed papers and answered phone calls. The division of labor was definitely lopsided, and you felt a certain level of gratitude was in order for the team. For those who did impactful work.

Just as you’d returned to Rossi’s kitchen to retrieve another dish for the table, Spencer appeared behind you. His subtle cologne filled the air; despite summer raging on outside, he smelled of autumn with his cinnamon and coffee scent. The heat of his arm rose goosebumps up your body, but he shifted to stand next to you before anyone could notice the proximity.

“Let me help, please,” He whispered, prolonging the physical contact that was typically out of character for him. As if all the heat of summer wasn’t enough, the pool of warmth he summoned inside you lit aflame with his pleas. When you finally met his eye, that fire reached your cheeks before you could do much to hide it.

Something that you’d once brushed off as a workplace crush blossomed between you and Spencer. Although you weren’t together, there was no denying the tension felt between you two when your hands brushed at the coffee counter in the office, or when you lingered over his shoulder for just a second more than necessary when passing out case files.

Lately, it had been a lot more difficult to will the thoughts away with how the heat of the season forced Spencer to shed his typical layers of clothing. Even now, he stood beside you in a simple polo shirt that clung to his chest. You could almost feel the buttons between your fingers, sliding through the fabric as your eyes grazed over him — but the oven alarm began to blare, dragging you away from the fantasy.

“Spencer,” You took a few steps away from him, pulling a few dishes from the oven and placing them on the counter. You failed to hide the smirk his presence pulled out of you. “You know this is supposed to be about appreciating the team’s hard work. You should be relaxing!”

He rolled his eyes at your insistence, then glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one had yet to notice his absence. Luckily, they were still all consumed by the fruits of your labor — literally and metaphorically.

“Your hard work should be recognized too. You’re going to overexert yourself,” His pleas felt like music and dissonance in your ears. On one hand, the attention he paid you made your knees weak, and it was obvious by the heavy breath in your chest that you enjoyed his company. But on the other hand, you felt resolute in the objective to purely serve the team tonight. The desire to praise them for their work — the desire to feel accepted by them — triumphed over the crush you’d developed on Spencer, at least for now.

“I’ll be fine. Now go back and enjoy before someone else thinks I’m accepting helpers,” You responded, flashing a tender smile as Spencer stayed in hesitation. A flash of something crossed over his eyes — irritation, desire, annoyance, or pity, you couldn’t quite tell. All you could recognize was the way his feet dragged in defeat, leaving you to your serving duties quite slowly.

Although not a profiler, you could’ve sworn he seemed spurred on, like he had to hold himself back from acting on an urge to advance on you. You brushed the thoughts away as best you could for now, returning your focus to the task at hand.

♡ ♡ ♡

The next few hours were a flash of food and drinks and summer heat. Jack, Henry, Michael, Hank, and all of Matt’s kids ran around the tables with their popsicles, definitely giving the ants in Rossi’s yard a feast of their own. Everything from cucumber salad to watermelon slices, to vegetable kebabs made their rounds down each table, visiting each BAU member.

The scent of lavender, peppermint, and citrus candles mingled in the air in an attempt to keep bugs at bay. But a symphony of crickets and cicadas still played as a soundtrack to the feast, and you watched as Emily and JJ were vigilant against flies that threatened to join the party, swatting around the food every few minutes.

You spent most of the event rushing around, finding places for each dish to reside while the rest of the team balanced between repose and indulgence. Tara, Emily, JJ, and Penelope raved about the veggies, while Morgan and Rossi praised the beefier selections you’d prepared. The team showered you with compliments, but you continued to deny their requests to help.

Food acted as an avenue for both nourishment and gratitude that you felt was desperately underserved to your new family, and accepting their help seemed to cheapen that sentiment.

Maybe it was all the incredible ways in which they brought peace to people or all the times that they helped you feel at peace with their work; regardless, you felt they were owed some home cooking and summer relaxation, and you wanted to be the one to give it to them.

“If I had known you could cook like this, I would’ve suggested this barbeque months ago,” Rossi quipped over his clean plate. It must’ve been nice for him to not be the head chef for the team for a change.

“Yeah, I haven’t eaten this good in years,” Emily chimed in, with agreements made by Matt and Morgan. Their wives nodded with them in earnest agreement.

As the sun began to set, a wash of pinks and purples created the perfect backdrop to the barbeque. Penelope had the idea to set up tiki torches, which you lit with Hotch’s help. Their gentle glow kept the brightness at a dim level while still ensuring sight to guide you as you continued your service.

Although the energy level had died down quite a bit thanks to the heat of the day and the abundance of food everyone had, the team was still rapt in lively discussions as you served dessert.

Blueberry pie with a lattice-style crust, chocolate cake with matching frosting, and homemade vanilla bean ice cream graced the tables. You weren't usually one to brag, but even you had to admit the delicious sweets were a perfect final touch to the event.

Even at dusk, the ice cream sweat and started melting almost as soon as it found its place on their plates. The sickly-sweet aroma from the pie carried on long after its trip in the oven, mingling with the already present floral aromas that seemed elevated due to the heat. You were surprised the barbeque hadn’t summoned neighbors, or at least more bugs.

Residual summer heat could be so damning yet comforting all at the same time.

With dessert served, you finally allowed yourself to sit and join the team. The aches in your feet and back that had gone unnoticed during the hours of cooking and service finally surfaced as your weight shifted, encouraging a painful rest to overtake your limbs. Without realizing it, you’d slumped over in your chair for quite a while, staring out into space as the party continued around you.

That was until Spencer detected your quietness and waved a hand in front of your eyes, commanding attention.

“Are you okay, y/n?” His voice was barely audible over the discussions happening around you. But, you still nodded, straightened your back, and reached for a slice of pie.

“Yep, just got distracted,” You gave him a small smile, but you could see that he didn’t quite believe your performance. The fatigue in your body was incredibly apparent, and the look behind your eyes was one of exhaustion. However, Spencer hesitated to react to his observations.

You weren’t sure what you expected him to say or do about it, but you watched as he pursed his lips together in contemplation — planning something.

Whatever he was scheming, it was set in motion as Matt and his family departed. Following him were JJ and her loved ones, plus Emily and Tara. They all offered repeated praises to you, Penelope, and Rossi as they crossed the threshold into the blackness of summer night.

Before you could completely gather your things, suddenly Spencer pulled you aside and insisted on coming over to his apartment tonight. His usual dismissive, demur demeanor had changed, and he loomed over you with a sort of persuasive aura that radiated from his request. It was as if he was protecting you from something, or rather, preparing you for something. Either way, anticipation dripped from his words as you stared back, silent, in response.

“I-If that makes you uncomfortable, by all means, ignore me,” he spoke in hushed tones. “But I really think you’ll enjoy it if you come.”

If you hadn’t been so exhausted, the absolute shock from his blatant flirtation would have caused your breath to catch in your throat before you could ever eloquently reply. However, with the fatigue wracking you, all you could do was scan his face for any sign of sarcasm.

He seemed to be genuine, and your body instinctually gravitated toward him with the offer. It went without saying that this invitation felt incredibly forward, but the sleep that threatened to overtake you also kept you from worrying too much about the obvious blush that spread across your face at the thought of what leaving with Spencer would look like to the rest of the team.

Objectively, though, Spencer’s apartment was closer than yours, and you weren't sure if you could handle the lull of a drive this late at night. You justified to yourself that accepting his offer was out of a precautionary notion — but in all honesty, the seductive implications of Spencer’s plan were what really captivated you, and pulled an ‘okay’ from your lips.

You’d spent all night denying requests, and you didn’t want to forgo this one.

In the passenger seat of Spencer’s rarely-driven car, your body pulsed with fatigue at every stop. You wondered if he could sense it radiating through you or if he was just burnt out on masking his flirtation towards you all day, as you caught him glancing at your body at every red light. Each push and pull brought on by inertia briefly relieved the pain, then rushed it back in, but his gaze did give you another sense of relief.

Thankfully, the drive was short, and the walk up to Spencer’s door was aided by his hand on your lower back. With drowsiness prevalent in every step, you took a moment to check your surroundings and ask yourself if this was truly happening. The flirtation, the lingering physicality between you two, and the blushes that damned every innocent conversation you’d had together seemed to rise to the top of your brain at that moment as you recognized the reality you’d found yourself in.

Aided by his unabashed touch on your back, your awareness of reality fed your deep desire that he truly led you here for scandalous reasons, but the rational side of your brain that was just barely awake triggered anxiety to flare. Fear of unknowns, of rejection, or maybe both floated up your spine and burned in the impression of his fingers upon you.

But, then his door swung open. Almost instantly after you walked inside and he shut the door, Spencer knelt on his knees before you. The swift change in position made you stumble backward, and confusion spread across your face.

“What are you doing?” The question bubbled out of you fast, but you hadn’t meant to sound disinterested. It was alarming, for sure, to abruptly feel the heat of his body so close to your aching legs, but that didn’t mean the view wasn’t incredibly alluring.

“I’m taking care of you,” Spencer responded, his voice was quiet but poignant as if this was standard procedure.

You stood frozen as he slid the strap of your sandal down the back of your heel, and his fingers brushed against the veins of your feet.

“You took care of us all day. Now it’s your turn to relax.”

Taken aback by his sudden servitude, no verbal response came from your mouth. Instead, you melted under his fingertips as he slowly removed the other shoe, then traveled up your calves to pull down your sheer stockings. The gesture was so intimate, so quiet, so tender. Paired with the exhaustion and excitement and bewilderment, the elegance of his touch brought tears to your eyes.

Spencer stood back up slowly, his lips ghosting over your arm on his ascent. Your eyes met in the dim light of his apartment for the first time, both sets deepened with a near primal sense of surprised attraction. Your body felt as if on fire, vibrating, or possibly both with how electric your nerves were with your closeness and the threat of his impending adoration.

Just as the summer sun had earlier shone on your exposed shoulders, the richness of Spencer’s deep brown eyes was now affixed to them. His index finger wrapped around the thin strap of your sundress, pulling it over the curve of your shoulder at an agonizingly slow pace. It was so soft yet so tense — neither one of you had made a sound in what felt like minutes — a whimper threatened to fall from your lips just as Spencer’s eyes flickered back to meet yours.

“You overexerted yourself,” Spencer echoed what he’d warned you against earlier in the evening, breaking the silence. You couldn’t help but wearily smile at the re-use of his own words.

“I think I’ll accept a helper now,” You replied hushed, voice wavering so much you thought it might shatter if any more than a heavy breath was expelled from your throat. The twitch of a smile spread across Spencer’s face just as you had the thought — as if he’d read your mind.

But the silence resumed, and Spencer’s hand sent the top of your sundress cascading down your forearm. The fabric halted at your wrist, and as Spencer coaxed the other strap down the opposite side, he slowly exposed your chest to the cold air of his apartment.

After a day in the sun, his air conditioning felt arctic, and despite the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach thanks to his mannerisms, the tips of Spencer’s fingers iced over the skin of your décolletage.

Whether he noticed your shivering, or if this was all a part of his grander plan, you did not know. But just as the weight of the sundress carried itself passed your hips to pool at your ankles, Spencer clasped your hands together and led you toward his bedroom.

Again, anxiety pulled you from your lustful daze. Was this really happening? Had you been ignorant all along to Spencer’s advances, or was this just as spontaneous for him? It’s not like you didn’t want this — more so, you were just in a state of disbelief at the way the day’s events had transpired.

Disregarding the chorus of cicadas permeating his bedroom window, Spencer guided you to sit on the edge of his bed in otherwise complete silence. He knelt in front of you, mimicking your positions from the foyer. The arousal that sprung from you at his sudden movement made your cheeks blush a shade of red deeper than any summertime sunburn could create.

At the same time, you couldn’t help but become aware of the obvious disparity in modesty between the two of you now, but he caught your wrists before you could shift to cover your body.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He spoke up with a sobering tone. The wistfulness and tension were briefly broken, and you smiled at the notion that he still checked for consent despite all that you’d done so far.

“Not just okay. I want it, Spence. I want you,” Your voice, a little bolder now, seemed to boom in his most private room. Without another word, he guided your hands to the buttons on his shirt, before releasing your wrists in favor of splaying his hands across your thighs.

You inhaled sharply, shuddering at the contact. But it did make your hands move faster, pulling his buttons apart in a quite similar fashion to the eager way you’d daydreamed about doing so earlier.

Just as you’d completed the task and pulled the fabric of his shirt over his head, you felt the pads of his fingers reconnect with your legs and dig into the supple flesh of your thighs. A deep sigh left your lips almost instantly as he worked the worn muscles, firmly pressing into them. You felt the stress shift and dissipate, and your body reacted automatically to his ministrations.

It wasn’t until his massage traveled to your calves that more salacious noises fell from your lips. You knew that this kind of attention wasn’t strictly sexual, but the relief Spencer brought to you, to the tenderness in your legs and feet, demanded a vocal response.

At first, mewls and faint sighs responded to his help, but they deepened in tandem with his strength. The kneading of his fingers across the width of your legs, the pressure he placed upon your Achilles' tendons, and the force he pushed into the worn arches of your feet all played roles in the escalation of your noises into pure, wanton moans.

“You are so beautiful,” Spencer spoke into the landscape of sounds you were creating for him. “Not just like this, but all the time. The way you laugh, the work you do, in all the things you did for us tonight — you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

His impromptu speech stunned you for a moment, and you did your best to keep your interjections to heavy sighs to truly listen to him. But his praise wasn’t something you were used to, and although you’d been complimented all night at the barbeque, something about Spencer’s tone inspired a unique bashfulness.

“Stop,” You half-heartedly chuckled, unsure of how to respond to such an admission other than to dismiss it.

“I’m serious, y/n,” He continued, unfazed. “Ever since you walked through the doors at the office I felt…saved. I’m not religious but — I mean, you’ve literally got me on my knees here.”

Your face burned with the worship, and his joke inspired a smile, but you also did your best to relax your reactions and just take his confession.

“You’re smart, you’re sweet, you’re compassionate and caring, and I just feel like you deserve the world…I don’t know if you—if you’ve ever thought of me like this, but, I really do adore you. And I want to serve you like you did me tonight.”

With his previous, dominant stance seemingly shaken, you took the opportunity to run your hands up his arms and into his hair. He closed his eyes at the feeling, leaning into the touch and basking in it. Leaning in close, your lips met in a soft, slow kiss.

As you gently pushed against one another, your more primal drives slowly regenerated, and you pulled his hair tenderly to just barely create a separation. His eyes shot open, struggling to focus on anything else but your lips. With another gentle tug, you wound him back up to the previous tension you two had.

“Show me how much you adore me,” The command rumbled in your chest before you even truly processed it.

But that was enough for Spencer. With the ending of the last syllable, his eyes fell half-lidded, and he quickly pushed your lips back together.

The steady and slow pace you’d honed since arriving at his apartment was suddenly nowhere to be found. Desperation laced your every move as you traveled up his bed; Spencer towering over you, never disconnecting in your endeavor. You felt the weight of his body settle between your legs. Not only was his skin sweltering with heat, but you could feel how achingly hard he was through his slacks.

You kissed with the desperation of a couple saying goodbye. It was as if both of you were grasping at each other, fearful of any distance that may find its way into your embrace. As your eager hands traversed down his bare chest and stomach, Spencer rushed to match your near nakedness through a rather clumsy removal of his pants.

While the sweet and savory scents of summer seemed distant now, everpresent was the smell of Spencer. Coffee and cinnamon filled your nose once again as his hair cascaded over your face, sweeping behind his trail of kisses down your chest.

He paused on the journey, motioning for you to lean upwards where his lips found yours in another fit of passionate kissing. He reached around you, unclasping your bra and gently guiding the fabric down your arms. Another shiver wracked through you as your breasts were finally exposed, but it was quickly remedied by the warmth of Spencer’s palms.

He cupped them softly at first, dragging mewls from your mouth that he used to slide his tongue between your lips. It wasn’t until he felt the shake of your muscles that he realized how uncomfortable the position must’ve been, leading him to push you back onto the mattress, palms still full of your tits.

With your mouths freshly separated, Spencer let a string of saliva fall from his mouth, coating the valley on your chest in a way that caught every moonbeam in the room. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the plush swell of your breast, setting your skin aflame. You moaned shamelessly at the delicious pressure, earning a satisfied smile from the man between your legs.

You hopelessly clawed at his shoulders in an attempt to feel the press of his whole body against you once more, but he continued his descent toward your center.

Painstakingly slow, he dragged your underwear down your legs, watching your face for any sign of disapproval. When he couldn’t find any, he discarded them before guiding your legs up off the bed and resting them over his shoulders. You watched, enraptured, as he lay prone in front of you and met your eyes one more time before pressing a sloppy kiss on your inner thigh.

Shivers rolled down your spine, and you shook in response to what would be the most innocent of touches from this point on. Spencer seemed encouraged by the heavy heave of your chest, and he taunted you with breathy sighs hitting your folds.

His breath was hot, but it still inspired your body to shake as if freezing. He studied you in an almost delirious state of bliss as he controlled you with just his breath, before slowly licking a devilish stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue like the sweetest summer dessert.

A pained moan escaped your throat, wholly miserable with how much he seemed to be holding back. You did your best to avoid clamping down on his head too harshly, but you couldn’t help the instinct you felt to pull him closer.

Then, he finally dove in. His tongue worked expertly — dragging and pressing and pulling around your bundle of nerves, and even circling your entrance. The lewd sounds coming from his mouth sparked your own in response, and soon you had your own debaucherous melody echoing in his bedroom.

He flattened his tongue, pressed it against your clit, and wrapped his arms around your thighs, giving himself leverage to apply the pressure to your most sensitive spot that he could tell you were desperate for.

You felt his tongue flip and twirl around you, drinking in your essence as if he hadn’t already gorged himself on a feast of yours tonight. Dipping a little lower, his muscle plunged inside of you, inspiring an entirely different kind of pressure that tightened your core and commanded your body off the bed.

Moving his tongue back up to your clit, he lapped at it as he began edging a finger into you, causing you to grip his duvet in a misguided attempt to relieve the incredible tension building in your stomach.

“S-spencer,” You choked out, doing your best to keep your eyes open as the sight in front of you was one of angelic beauty — Spencer’s hair was completely disheveled, and although the room was only lit by moonlight, you could see the wild gaze his eyes held as he worked so hard to please you. You let out a feather-light moan.

But all you got in response was his dark eyes, filled with a fervor that you’d never seen from Spencer before. You laced your fingers in his hair just as he pushed his finger inside you, eliciting a new, loud groan from your chest.

Latching onto your nub, Spencer rolled his tongue over it with gentle suction in tandem with fast, shallow thrusts of his finger. He moaned against you, sending ripples of stimulation through your body, radiating from his mouth. He watched you the entire time, eyes trained on your face as it scrunched up in pleasure.

He feasted on you, and for the second time tonight, you relished in the fact that you had nourished Spencer so graciously.

With a tug of his hair, you finally felt the tension in your stomach snap. A string of moans bounced off the walls of his bedroom, but Spencer didn’t give in to distraction. He pulled off of you only slightly with a deep inhale but kept his finger moving to fuck you through your orgasm.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” He cooed, bringing his other hand up to splay against your stomach, feeling the muscles spasming beneath his palm in time with the waves of pleasure washing over you.

He slowed his finger as your pleasure faded; the tension leaving your abdomen and a look of bliss covering your face, signaling your comedown. He withdrew his finger slowly before resuming his towering position over you, peppering your cheeks and neck with kisses.

Once some sense had returned to your endorphin-flooded brain, your hands roamed over the span of Spencer’s back. You resumed the choreography that neither of you had practiced, even though it felt so natural to you. Your lips found his once more, and eagerness leaked from his saliva as it mixed with the taste of you on his tongue. A low, rumbling moan echoed into your mouth as he gripped your waist and the nape of your neck roughly.

Your hearts were back up to racing, and you tugged at the tight waistband of Spencer’s boxers.

“Please,” Spencer spoke into your mouth, barely disconnecting your lips as he begged. “Please, let me fuck you.”

If the praise wasn’t enough to win you over, the absolutely distraught look on his face would’ve done the job. One part of you couldn’t believe that Spencer could be so commanding and servile at the same time, while another part of you knew this must be the purest form of Spencer that anyone had ever seen before. Apart from his previous partners, you felt as if you were the only observer of him in such a state of subservience. He felt totally and uniquely seen by you, and that’s all he ever wanted.

You nodded and mewled at his request, harshly removing his last remaining barrier before wrapping your legs around his waist. Your movements brought his dick closer to your heat, and you couldn’t hold back the tremors that overwhelmed your senses at the sensation. Kissing you once more, Spencer aligned himself at your entrance, mimicking the shivering of your body on such a hot summer night.

He pushed into you at a listless pace, wanting to give you all the time and space to get comfortable around him despite the instincts that begged him to act faster. His finger had done little to prepare you for his true size, and although you gasped sharply at the intrusion, your body was quick to relax and pull him further inside you.

You shared moans and whimpers on the slow endeavor, kissing each other wherever available — cheek, arm, neck, chest — until he was fully flush with your body.

“Thank you,” Spencer breathed out, so softly that you almost missed it. “Thank you, thank you,” He kept worshiping as you felt his hips stutter and his cock twitch inside you. The size of him, his breath on your neck, and the everpresent smell of sex all tethered together in your mind at once, sparking an almost insatiable desire to demand that he move. You knew the worship was all a part of his plan to repay you for the barbeque, but you echoed the sentiment back nonetheless in favor of a less sweet command.

But Spencer was no stranger to that desire. With gratitude filling the room, he couldn’t hold back any longer, and he began rocking into you just enough to pull moans from your lips. He caged his arms around your head, wrapping one palm around the back of your neck to hold you in place, while the other found itself upon your cheek once again. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, watching as you moved against and around him with a delicious tightness.

He quickened his pace and relished in the way the pleasure presented upon your face. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth hung open in a string of moans. He mirrored your expressions, his bottom lip jutted out from his face, brushing yours with each harsh thrust forward. The pressure of him inside you was already swelling the knot in your stomach, and the stimulation melted all fatigue from the day away from your muscles.

Clawing at his back and arms, you opened your eyes to find him once more. The hand on your neck kept your gaze steady despite his rough movements that threatened your composure. There was a charm, a tenderness that you’d felt lingering between you two all night—hell, ever since your first day. From the moment you introduced yourself in the dawn of summer, to the moment he dropped to his knees and begged for you, an intensity magnetized the two of you together.

Before you could get too lost in the beautiful thoughts of your attraction, Spencer adjusted the angle of your hips, reaching even deeper into you. You couldn’t hold back the scream that left your body, and you felt yourself tighten around him as he drove into you at an incredible rate.

Spencer was already close — you could tell by the way whimpers fell over your neck with his every thrust, and he blinked rapidly as if it would stave off his impending release. He called your name as a warning, implicitly asking for your guidance.

Now, it was your turn to beg.

“Please,” You pled, eyes half-lidded yet glued to Spencers. “Please, come inside me.”

He could barely hold back after your words, his hips even faltering for a moment. But he kept his pace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly as your release teetered on the edge of his relentless pace.

“Fuck,” You felt Spencer groan into your hair as his hips slammed flush with yours. Warmth flooded inside you, and the sensation triggered your release soon after. Both of you clung to each other, panting and brainless with bliss, as Spencer slowly continued to fuck you through your climaxes.

As the tension and heat dissipated over your body, you and Spencer reluctantly pulled away from each other. It was the first time since you’d arrived at his apartment that either one of you had given into distance. He was gentle with the motions, watching the way your body shook with each rogue wave of pleasure as he pulled out of you.

When he was fully removed, though, you found yourself alone, laid out across his bed. As the heaving in your chest subsided, Spencer returned with a towel, cleaning you up with the utmost tenderness.

“Here, I can help,” You peeled your upper body from his duvet despite all the resistance in your overexerted muscles, reaching for the cloth only for Spencer to catch your hand before you could make it.

“I’m still serving you, okay? Lay down,” He chuckled at your attempt, finishing up with the towel and discarding it back in his bathroom. When he returned, he continued to refuse your help, pulling the duvet out from under you to tuck you in.

He joined you on the other side of the bed, brushing hair from your face as he settled under the comforter too. You laid facing each other, eyes grazing over each other's bodies in a much more romantic sense than you two had a few moments prior.

“Why did you do all that?” You posed the question quietly, watching his face intently for a reaction. Although anxiety may not be the best word for it, you did feel a bit unsure about what this night meant for your relationship. Was this a summer fling, a coworker crush, or something more real? Something that would permeate the seasons or something that you’d recall late at night in future solitude?

“Well, for one, because I like you,” Spencer said, laughing slightly through the ends of a few words. “But also because of all you did for us tonight. You worked so hard and you deserved to be spoiled too.”

The praise again brought a flush to your cheeks, and you looked away as you tried not to discount the way Spencer was feeling. Even if you were unsure of your deserving of praise, you had to admit it felt nice to be adored by Spencer, and it felt good to know that this meant more to him than something casual.

Despite the summer heat, you found yourself fully engulfed in his embrace. The cicadas’ chorus began to lull sleep into your heavy eyes, even though you weren’t quite ready to let go and close your eyes, which would mean missing out on Spencer’s reverent gaze.

“I like you too,” You finally spoke up, finding his hand in the darkness of his bedroom, and lacing your fingers together. “Thank you for spoiling me.”

“Hey—no more ‘thank yous.’ You deserved it,” Spencer replied, placing a kiss on your knuckles before shuffling further into the bed. You turned over, relaxing into Spencer’s warm body as his arm wound around your stomach, still holding your hand.

Summer heat can be more comforting than once thought, after all.

♡ ♡ ♡

thank you for reading! 💗

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #fem!reader #bau team

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tremendouscreationperson · 6 months ago

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Bucky Barnes x Chubby!Reader imagine

It had been really difficult to blow Bucky off each time he asked to hang out. In fact it had been really difficult to ignore the whole friendship group. If you went out with Steve, no doubt Bucky would be there. If you went out with Nat, no doubt Bucky would hear and ask you to meet him the following day. The same goes for Sam, Wanda and, fuck it, even Tony.

So you all but secluded yourself in your room. Which wasn't your choice really but your boyfriend Alex hadn't taken kindly to your close relationship with another man. He wasn't convinced that even though you two grew up together you could be 'just friends'. And to his credit he wasn't really wrong. You had harboured a fat crush on your closest friend for a while but it was unrequited and then Alex came into your life and he was the first guy who actually showed an interest in you. It wasn't something you were used to in the slightest. Being friends with beauties like Natasha and Wanda you were often looked over by those not in the friend group but Alex had sought you out.

So here you were, on a Saturday, missing out whatever fun shenanigans were going on. Scrolling through various apps in your pjs like a party animal.

A knock at your door startled you out of mindlessly scrolling.

You sat yourself up and hoped to god you weren't nose blind and the room smelt okay.

"I'm decent." You joked.

The door opened and the very person you were avoiding ducked his head in. Fuck Bruce. You had told him not to let anyone in.

"Oh my god. You're alive." He joked back shutting the door behind himself. Bucky sauntered into your room, with the same swagger he always had, plonking himself down on your bed.

Not sure what to say in response, you go to the diplomatic, "You okay?"

He gives you a half shrug and leans backwards. "Missing my partner in crime. Thought I'd visit you."

You merely nod in reply.

This is the first ever awkward silence you and Bucky had sat through. It spread out horribly, stretching until you gave a very fake cough. Hoping any noise would solve it. It didn't.

"Right, okay, just go straight to the point." Bucky muttered. "Look, why are you avoiding me, angel? What did I do?"

Bucky's gaze was always piercing but today the intensity winded you. Why were you avoiding him?

There was no use lying anymore. You'd used up all your excuses anyway. You couldn't be sick again or have work again you just needed to tell him. He deserves honesty. "Alex isn't our biggest fan."

"Yeah, I knew that." Bucky chuckled. "I just didn't realise his dick was worth all your friends." You tutted at his crude remark. "He told me off for piggybacking you at the fair. 'she doesn't let me carry her, why are you'." His impression was eerily good.

You chuckled a little at the idea of Alex confronting Bucky. "He was not pleased that evening."

"He doesn'-" Bucky shook his head.

"Doesn't what?"

"Nothing." He ran a hand through his locks. "Where is he anyway?"

"He's at a friend's birthday."

Bucky's eyebrows were in his hairline. "And he hasn't taken you?"

This was a sore topic. But you'd been honest so far... "I didn't fit into the dress."

Now he was frowning. "What dress?"

You motioned to your wardrobe. "He brought me a dress, I've been working to get into it but."

"Been wor-" Bucky's frown somehow got deeper. "Why would he buy you a dress that doesn't fit you?"

Your mouth opened and closed but you didn't have an answer.

Bucky stomped over to the wardrobe and opened it. There was a dress resting against the door, it was enclosed in plastic so he had to unzip it. The dress was tiny. It was a little strappy thing with far too many holes. What were the holes supposed to- oh they were going to expose your sides and back.

"This i-" He turned to you. "You'd never wear this. It's not even your colour."

You couldn't agree more. "I know, it's been a little arguement between us." That was an understatement.

"I still don't understand why he brought you something that didn't fit." You shrugged but before you could respond he continued, "what's this?"

Your eyes flicked down to the pile he was caught on. "Oh, those ar- those are your hoodies."

Bucky gave you a confused face. "Bu- these are yours, angel."

You smiled sweetly at him. "Alex wasn'-"

"I don't care about him. He buys you shit that doesn't fit, he goes to parties without you, he isolates you from your friends." Bucky sat back on the bed but much closer, just by your hip. "Why are you with him?"

You didn't know. You liked him. You think you love him. But when you really think of it, you don't know. You're not any happier with him than if you weren't. Sometimes he says things and you feel fat in a bad way. You'd be the first to say you weren't thin but the way he says it makes you feel wrong. "He's the first guy to actually show an interest in me, I suppose at first I enjoyed it but when you say it like that."

"He is not the first guy to show you an interest." Bucky shook his head in disbelief. "You're gorgeous."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks. But when I'm out with the gang I'm not really being looked at."

"You are." Bucky vowed. "I- people do look at you. I-I sometimes don't like the way they look at you and maybe I dance with you and maybe I take you on the Ferris wheel."

Why wouldn't he like the way they looked at you? Your brows pulled. "The way they look at me?"

"Like you're just a quick fuck." He instantly regretted that. "No, they look at you with lust but I know they would leave. They wouldn't treat you right. They wouldn't care for you." His eyes were bright and honest. He wasn't embarrassed by his confession.

You had nothing. No response. What could you say that wouldn't betray the crush? You didn't still like him, no, well ... When he looked at you like that...

"Come on." He clapped a hand on your knee. "Get changed let's get pizza." The look on your face must've shown your obvious debate. "I don't care if you don't fit into that dress, you look like you haven't eaten anything good in ages."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #modern au #bucky barnes x chubby!reader

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soap-is-an-artist · 25 days ago

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Going back to Monstrous Regiment post-egg-cracking has been so amazing. The first time I read it, I didn't understand everything, but I had this nagging feeling that if I reread it later, it would make more sense. And now it does.

For one thing, the way that Nuggan's Abominations are treated really hit hard. In the beginning, things were well-intentioned, and maybe not so bad, but they became corrupted by a fear of change and a fear of what is Other. Nugganism became a stricter, more brutal, and senseless religion. It didn't provide hope, and it didn't provide a standard for living. The only thing it could do was cause suffering and give an excuse to inflict pain on others. The Girls' Working School perpetuated a cycle of horrific abuse against young girls who had committed no crime except disobeying the meaningless babblings of a dead god. It didn't solve any problems or act as a positive force in the community. All around, the institution of religion failed.

Speaking of the Girl's Working School, I can't recall if I picked up on Tonker and Lofty/Magda and Tilda being a couple the first time around, but I sure did this time. It was magnificent. However, I do remember that it absolutely shattered my heart when Tonker finally snapped and went on her tirade about the School and how it broke everyone that was forced into it. They were all beaten and abused in other ways; Lofty was raped and after she carried the baby to term, it was taken and never seen again; Tonker is missing her "middle gears"; Wazzer fell into religious mania [although in her case, the spirit actually was speaking to her] and turned to doors inside her head. The whole thing is fucking heartbreaking.

While the situation of the main characters can be interpreted as a trans allegory, I think it's a little more accurate to say that they were crossdressing and socially transitioned for safety. For one thing, when given the choice, they chose to live openly as women rather than continuing to present as men, although some of them kept some aspects of masculinity in their presentation. However, I think the case of the higher ranking officers is really interesting. Essentially, Sargeant Jackrum goes and deadnames all of them to get them to see sense and let the titular regiment choose whether to be open about their identities. [I know personally I would be raging mad if I were in that situation. I was successfully living as a man for years, and then the guy who covered for me just drops my old identity in front of a bunch of my peers who I never wanted to share this with? I would be mad.] In the end, it got the job done, but they make the comment that they could never return to wearing dresses. I think it's possible that they ended up actually identifying as men, rather than solely presenting as them. They definitely internalized a lot of military misogyny either way. Obviously that's not a positive or universal facet of transitioning, but it is a very real phenomenon that happens. And the misogyny can be internalized whether you're trans or cis. Regardless, the idea of living as essentially a new person and leaving your old self behind is very trans, in my opinion, or at least resonates with my experience.

The way all the members of the regiment were gradually discovered to be women was a very "Oh! You're...? Me too." moment for me. We really do just kind of find each other. When you know what to look for, it's easier to see who else is like you. They became their own tiny, close-knit community, and supported each other, although they all had their own goals and priorities. And I think that's lovely.

I have more thoughts on this [so many thoughts about the depiction of nationalism and war. Like that line about "the dead are not your masters"? Loved that], but that's all I'm gonna type out for now because my fingers are tired. But now it is here for future me to read back on, because I didn't keep any written records of my thoughts when I read Monstrous Regiment the first time, so it's basically just fuzzy memories and vague feelings that I'm trying to hold onto. It's a really good book, probably one of my favorites of the Discworld series, although it doesn't top Thud! for me.

#discworld #monstrous regiment #terry pratchett #irl stuff #howww do i tag this idk. bare minimum tags go

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curiositysavesthecat · 1 month ago

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Trigger warning: child death

* “It probably won’t be the real killer(s)” as in they just have to close the case, but they probably end up catching the wrong person(s)

❝ JonBenét Patricia Ramsey was an American child beauty queen who was killed at age six in her family's home on the night of December 25, 1996. Her body was found in the house's basement about seven hours after she had been reported missing. She had sustained a broken skull, and a garrote was tied around her neck. The autopsy report stated that JonBenét's official cause of death was "asphyxia by strangulation associated with craniocerebral trauma". Her death was ruled a homicide.

The Boulder police initially suspected that a long handwritten ransom note that was reportedly found in the home had been written by her mother, Patsy, and that the note and the appearance of JonBenét's body had been staged by Patsy and her husband, John, to cover up the killing.

In 1999, the police and district attorney (DA) both said that JonBenét's brother Burke, who was nine years old at the time of her death, was not a suspect.

In 2002, the DA's successor took over the investigation from the police and primarily pursued the theory that an intruder had committed the killing.

In 2003, trace DNA taken from JonBenét's clothes (her underwear) was found to belong to an unknown male; each family member's DNA had been excluded from this match.

The DA sent the Ramseys a letter of apology in 2008, declaring the family was "completely cleared" by the DNA results.

Others, including former Boulder police chief Mark Beckner, disagreed with exonerating the Ramseys, characterizing the DNA as a small piece of evidence that was not proven to have any connection to the crime.

In 2009, the Boulder police took the case back from the DA and reopened the investigation.

The crime is still considered a cold case and remains an open investigation with the Boulder Police Department. ❞ — via: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Killing_of_JonBenét_Ramsey

This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

#poll #polls #jonbenét ramsey #jonbenet ramsey #tccblr #tc community #tcc tumblr #tumblr polls #tumblr poll #incognito polls #poll time #random polls #yes or no #yes or no poll

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ryuttaeng · 1 year ago

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pairing: lieutenant!ryujin x detective!reader

summary: all of a sudden, police department sent you to solve serial crimes with lieutenant shin ryujin, out of all lieutenants.

cw: smut, g!p, enemies to lovers, mentions of murders, pet names, in shy ryujin we believe

word count: 960

a/n: sorry it’s kinda mid it’s almost 4 am 😭

“not you again, you prick.” shin ryujin, lieutenant exclaimed, nervously exhaling cigarette smoke. you smirked, straightening your tie and standing right in front of her face, “it’s nice to see you again, lieutenant.” you said in honeyed voice, which made ryujin inhale through cigarette and exhale smoke right in your face. you closed your eyes, not to cause irritation, “you better to stay away from me, detective byun.” she hissed, going inside the house where homicide happened almost an hour ago.

ryujin gritted her teeth, nervously sighing. where could she miss the most important thing for the whole case? ryujin’s eyes drifted all over the apartment, looking for any useful information. “i…”

“can’t find any more clues, lieutenant?” ryujin hears your voice behind her, making her annoyed. shin turns around, slamming you against the wall, “shut the fuck up, you moron! i’ve had enough of you being a pain in my ass!” ryujin spat out. she calms down and relaxes, removing her grip from you. it almost scared her, the way you didn’t say a thing back or flinched, at least, you hid your fear good enough. “maybe you should check victim’s bedroom again, lieutenant.” your only words, as you fixed your shirt. ryujin’s eyes went from your face to your hands, nervously fidgeting your ring on your middle finger.

she nodded, it almost went unnoticed, your eyes remained on her as she headed towards bedroom. for fucks sake, ryujin for real missed a lot of clues here, analysing all information again.

you took a sip of whiskey, your last investigation was successful, thanks to lieutenant, of course.

shin ryujin took a step inside the bar, her eyes wandering around the place, looking for you. lucky enough to find you, she sighed, moving to you. “my my, look at you, my dear detective.” she says, putting on the grimace of smirk on her face, as she slowly approached your side. ryujin herself doesn’t know the reason of tension between you two but she comes along it, fair enough, you do annoy her though, as much as she annoyed you. right.

“what… what do you want, my precious lieutenant?” you put effort to simply say something, barely looking at the woman in front of you. ryujin sighed, just looking at your statement she could say that she just signed a death sentence to herself, not that she’s a fan of drunk coworkers.

“what ya looking at? never saw a drunk woman before? i… hold on….” you spoke, hurriedly standing up and heading to the bathroom.

ryujin looked up, as she saw your figure come out of bathroom, you tiredly returned to your seat, groaning. “i’ve never seen someone being drunk and in a snap of fingers almost as sober as before.” she stated, watching you. you furrowed your eyebrows, as you fixed your clothes, “just forget it already. why are you here anyway?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“it would be better if i stayed and continued to drink instead.” you mumbled, taking off your jacket.

“it’s your work, byun y/n.” ryujin answered, following you.

“not that i have ever expected to spend a night in a hotel room with my lieutenant. in a hotel where homicide just happened especially.” you replied, laying on the bed, which is a king sized, and is the only bed in the room, ironically. ryujin sat down, sighing. “you’re so annoying sometimes, you know? but even now, you’re not.” older woman said, which made you to sit up, looking at her. “and what you mean by that is?” you asked, noticing how ryujin looked kind of nervous? she tried not to look at you, her hand nervously pulling her pants. “well, you… you’re a good person and i-i’m sorry that i yell at you and being rude to you…” ryujin nearly whispered, she flinched, when she felt your arm around her waist and your head on her shoulder.

“aw, such a gentleman you are! and a handsome one, i must say… if we’re complimenting each other right now, you know.” you replied, pinching ryujin’s cheek. “i accept your apology and-“ goodness gracious, when you looked down you almost didn’t believed your eyes. the bulge in her pants?

“oh… well, you can say sorry in a different way though…” you put your hand on ryujin’s thigh, slowly going up. ryujin’s breath hitched, as she almost immediately melted under your touch. you smiled to your thoughts, “suddenly so shy and not even complaining? that’s the way i like it, darling.” you whispered, as ryujin whimpered from your touch, your hand palmed her cock.

in a few minutes older woman already laid naked, as you hand slowly jerked her off. “you’re so cute when you’re not being a jerk.” you said, receiving a mumbling in response, ryujin didn’t knew where to put her hands so she basically just held your arms. “can’t keep you waiting too long, baby, aren’t you cute?” you murmur, as you hear ryujin whine at the loss of touch, just to moan your name when she felt herself inside of you, you immediately starting to ride her. “y/n! oh- fuck…” ryujin whined, her hips slowly starting moving in your pace, making you to let out a moan. you feel ryujin’s hands on your waist, her grip tightening as she’s about to reach her climax.

as ryujin’s movements grew faster and more erratic, you knew she was about to cum so you pushed yourself deeper onto her, trying to take more in. ryujin let out a loud moan, pulling you closer to her, connecting her lips with yours as she released her cum inside of you. the pleasure was intense, you slowed down, as ryujin’s slow thrust continued, letting you to ride out your climax.

#itzy imagines #itzy oneshot #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #ryujin x reader #ryujin x female!reader #ryujin smut #gp!ryujin #itzy smut #kpop smut

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scribbleseas · 6 months ago

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Straight Laced, Chapter VIII: To Be A Keen Observer…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself, besides thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much for sticking with me. I’m sorry about that last cliffhanger. (Kind of.)

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

November 10, 1895

The British Museum

The Yard. The press. Throngs of pedestrians fleeing from the museum to catch a glimpse of the chaos. Flashing lenses immortalizing Maisie Stannard’s bleeding body, craning necks, overlapping questions.

“Lord Phantomhive, Lord Phantomhive, who��dunnit?” someone demanded, sick comedy in their voice.

Now the public knew. They no longer had the benefit of a quiet investigation.

The Same Night, Hours Later

Ciel’s Estate

The evening’s fiasco was practically the worst-case scenario for any crime scene, Ciel thought, staring into the lively orange licks of flames in his fireplace. The contained inferno crackled, demolishing the kindling Finny packed inside moments before their return.

The fall night was brisk, the draft blowing against his window, causing balding tree branches to scream.

Finally left alone, the Earl of Phantomhive loosened his tie, slouched behind his desk, and allowed his fingers to knit in his dark hair. He released a frustrated groan he’d long been holding, spat out a curse he’d long bit down in the face of the curious public. They wanted to construct a story that would attempt to broadcast Ciel’s shock, but he would never give them the satisfaction of witnesssing a Phantomhive plan go awry.

Still, the predicament was an embarrassment. He wanted the killer to be William, but the suspect never truly felt proper—even as he watched the Yard escorted the man in handcuffs. He’d merely convinced himself William was completely guilty because it was the most convenient solution, and that was worse than a confident response being wrong.

Ciel’s eye strained from analyzing the list of guests from the gala. The names and titles were forged into his brain, and yet, how could he stop? Another person was dead because of his shortsightedness. It was a smear on his name and reputation, one far worse than courting a prima ballerina.

At the end of the day, he should have known better. It was too convenient for the killer to be William. Ciel doubted he had much of a capacity to kill—not the intellect, not the bravado, and not the motive.

Was he a violent criminal who took what he felt he deserved no matter who he hurt? Certainly. But was he intelligent enough to poison a young woman slowly using dimethylmercury? To lure a young woman to a bridge and dispose of her in the river beneath? Not to Ciel. He had to be missing a significant part of this investigation. What could he be missing? Who could he be ignoring?

Someone had to have known William’s crimes against members of his company, and plotted to frame him. The death had to be connected to the rest of them—too convenient to be a coincidence. Y/n knew her. They were both part of the same company— rivals, even. All of the dancers were a part of this company, at one point in their short-lived careers. Even the victims who were working somewhere new during their time of death or the last day they were seen, worked under William at one point in time.

Y/n said that the incidents all seem to take place on Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Days where the full company rehearsed The Nutcracker in full, and Natasha was occupied with costume fittings. The company was in its last two weeks of playing Swan Lake and now it was preparing to welcome the holiday season with the festive ballet. It always had a popular run, causing it to start at the end of November until the weekend after Christmas.

That couldn’t be a coincidence, either. Ciel thought it incriminated William because it ensured that his company— including his wife — would be at their most distracted. Perhaps, the real killer assumed Ciel would draw that conclusion. They would have needed to break into William’s South Hampton home to plant the weapon used to kill Janet Fischer, as well. It seemed that estate was the only property William left unkept.

“I’ve brought your tea, my Lord,” Sebastian said, his habit of breaking Ciel’s focus entirely too common. The Earl knew better than to be startled by his demon butler. After all, the being was at the mercy of his orders. They both knew the terms of their contract intimately well: Sebastian obeyed all of Ciel’s commands and once they apprehend those responsible for the deaths of the previous Phantomhive heads, Sebastian could consume his soul.

“How damned am I, Sebastian?” Ciel asked, half pressing for what the butler made of tonight’s accident and half assessing the damage dealt between him and Y/n, given that the butler had just delivered her a night snack. She was never one to hide her feelings, surely giving Sebastian an earful about how Ciel managed to offend her. Uncovering just what had sent Y/n into her tirade beckoned at Ciel more than he liked, distracting him even more than the investigation was. The prima ballerina was so nonchalant about her promiscuity; could their relations have truly meant that much to her?

Did she feel an inescapable sense of dread and thrill around him, too? A spark so addicting that all she could do was be near him? Just like a good sip of that sweet wine she adored.

“What are you referring to?” While the butler poured a cup of tea, he lifted an eyebrow at the Earl, questioning him. A knowing smile pulled at his lips.

“Don’t you play dumb. You know whom I speak of.” The irritation in Ciel’s voice filled the room.

Sebastian merely chuckled at him. “How do you think making an enemy out of the Norfolk duchy by refusing his only daughter would end for you, sir?” His question was anything but accusatory— amused at most. Curious to get an idea of Ciel’s honest priorities: the wise match, Caroline and her presumptuous mother, or the correct match. The prima ballerina. His prima ballerina, as they worked so hard to make the public believe.

Except, they didn’t understand how much Ciel was just as much her Earl of Phantomhive.

All there was in polite society was Gwen, insisting she and Caroline come to his estate for tea. A meeting he was far from in the position to reject, out of respect to the current Duke of Norfolk. Ciel should have put a formal end to the slow beginnings of courtship he’d hinted to Caroline. At the time, he felt there was nothing to end, since nothing had really begun.

Had the Norfolk line not been in jeopardy, Ciel doubted Gwen would have continued to pursue him for Caroline with such insistence, especially after he announced his courtship of Y/n. Without a male heir, the duchy needed to secure its new duke by marrying Caroline to a suitable noble. The position had been attractive at the time, but now, Ciel hardly felt the appeal. Instead, he intended to tell Y/n that Gwen invited herself to the estate for tea after she forced him to share a cordial dance with her daughter, but Y/n fled the ballroom before he could.

“I could withstand it. And if I could not, you would see me through,” Ciel insisted, turning his gaze back down to the names on his newest list of names— a compilation of suspects with motivation to either kill company ballerina Maise Stannard or the wife of a plagiarizing artist with a legion of enemies. “Unless something changed in our contract within the last seven-some years?” Ciel prompted, scowling at the supernatural being.

The side of Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Of course not,” he confirmed, “though I may not be able to shield you from the wrath of a woman scorned. Those dangers are entirely different from one another, you’ll come to understand.”

Such reflecting over his personal life was a painful waste of effort. He needed to prioritize his thoughts. Another person died, dammit.

The distinction between company ballerina Maisie and wife of conman Maisie was critical because it decided whether the serial killer was bold enough to kill in front of a high-end gala lined with security or if one of Stannard’s enemies was sending him a message.

Ciel’s eyebrows knit together, unsure if Sebastian was referring to Y/n or Caroline. He cared significantly more about the former. Though, it was only fair to note that Y/n never made her intentions clear enough to be shunned in the first place. She was enigmatic, and beautiful with a puzzling charm— Ciel would’ve had to be daft to ignore that about her. But that didn’t translate to wanting him beyond physical companionship… at least it hadn’t until she confronted him.

Though he couldn’t help but wonder: didn’t Y/n know better? Didn’t she understand that she was deserving of someone who could love unconditionally. In what world could he? Ciel couldn’t even promise never to lie to her.

All relationships and promises in Ciel’s life were conditional. He was a self-serving man—the remnants of the disturbed boy who returned to the land of the living seven years ago with a ravenous demon counting the days to the end of their contract. If Ciel couldn’t even promise to never lie to Y/n—how could she expect him to love her? Did she love him?

There was no loving him. Not without letting it destroy her life. They both knew that. And yet… he had already given into his passionate whims with her. He’d already decided to throw his reservations to the wind, the last of his resilience shattering like glass when she broke into sobs caused by him.

“I thought I was protecting her,” Ciel replied simply, taking a drink out of his hot tea. He welcomed the scorching burn as it traveled down his tongue. The warmth filled in his empty chest. ”I did not scorn her.”

It didn’t matter if she loved him, nor did it matter how he felt about her. The consequences of anything more than a partnership between them would be immeasurable no matter what, but he was more than equipped to handle them.

Could Ciel justify trapping a ballerina in a life where the rest of society would remind her that she was an outsider every day? Gwen and Caroline were the least destructive instance of the social persecution Y/n would face for climbing the social ladder so ambitiously as the rest of the world would see it.

When the world looked at Y/n, they didn’t see her natural aptitude for investigation, her intelligence. Her humor. They saw the misdeeds put upon her by forces much greater than herself. They saw the reckless apathy that was placed on all ballerinas, and assumed that it was their own fault.

No one would see the regard in Y/n that Ciel took so long to notice. They misread her. And they would never care to read her properly until it was too late.

Until she condemned them in a tearful diatribe across the street from the British Museum. That spirit was what convinced Ciel that she had the potential to feasibly manage. If such was the life she truly desired for herself.

“Go get another history on Maisie Stannard,” Ciel ordered Sebastian, wanting to be left alone again. He felt the demon attempting to dissect him, and it was suffocating. Sebastian hadn’t even deigned to reply, merely looking at him with unconcealed amusement. He liked watching Ciel wrestle with such foreign conflict, provoking him for sport to further insult the injury— there was nothing insightful he wished to add.

“Yes, my Lord.” After a disingenuous bow, the demon was gone.

November 11, 1895, The Next Morning

Y/n’s Rehearsal Studio

“No,” Y/n’s irritated voice snapped the moment Ciel opened the door of his own estate’s practice room and let himself inside.

Rehearsal studio, rather.

He released a sigh that he’d been holding from the moment Mey-Rin told him that Y/n would be absent from their breakfast table. He knew she would make a childish effort to avoid him, but in all honesty, he lacked the time and the patience to entertain it.

Y/n sat in the middle of the room in a nude leotard, her legs fanned open on either side of her. Her back was straight and elongated, forming a perfect line with her neck. It looked effortless. All of her movements looked light and easy, despite the rage that her pursed lips and creased forehead displayed.

She didn’t need to turn around to look at him. Instead, she ignored his image in the floor-to-ceiling mirror’s reflection in front of them. Ciel had to read her expression from the glass, since she purposely kept her back to him.

Ciel caught the variety of materials sitting between her spread legs, several pairs of newly broken in pointe shoes in a row, scissors, adhesive, and a needle and yarn for sewing. They were the same items Y/n used to break in and darn new pairs of pointe shoes for balance and comfort. Ciel knew this routine well— it cost him hundreds of pounds a week to purchase Y/n five or six new pairs weekly.

“Y/n, we have much to discuss. Skipping meals with me will not put an end to the investigation… nor our personal differences,” Ciel told her, carefully stepping closer with the caution a soldier would in a minefield. He supposed a rehearsal studio was just that for Y/n: a battleground.

“All I wanted was a few hours away from you and your investigation. You cannot even give me that?” Y/n corrected coldly, giving the shoe in her hand a hearty smack against the expensive flooring to further break it in. Apparently, all ballerinas had to make their own custom alteration rituals to break in their shoes the exact way they needed it. Y/n liked to eviscerate her shoes’ insoles and shave down the bottoms, stretch the shoe, repair it with adhesive, and darn the flat bit of it.

His investigation? So now it was only his?

“It is not a crime for a ballerina to break in her shoes—I hardly have time as it is, and Nutcracker opens next week,” she continued, still refusing to look at him. She seemed satisfied with the amount of pressure she put on the shoe and squeezed adhesive into its stretched interior.

Of course she wouldn’t look at him. Ciel embarrassed her because he let his preconceived notions about her professions blind him to the extent of her feelings. Ballerinas like Y/n were not inherently promiscuous, and he, despite having one functioning eye, missed that she felt more for him than lust. In what world does a principal dancer fall for a jaded Earl, anyhow?

And he was somehow even more blindsided by his own intricate feelings for her. It was most likely too late. And that was for the best, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be, but the guilty discomfort that sat in his stomach insisted otherwise. It was simply too late.

“The last time I checked, a certain prima ballerina always insisted it was our investigation,” Ciel replied, watching Y/n’s eyes roll in response.

“Clearly, she did not know what she was talking about,” Y/n put her sewing materials and pointe shoes to the side once she was satisfied with the layers of adhesive applied. She continued facing the mirror, spreading into a center split and pushing her torso to the floor in a deep stretch. “Being wrong about so many things makes a person a true lavette, no?” Her stretching position muffled her voice somewhat, but the vitriol was clear to him.

She was comparing her intellect to a dish towel? Honestly? Ciel fought the urge to reflect the prima ballerina’s scornful eye roll to her.

After all, she purposefully referencing both their investigation and their personal matters— enough to show Ciel that there was little to be achieved with the stubborn ballerina at that time. The blows were too fresh.

“What is there for us to discuss, anyhow? That guest list will take ages to sift through, and Sebastian’s interview notes…” Y/n rolled her shoulders back and sat back up only to inhale and bring her torso back to the floor. Her arms stretched in front of her, showing off the sculpted muscle she forged through dance.

Her leotard clung to the trained muscles down her back and arms, causing Ciel’s mouth to run dry as he adjusted his trousers. (Unintentionally recalling her body’s warmth and strength under his fingertips did little to help.)

That realization caused Ciel to moisten his lips, quietly thankful that Y/n was pointedly averting her gaze from him. She would’ve caught and translated that pensive— scandalous — look in seconds, and rightfully called him out for it.

“I want to visit William today,” Ciel managed, barely maintaining his stable tone in the face of his straying thoughts. “The Yard said the bullet found in Maisie was consistent with his Winchester collection. And I still dislike that the Southampton house is William’s only unstaffed possession.” It was all too convenient. Too connected— down to the murders matching the company’s rehearsal schedule.

Even the gala was on a Nutcracker rehearsal evening: a night where it was guaranteed Natasha Wood had her hands full and the company was half alive after such a rigorous day.

“That sounds like the perfect plan, Lord Phantomhive,” Y/n answered bitterly, extending an arm over her head while she leaned to the side. She still had her legs parted in a center split.

Lord Phantomhive was a gut punch. It took all of his composure to hide his crawling discomfort. That had to be the first time he recoiled from the weight of his surname.

To her, he was Ciel. She had seen to it— demanded it, even.

“You can handle that on your own. He will not talk with me there, surely,” she added, her bored tone causing his fingers to curl into a frustrated fist at his side. Finally catching her stare, he noticed that her eyes were bleary as if she had been crying. Even her lips seemed bitten.

Ciel had to ignore the striking urge in his body that begged him to kiss her. Now that he knew her prowess, the way she moved her lips with the same elegance she did the rest of her body, it made her allure all the more intense. So much so that they forced Ciel to skip several heavy seconds before replying to her poor excuse for not wanting to be in the same room with him. He had been occupied with admiring her.

“I would prefer—” he started to object, only for Y/n to interrupt.

“Please see yourself out. I must rehearse, I am running on borrowed time as it is. The last Swan Lake showing is tonight,” Y/n said expectantly, assuming Ciel didn’t know her performance schedule. He merely happened to have committed it to memory.

Y/n rose to her feet. She was already wearing an older pair of pointe shoes, suggesting that she had been practicing before deciding to break in new shoes.

Having risen from the center of the floor, she took graceful steps closer to the mirror, fully turning her back to him as she put herself in the starting position for the Sugar Plum Fairy Variation. After putting in hours of labor as her unpaid pianist, Ciel could recognize those soft, exaggerated steps anywhere.

His stomach only twisted into a tighter knot, offended that Y/n would prefer to rehearse in complete silence than in his piano playing. After all, she once told him that she couldn’t keep time without it.

In unexpected surrender, Ciel closed the door behind him, softly letting the knob click back into place.

It was simply too late.

The Same Day, Hours Later

Scotland Yard’s London Headquarters

Even for a man living in a holding cell, William Wood did not look well. His facial hair, what was formerly a tasteful goatee, was now untamed and slightly overgrown. Deep exhaustion carved bags under his eyes. His sudden fall from grace seemed to age him years, even though it was only a week or two since Ciel made the arrest.

“They told me you’d be coming to see me today,” William grunted, dressed in plain clothes. He wasn’t formally charged yet, but Ciel and the Yard agreed that the threat of allowing an arrested serial killer to remain free before his sentencing was too great to risk. Ciel also needed easy access to William in the event they were wrong.

The criminal’s gray eyes attempted to bore into Ciel’s soul, but really, they were tired. Unfocused. Desperate. He reminded him of a cornered tiger— too proud to submit, but too exhausted to finish the fight.

“Yes… I have questions that demand answers. From you.” Ciel answered carefully. He exchanged a look with the officers guarding the door, silently urging them to clear their throats and seeing themselves out, guarding from the outside of the room. William’s holding cell sat in an isolated room from the rest of the headquarters. The basement was fortified with cement, making the area drafty and dark.

He wouldn’t reveal the news that there was another murdered ballerina, but there were other means to extract the information the situation required.

A condescending smirk twitched at William’s lips, unsurprised. “And you expect me to talk? To you?” He asked, his jubilant tone dripping with malice. “You’ve ruined my life, my wife’s…our livelihood.”

“No one forced you to cheat on your wife. Or assault defenseless young women. Or murder them in cold blood,” Ciel snapped, raising his tone. Natasha, from what Y/n said, was running the entirety of the company without William in the first place. She didn’t need him— he was a pathetic excuse for an heir to a business. That had to be clearer to her than anyone.

Only now, he made her work infinitely more complicated. Especially since the body of Maisie Stannard was plastered all over the front pages of most newspapers that morning, each depicting the mysterious murder that occurred near one of the side entrances of The British Museum.

“You don’t talk about my wife to me,” William’s fingers curled into fists at his sides as he took a step closer to the cell’s bars that separated them. His complexion was shades lighter. “I never killed anyone, either,” he was sure to remind Ciel.

“You will answer my questions, one way or another. How much of your blood gets spilled depends entirely on you, William,” Ciel replied, appreciating the cell wall that separated them. One of them was vulnerable, and it was certainly not him. It would never be.

The Earl pressed the nose of his Nanget Revolver into William’s hip, sliding the nose of the weapon between the bars. He smiled at the defeat that fought the stubborn ferocity in William’s colorless irises, placidly putting the weapon back into his jacket pocket just as smoothly as he’d taken it out.

“Do we have an understanding here?” Ciel asked impatiently. “I am only interested in the truth.”

It was exhilarating to watch the desperate fire extinguish in William’s face, the fighting militance in his shoulders dissipate. His fists unfurled as he sighed, coming to terms with his defeat. He was just smart enough to understand that concept— a lesson Ciel and Y/n fought hard to teach him.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” the former businessman crossed his arms, ignoring the weapon that Ciel threatened him with.

“Your Southampton house,” Ciel started, “why is it unstaffed? When was the last time you were there, before you instructed Y/n Y/l/n to meet you there?”

“I told Natasha I sold it, but it’s been my family’s for generations. I used the place for… meetings I didn’t want her to know about,” William sighed, choosing his words cautiously. “That time with…Y/n… was the first time I’ve been there since my trip to France. So I haven’t been since the end of September. Do I get to know why you’re asking?” He asked sarcastically.

The last time Janet was seen was September 27th.

“When did you leave, William?” Ciel asked with a newfound sense of urgency overriding his frustrations with the man. His mouth was dry, his heartbeat picking up. “Do you know the exact day you departed?”

William shrugged, either not noticing Ciel’s pique or not caring. “September 28th, probably? Early morning.”

Is that enough time to murder a woman— she was projected to have died late that night — hide the murder weapon in Southampton, and return to the London ports by dawn to leave the country? It wasn’t.

”Did anyone have access to your property? Anyone?”

“No one should have. I only… asked my wife to dispose of hers, after I told her I sold the property,” William frowned. It seemed it was only dawning on the careless man that his wife might have lied to him, curious as to the lack of official documentation from the sale, any shift in finances, given the major role in managing their company, according to Y/n.

“She wouldn’t… think I still use the property…” he mumbled the afterthought slowly with disbelief.

The more Ciel asked of William, the more of him and Natasha he understood. They fell in love because she transferred from a ballet school in Russia and starred in a company production of Sleeping Beauty. William was still learning how to run the company, one of the investments out of a larger corporation, but he fell in love with Natasha, the prima ballerina, at the time.

Natasha overworked herself in the role, causing a hip injury to end her professional career only a year into it. And that was two years ago. Now she was the company’s director—nothing like the inspired dancer she once was, William insisted.

He lost sight of his love for the young ingenue because the injury killed her. What was left was a completely different woman. Tired, bitter, frustrated from what she lost...only for her marriage to slowly decline the more she lost herself.

Opportunity, motive…was there a means? It was now of the utmost importance that Ciel found the answer to that question. No matter how Y/n would feel about his investigating Natasha, her mentor. Ciel trusted his instinct—the tugging in the pit of his stomach. The alarm that he felt.

How could he not have seen it sooner? He needed to leave. He needed to stop her before she left for her performance.

It took a frenzied carriage ride through the crowded London streets, but Sebastian’s demonic carriage driving managed to put Ciel in front of his manor just as Y/n was leaving for the opera house. He was always chasing after her, it seemed, but he didn’t care.

For her, he would. She would, for him. Or before he broke her heart, she might have. He was too late, in that regard, but he could stop her here and now.

“Y/n, stop, this is important!” Ciel stumbled out of his carriage, having stepped out of it before Sebastian could stop entirely. He had to intercept her.

The ballerina scoffed at the nerve of him, begging her to stop in her tracks and hear him out for the second instance in a row. At the same time, Ciel demanded that Finny keep Y/n’s carriage stationery for the moment through a brief look, causing his gardener’s superhuman grip to tighten on the horses’ reins. He gave Ciel a resolute nod, his jaw firm.

“What? Is this chasing a daily occurrence?” Y/n quipped bitterly, just as Ciel expected her to. “You have never cared to attend one of my performances before,” she accused, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Her hand fell still on the carriage door’s handle, frowning at him.

“I have reason to suspect that Natasha is—“ he started gravely, pronouncing his words carefully. He knew what Y/n would say, but he could only prove this theory with her help. If Ciel was right, one misstep could make them the adversaries of one incredibly violent, envious, and dangerous criminal who played the role of a wistful, wise mentor. And played it well.

Immediately, Y/n’s face reddened, defensive. “Stop,” she insisted, her voice hoarse. She turned the handle on the carriage door, causing Ciel to reach out and grab it himself, his hand engulfing hers.

He needed her to approach this logically.

Y/n’s face jerked to look at him, her hand attempting to move with the same speed, but Ciel’s grip kept hers stagnant. She gave their hands a long, hard look.

“You have no idea what Natasha has done for so many of us, how little I would have without her. She would never do this to any of us,” Y/n’s voice wavered.

And what has she done for you? She allows men to abuse you. She encourages you to skip nourishment to maintain some shallow aesthetic. She hasn’t reported any of these missing cases to any of you—

“—She does not know about them!” Y/n interrupted, wide eyed, tears threatening to fall. He had said that out loud. “I would not have this opportunity without her. I have known her for years. You, I have known for? A month? You care about me as much as she does? At all?”

“I care about you more than you know, Y/n,” Ciel replied, trying to keep his voice measured, in spite of his pounding heart. He could feel his pulse racing.

“You do not.”

“I do.”

“Then you show it by dancing with another woman in front of me? By inviting her to your home where I live as a guest the night after we were intimate?” Y/n asked, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ciel’s stomach sank. That was what had caused her outburst at the party: Gwen had lied to her. He didn’t invite the duchess; the duchess had invited herself.

His crime was failing to properly refuse her at the gala. Ciel intended to send his regrets the following day by insisting he had an overseas meeting.

“I did not invite the duchess and her daughter. Gwen seems to have lied to you,” he said, the force behind his words extinguishing. “I realized… that… I don’t want my marriage to be a business venture. I don’t want Caroline to be my Countess—I’ve hardly ever spoken to her! I would want…” he let his next word hang in the air. It filled the few centimeters that separated them.

You.

“I need to leave now or I will be late,” Y/n’s free hand wiped away another tear that escaped her tired eyes. “This is my last Swan Lake performance, Ciel. Please.”

She didn’t believe him. And he didn’t blame her. He had warned her about himself a long time ago.

Every instinct in Ciel refused, but he released the hand that he held stagnant on the carriage door handle. “Fine. You may,” he sighed, exchanging the same look with Finny. Y/n opened the carriage and sat inside, closing the door in his face. Again.

“Sebastian, this is an order. You will protect her as you would myself. Now go. Stay out of sight unless the situation demands it.”

In the meantime, Ciel could escort himself to the performance. He had a chance. No way in hell would he let himself squander it.

The Same Evening

The Royal Opera House

For the entirety of his life, Ciel was a keen observer. He could see through a liar’s carefully constructed facade by a glance, the bravado and charismatic grace that Y/n enlisted to maintain her confidence. The Phantomhive empire was as prosperous as it was because of his ability to read and interpret those around him… and manipulate them accordingly.

Now, all of his expert focus fell on the prima ballerina, just as blazing and intense as the spotlight that illuminated her.

Until this point, Ciel avoided attending Y/n’s performances because they knew they were spellbinding. He was more than aware of her talents—even watching her mumble through her moves as she rehearsed was enchanting. He had pointedly refused to allow himself the indulgence necessary to freely watch the woman act in front of an audience, encapsulating a character through mood and movement when he had grown so accustomed to admiring her individualism.

Rather than tell her so, he’d only insinuated that he was too occupied to attend these performances, despite her frequent invitations. Selfishly, he used to prefer her subdued look of disappointment than run the risk of her noticing the way he fell for her. Without meaning to. In fact, while actively trying not to.

Her raw pain was clear as she depicted Odette grieving the prince’s betrayal, having fallen for Odile’s impersonation of her. It wasn’t unlike her face moments before she stepped in the carriage in order to fulfill this very performance, or even her expression in the studio, or in front of the museum the night before. She channeled her hurt into her work—just as he did. She evolved with each step, every twist, in spite of him. Because of everything he put her through.

The bouquet in his tightening grip crinkled, the decorative paper around it crumbling from the frustration he let out on it. Ciel could hardly hear it over the orchestra in the pit, the assortment of musicians and their quality instruments masterfully recreating Tchaikovsky. But that wasn’t the most impressive aspect of the show— that recognition belonged to Y/n entirely.

He had to correct this gnawing worry in his stomach. The feeling that he was, once again, on the brink of being too late.

The moment the curtain drew after the company’s final bows, Ciel sprang from his seat.

He wouldn’t be too late. At the very least, he owed Y/n that.

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comicgeekery · 8 months ago

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Sherlock and Co.

So I just listened to the latest episode, the conclusion of A Case of Identity. I have to say, it was deeply disappointing. For the most part I've been really enjoying Sherlock and Co. It's been fun and engaging. The actors are great. It's a solid new take on "Sherlock Holmes but in the 21st century". I love that they're going through all the stories of the original canon and giving them modern updates. So many Sherlock Holmes adaptations seem to have the basic trappings of the characters and premise without any interest in the original mysteries. This show is clearly being made with love and deep attention to detail. Also, on a personal note, my heart melts every time it explicitly (and even casually!) confirms that Sherlock is autistic and that that is a DISABILITY for him. He gets overstimulated. It gives him an often restricted diet. He hurts people's feelings from not picking up social cues and feels bad about it! There's also a lot of hints that Sherlock used to struggle to interact with others FAR worse than he currently does, to the point where he has never graduated from any school he attended. And John is kind and supportive, understanding the situation as a friend and a doctor, while also having his own understandable limitations. He gets annoyed with Sherlock sometimes and they need to hash things out. It's not perfect between them, but I can see how they're growing closer as they come to understand each other. John Watson is also handled very interestingly in this podcast. He's clearly got some issues of his own he's going through. There's some obvious PTSD from his time in Afghanistan, but also more mundane issues. He feels unappreciated by his mother and still grieves the father that died when he was ten. He's clearly massively insecure, as he constantly expresses jealousy of other people's wealth, good looks, and success. He seems to perk up every time he hears of an idea that could, in theory, make him rich or successful. He constantly second-guesses himself in any social situation because he's so afraid of looking foolish. I even think the reason that he himself decided to call their detective/podcasting business Sherlock and Co. (rather than Sherlock and Watson or something more evenly balanced) is because of his profound insecurity. He doesn't think anyone would care about the role he plays in the business. Clearly Sherlock is the only interesting person there.

But for all of that, I think this is the most competent, helpful, and good Watson I've ever seen. (ACD's Watson is excellent, but the stories almost always really downplayed his role in the crime-solving.) He is shown, again and again, to be an excellent doctor and more than that, one who is very calm and capable under extreme pressure. (Which makes perfect sense with his history as an army doctor.) If someone gets shot at your wedding, Dr. John Watson is the one who will have the skill and the presence of mind to use an expired condom as a tool to save their life. And he's also a good co-detective. He regularly helps Sherlock see connections that Sherlock might have missed. Things relating to pop culture, to social norms, to anything medical, not to mention all the support and encouragement John offers. And Sherlock genuinely appreciates it! These two are an actual, real team! It's excellent! (I have a soft spot in my heart for Nigel Bruce's Watson, but I can't deny that he inspired a real line of idiotic, totally a sidekick, why-are-you-even-here Watson portrayals. Granted, we've gotten away from that in most modern portrayals; Liu, Freeman, and Law were also very capable, though I think Liu was easily the smartest. It's just refreshing to have a Watson I can respect.) But all of that is a pretty roundabout way of getting to my point of what disappointed me with A Case of Identity. So, in the original Case of Identity story, a woman comes to Sherlock and Watson saying that her fiancee has disappeared. The eventual solution is that everything about this fiancee was a lie. He was actually her evil stepfather in disguise "wooing" her with the intention of disappearing mysteriously and leaving her too heartbroken and loyal to think of marrying anyone else (and thus depriving her stepfather of her fortune). The Sherlock and Co. adaptation has a solid update to the story. It's now about a rich, though insecure, man who's being cat-fished. He loves "Angel", even wants to marry her, and has given her tons of money for two years now. He's only going to Sherlock at all because he has a friend who thinks the situation is sketchy. In a parallel to the original story, it turns out that "Angel" is actually Des, the client's stepfather. It started off as a scheme from Des and the mother, Clara, to keep Miles from dating women they didn't approve of. Then Des went behind Clara's back to keep the charade going and get more and more money, consequently getting more and more intimate with his stepson the whole time. I was already a bit nervous at that point, because Des was coming dangerously close to playing out a transphobic stereotype. Being a man who pretended to be a woman for personal gain, and willing to completely betray and deceive the people closest to him. It also didn't help that John had made a point of saying that there was nothing wrong with being a Tory mere minutes before. (Which to me read as more of his insecurity and need to not alienate the in-universe listeners but certainly wasn't interrogated.) But I tried to be optimistic and kept listening. Unfortunately...it was even worse than I'd feared. Des turned out to not only being grifting his stepson through a semi-incestuous cat-fishing scheme, but he had a split personality. Angel had become real through Des having a mental health crisis. And she could spontaneously take over, which she did in order to grab Clara and hold a knife to her throat when the truth came out. Finally, Angel/Des tries to kill themself, which is something the show has the audacity to make a joke about before the audience knows if Des lived or died.

Sooooo, yeah. That's incredibly offensive on so many levels. Angel, while not quite a trans character (I think?) plays into transphobic rhetoric beat-for-beat. It's also an incredibly cliche representation of split personality disorder that plays into extremely tired representations of people with mental illnesses being violent dangers to society. And that's especially disappointing because of the attention Sherlock and Co. usually pays to portraying mental health issues with sensitivity. What the fuck, Sherlock and Co.? Did you get a new writer for this one? Did they time travel directly from the 1950s? This is cheap drama that hurts. It hurts trans women. It hurts people with mental illnesses. And it hurts the wider queer and disabled communities. Which, if you're trying to get popular with the most vocal Sherlock Holmes fans today, are largely the exact people you most want to like you.

Cards on the table, I've been really hoping this show would finally be the adaptation where John and Sherlock would become an actual, explicit couple. It's something fans have longed for for literal generations and now that all of Sherlock Holmes is in the public domain it can finally definitely happen. I felt like Sherlock and John had good chemistry and were maybe even flirting in previous episodes, but I'll save those theories for now. My point is that this is a show where I believed that could happen. I trusted Sherlock and Co. to be respectful and thoughtful. And I'm not saying that all my goodwill is gone now. But it has taken a hit. Sherlock and Co. has been overwhelmingly clever and interesting, finding creative ways to recast the classic stories while still keeping their hearts. I love the acting, I love the action and mysteries, and I haven't even come close to expressing how much thought I've put into what overarching plot threads might be getting established in each episode.

But I won't be able to continue to enjoy those parts if I come to spend my time listening more concerned about if a plot twist is going to leave me feeling attacked. I don't know who writes for this show and I don't know if you read any reviews on Tumblr, but I hope you do. And I hope you do better in the future. An apology and some good trans representation in the future would be nice. Please, I really want to be able to obsess about your show peacefully!

#sherlock and co #sherlock & co #sherlock holmes #john watson #transphobia #ableism #despite it all I wish I could write for this show #it seems like it would be so much fun!

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theresattrpgforthat · 6 months ago

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do you know any games that would fit a film noir detective style game? especially one with a gilded age or art deco aesthetic

THEME: Film Noir

Hello friend! So I knew of one or two games - but my buddy Sean, well he knows way more. Most of the games on this list are games that he’s introduced me to or knows about. So shout out to Sean!

Noirlandia, by Turtlebun.

Noirlandia is a murder mystery roleplaying game played with an actual cork board. When you first sit down, no one knows the answers.

You'll figure out the way your city ticks—maybe it’s blanketed in white ash, maybe it’s built atop the back of an enormous dying beetle, maybe only a few non-synthetics remain.

Your story follows a group of interconnected characters, a mind-bending case, and the cold stiff that started it all. Roll well, and you'll be allowed to pin new leads to your cork board or string connections between them.

Find the truth, or lose yourself trying. It’s just another day in Noirlandia.

A GM-less game, Noirlandia sets up each of your characters as someone who is connected to the victim - someone who demands justice in a world that has none. The city is created by the players, which tells me that you can decide some details about what the city looks like. The city itself feels like a character in this game - it has defined sections that you build using a deck of cards, each with a distinct personality and a host of slang words.

Because this game is GM-less, everyone gets to participate in the construction of the mystery, from who the victim is, to why their characters are involved. If you like world-building as much as you like following a story, you’ll want to check out Noirlandia.

Urban Jungle, by Sanguine Productions.

The early 20th century of the United States was rife with fantastic change: from the rise of industry giants, to the great experiment of Prohibition, to the tragedy of the Great Depression, onto the dawn of the Atomic Age. The sky was tamed, the world was mapped, and the possibilities of science seemed limitless, all blue skies and buttered toast…

… for some folks, anyway.

A complete game in one volume, URBAN JUNGLE makes you a player in an anthropomorphic world of pulp-adventure, hard-boiled crime, and film noir. You’ll tangle with hardened gangsters, with jaded debutantes, with world-weary veterans, and with all kinds of shady characters.

Urban Jungle uses different sizes of dice to determine your level of skill. Character creation consists of distributing dice amongst your traits, and then choosing from a list of species, types, careers, and personalities. The type and career options open up a wide variety of backgrounds for your characters - you don’t necessarily have to be hard-boiled detectives. You could be a criminal, an artist, a member of the social elite, or a down-to-earth labourer of some kind, just to name a few. As a result, the differences between the characters in Urban Jungle could lead to a rather mis-matched party, so you’ll likely want to talk with your group about what kind of story you’re telling.

Judging by the skills available in this game, you’re likely going to begetting in and out of scrapes, chasing, running, fighting and investigating. You might tussle with the mafia, or hunt down missing artifacts. You might try to get inside a swanky party, or try to win at a game of cards. If what you want is a toolbox to create your own plots with, you might be interested in Urban Jungle.

Junk Noir, by JadeRavens.

Junk Noir is a cooperative, zero-prep, GM-less mystery game for 2 or more players. Players share control of Tracer as the titular robo-sleuth investigates mysteries, visits Locations, meets Characters, finds Clues, and triggers Events. In Junk Noir, you'll dramatize scenes, form connections, make moves, and play to see what happens!

Junk Noir mysteries don't come with pre-written solutions — that's the detective's job! Solving a mystery is about more than just finding clues, since clues are only as good as the theory that connects them. Players connect the dots and discuss theories over the course of an investigation.

This is a game for folks who like generative mysteries, such as Brindlewood Bay or Paranormal Inc. Junk Noir helps you generate clues that you as a group will have to put together, while each player embodies a part of Tracer’s programming. This is also a GM-less mystery game, which means you can all sit down and play with no prep required - the game will guide you as you play it.

Deadlands Noir, by Pinnacle Entertainment.

New Orleans, 1935. Whoever called this “the Big Easy” sure got that one wrong. Things are tough all over. Honest work is hard to find, and even dishonest jobs are getting scarce. The one thing that’s not in short supply is trouble. From shady thugs to crooked cops to Mafia soldiers, there’s plenty of characters out there looking to give an honest Joe a hard time. And that’s not the worst of it.

There are stories going round about things that go bump in the night. Things you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley on a darker night. And those stories aren’t just coming from rummies or saps who read that Epitaph rag.

Still, there are a few heroes left in the concrete jungle. Steely-eyed private dicks, fast-talking grifters, wild-eyed inventors, and shadowy houngans still struggle against the encroaching darkness. With enough moxie—and more than a little luck—they might just be enough to turn the tide.

Deadlands Noir is a pen-and-paper roleplaying game set in the world of Pinnacle Entertainment’s award-winning Deadlands universe. It includes new Edges, Hindrances, and powers, as well as new rules for handling detective work, the state of the Union and the CSA in the Depression-era, a complete Plot Point campaign, and of course, more monsters and ghouls than you can shake a smoking .45 automatic at.

Savage Worlds is a great system for pulp-action and protagonists that are good at what they do. Deadlands Noir is a setting for Savage Worlds, meaning you’ll need the core rulebook in order to use it. The Deadlands setting as a number of books that relate to each-other, including a Weird West and a Hell on Earth setting. This means that this version of Noir includes a supernatural element, and the people behind any big upset could have magical powers. The setting itself is based on the New Orleans that often shows up in popular media, with hauntings and monsters turned up to 11. If you want something paranormal mixed up in your noir, this is the game for you!

Sword Noir 2e, by Sword’s Edge Publishing.

Imagine a barbarian prince embroiled in the criminal underworld of a cosmopolitan city as they seek for an artifact in the shape of a falcon statue. Consider two accomplished thieves—one an urbane duelist and the other a brawny skald—hired by a wealthy retired general to deal with a blackmailer, only uncover multiple murders tied to the general’s children. Envision hardboiled crime fiction in the worlds of sword & sorcery.

That’s Sword Noir.

The concept of Sword Noir is a combination of hardboiled fiction, the film noir it inspired, and sword & sorcery. The setting is noir while the characters are drawn from sword & sorcery tales. The PCs live in a world filled with injustice and apathy. Treachery and greed dominate and hope is frail. Violence is deadly and fast. The characters are good at what they do. They are specialists. Trust is the most valued of commodities—life is the cheapest. Grim leaders weave labyrinthine plots which entangle innocents. Magic is real and can be powerful, but it takes extreme dedication to learn, extorts a horrible price, and is slow to conjure.Now is the time for your characters to walk down mean streets, drenched in rain, hidden in fog, and unravel mysteries, murders, and villainy.

Sword Noir is probably the biggest step from the original noir trope, placing your characters in a fantasy world, far removed from technology like telephones or sleek cars. However, the corrupted city still lives and breathes here, full of ne’er-do-wells and shady characters. If you want to revel in noir tropes but play with the setting a little, maybe try out Sword Noir 2e.

Noir World, by John Adamus.

WALK THESE STREETS. TELL YOUR STORY. MAKE YOUR MOVIE.

It’s raining. The alleys are as dark as the streets. You’ve entered a world where light and dark mix with gray and the unknown, where your past collides with your present and future, and it’s safe to assume everyone’s out for themselves.

It’s the stuff dreams are made of, it’s the stuff of old movies, classic movies. Great stories.

This is Noir World. And this is your world and your Movie now. Your story is worth telling, even though it’s not going to be pretty. You might not make it out alive, but it’ll be one hell of a ride.

It’s true what they say: the City is full of stories, and not all of them have happy endings.

As a PbtA game, Noir World calls back to Apocalypse World, Monsterhearts, and The Sprawl as sources of inspiration. This means that you’ll be building your setting together, using noir tropes as guides to construct the story you want to tell. If this game is anything like its’ predecessors, the primary thing you’ll be focusing on is relationships; what do your characters mean to each-other, and how do those relationships affect their ability to get what they want?

Fedora Noir, by Less Than Three Games.

In Fedora Noir, you create the story of a flawed private investigator in the style of a film noir. Players take on the roles of the Detective, their Partner, their Flame – and their Hat, the Detective’s sharp mind and inner voice. Together, players explore the Detective’s messy life against the backdrop of a difficult case.

In Fedora Noir, two players share control of the story’s main character: the Detective and the Hat.

The Detective role-plays a private eye on a case, narrating their actions and speech. But here’s the catch – the person role-playing the Detective doesn’t get to say what they think. That’s the Hat’s job. The other two main characters – the Partner and the Flame – provide the Detective with personal relationships. People to care about… or disappoint.

Fedora Noir is a game for exactly four players. It takes the form of a deck of cards, which provide prompts and references to help you navigate the story - great for folks who don’t want to keep track of character sheets. There’s a whole bunch of settings included - and if you want the art deco style, then the New Hudson setting is made for you. Each city comes with a piece of art to set the mood, a list of locations you can choose to visit, and a cast of characters that may be getting involved in the case. You also choose a Case card to represent the Detective’s mission, Actor cards to help you depict what your detective looks like, and a series of chapter cards that will bring you through the narrative beats of a detective novel.

Other Games to Check Out...

Hardboiled, by Fat Goblin Games.

Noire: Elle Est, Elles Sont, by Ursidice.

Nitrate City, by Evil Hat.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #noir #indie ttrpg #detectives #mysteries

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