#we had to learn cursive

[chaotic-goodsir]

Oh I see! So it's a story about two outcasts who were seen as abnormal in their own worlds but were able to see further and understand more than the people around them, so they found companionship in each other! And it's also about the dangers of obsession and ego and flattery and unhealthy relationships, and the idea of a 'muse' as something that can be bad for you and might have its own agenda! Fascinating!

But also sir that is a triangle.

[macchiatosdumptruck]

We are not that far away from a time when illiteracy was a big deal because keeping people illiterate made them easier to control and like how did school go from "try to read 15 minutes every day. Anything is better than nothing!" and giving out awards to no longer teaching penmanship or spelling

[orcelito]

Actually it is SO weird to me to remember that I was an engineering student and that later on I had been pursuing a minor in statistics

I may be a IT & com person in the end, but I do have the foundations of engineering and statistics in my brain too. Wild !

[slyandthefamilybook]

[laserbobcat]

A WIP i'll never finish, i tried! I started this before march and will never finish it properly. I'm glad I had the energy to at least clean the last panels enough. I was trying a new style/process and it doesn't stick. Anyway, I'll just tell the rest of the story since I (probably) won't draw it, and maybe some of you like to read:

Nari turns into a god again, to his surprise. Turns out it's because the Lamb fucked up a new age reversing ritual they're trying out, and turned themselves into a baby. Too weak of a vessel, so the crown had to jump ships back to him. Narinder enjoys this IMMENSELY. Makes a dramatic evil laugh and give some kind of speech about how the Lamb is stupid and he's the boss now. He tells Aym and Baal to babysit the Lamb until they're old enough to be trained like they both were and "Maybe this time around they will learn obedience" and exits- also dramatically. The cultists start to panic, what the hell is that giant god, what do you mean it's Narinder are you kidding me? The tsundere Lamb's friend? The grumpy fisherman? Oh no what are we gonna do without the Lamb etc etc... Until Leshy laughs out loud and says "Just ignore him and wait a day or two, he's gonna get tired of bossing people around and miss his precious Lamb. He'll find a solution." Aym deadpan says five, Leshy says five days seems too long he'll cave in sooner than that, but Baal says "No we mean five minutes." And BAM the temple's door open again and Narinder is here yelling MORTALS I need you to remember EXACTLY the words they made you chant, I need it to reverse the ritual!

He quickly realized that this Lamb will not be HIS Lamb, HIS lamb is gone for good if he doesn't cook some good magic real quick. And that's the start of a period of time where Nari has to bust his ass trying to undo the Lamb's failed magic. I had bunch of stuff in mind, including: -Lambie being the worst and most insufferable baby ever. No one sleeps on their watch, and no one gets to be distracted for a second otherwise they start eating rocks. their yell is the loudest noise ever heard. The goat is a joke next to them. Everyone has the tired parent trait now. -Narinder smashing people to death when they're annoying and distracting him from his research. He adds their name to "the resurrection list" for the Lamb to deal with later. The followers somehow get used to it. -Morgan trying his best to keep Leshy away from his irritated brother, despite his intense need to annoy him at the worst time possible. -Narinder yelling "Fetch me my thinking Lamb!" and then squishing the baby between two fingers like a squeaky toy to help him focus (the baby enjoys that) -Saleos and Irene forcing a huge ass exhausted and irritable 19 feet god to take a rest, maybe go fishing to get some air. -Narinder accidentally hitting his head on the door frame of the temple. A lot. -Narinder reluctantly having to officiate the important rituals "I don't care about your damn crops but let's get this over with- NO we're not having an exhibitionist dance go back to work!" -Thena having to read most of the Lamb's writing for him because they write in cursive that is so pretty it's unreadable -Thena making him realize how much work the Lamb is doing everyday. Narinder keeps in mind that he will have to make him rest later. The end would be Narinder finally managing to reverse the ritual, and a butt naked, befuddled adult Lamb appearing on the floor of the temple. Narinder takes the crown off of his head and throws it at their face, and yells at them while changing back into his mortal form and stomping out of the temple: "You IDIOT baby god trying to CREATE new magics when you're not even able to master the old ones completely I CAN'T BELIEVE you would try something so stupid do you even realize how much of a pain in the ass it was to understand your weird logic and clean your mess I SWEAR if you ever do something like that I'll let you rot in whatever pit you dig for yourself AND DON'T YOU DARE SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE RESURRECTION LIST-" And slams the door on his way out, leaving the lamb astounded.

Cut to Narinder getting back to his house in his tree, and flopping on his bed, exhausted. He massages his arms, visibly relieved to have them back to normal, without the pain. He sighs with a little smile, stretches, curls into a ball and falls asleep.

That's how the lamb finds him later when they carefully come to talk to him after hearing about all of what happened. Except the black cat loaf on the bed changed into a baby.

Rinse and repeat.

[miedei]

hii, i saw your requests are open, so i was thinking how about spencer and reader have a fwb thing going on, but he always told her not to get attached, so she breaks things off and spencer seems fine with that, until he realizes that she goes on dates with other people so maybe they fight about it and they confess their feelings

YES i love this concept nonnie my love this is amazing

not jealous

ex-fwb!spencer gets jealous, but he doesn't have any feelings for you... right?

cw: a little suggestive i think, i can't be held responsible for the things i think ab spencer reid, wrote this in a fugue state that's the only way i can explain this

wc: 1.2k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Penelope Garcia is one of Spencer's favourite people in the world, but at this very moment he feels the shameful urge to tell her to shut up.

"Honey, you'd love him! He's a doctor at the hospital a few streets down, so he understands the whole married-to-the-job thing, and he's smart! Just one date, my love, please? You can totally ghost him afterward if you hate him, though I don't think you will," Garcia is perched on your desk, right across from Spencers, so he can't tune this out, despite his repeated attempts to.

You can't help but sigh, staring up at Garcia as she continues to speak. She means well, you know that. You never told her what happened, but she can tell that you've been lonely, and she's doing everything she can to help.

You can't tell her, you know that, but it doesn't stop you from wanting to.

"It's probably best if we stay like this. We can be coworkers, friends. It'd be easier if we stay unattached."

The words Spencer said to you months ago are still fresh in your mind. You'd agreed, drunk on the feeling of being wanted, and you were aware that feelings would make things more complicated. You knew that, and yet-

"Spencer, we need to stop. I can't do this no-strings-attached thing anymore."

"Then we can- we can stop. We'll stay friends, right?"

"Right."

Months of stolen moments, hotel room beds, and tangled limbs had gone to your head, and cutting it off had been the best thing to do. Spencer had made it clear that your arrangement was only viable when both of you didn't have feelings, and you knew that.

Getting over someone is hard enough, but Spencer Reid is worse. He's always there, soft smiles and rambling conversations. He seemingly hasn't been affected by the end of your situation at all.

Snapping back to reality, you look up at Garcia, who's looking at you with a hopeful smile. You can see Spencer out of the corner of your eye, staring at his monitor like he couldn't care less who you date.

It's infuriating.

He's over it! He was probably never as attached as you were, why would he care if you date?

"You know what? Give me his number."

"Yes!" Garcia pumps a fist before swooping down to press a kiss to your cheek. "You won't regret this, I swear!" She grabs a business card out of her pocket and hands it to you, squeezing you one more time before flouncing off.

You fondle the stiff cardboard once, before placing it down on your desk.

Spencer hates him. James Lee. The cursive scripture on the business card stares up at him, mocking him as he tries to work. Your desk is always neat, knickknacks all in their proper spot, so the card is out of place, that's why Spencer can't stop sneaking looks at it.

He's a doctor. So is Spencer. Three times over! If you wanted to date a doctor, why not look for him instead of James Lee, MD.

A PhD's much better than an MD anyway. More effort.

He sighs. He's being petulant, he knows that. You're allowed to date people.

Even if Spencer's the one that knows the way you stretch when you've just woken up. Even if he's the one that's felt your skin under his hands. Even if he's the one that's learned how to elicit those sounds from you.

He can't take it any more, rising abruptly from his desk, stomping over to the kitchenette. The coffee pot is nearly empty, and he pours the dregs into his cup, spooning sugar into it with barely restrained movements.

He can hear Emily humming, Morgan tapping his pen against his desk. He can hear you, typing away at your phone.

He can't take it any more.

Stalking over to his desk, he picks up a random file, and stands by your elbow.

"I need to talk to you about this file. Can you help me find the other report?" He all but melts with relief when you set down your phone, following him to the storage room readily.

Being in close quarters like this causes memories to come rushing back, and you can't help the blush that comes to your face. Shaking your head slightly, you look up at Spencer, resolutely shutting out the images in your mind.

"What report are we looking for?"

He looks sheepish, but his eyes are intense as he looks down at you.

"There's no report. I need to talk to you." You tilt your head in confusion, focusing entirely on him. "Don't go on a date with him."

"What?"

"That guy." He nearly spits out his words. "Garcia's friend. Don't go out with him."

What? He's acting weird, completely still as his eyes blaze into yours.

"Why do you care if I go out with him? Garcia said he's a good guy, I trust her."

He shakes his head. "I'm- I'm sure he's normal. Nice. But you shouldn't go out with him."

He's infuriating, dancing around whatever he means.

"Why, Spencer? I think this would be good for me! I want to have fun."

"With him? You don't know him! Why not go out with someone you-" He cuts himself off, his hand flying to his hair in frustration. "Why this guy? Why not someone you know?" If it weren't Spencer, you'd say he was growling, his eyes dark.

Is he angry at you for going out with this guy?

"What? Are you seriously mad at me? For what?" His eyes flash at your words.

"Why date him? Why not-"

"Who would I date? You? Are you angry at me for dating someone else when we never dated at all? Spencer, you wanted no feelings! I did what you asked, I ended- whatever we were, because you said we shouldn't involve feelings!" Your chest tightens, looking away from him.

"What are you saying? You ended it because... Why didn't you tell me?" He ducks his head, trying to meet your gaze. You've had enough. Enough of his maddening words, making you feel bad for doing what he asked of you.

"Spencer, you're being unfair. What more do you want me to tell you? Do you want me to tell you that I wanted more? I ended it because I caught feelings, and you didn't want that, so I told you we had to stop because I couldn't hide it from you, not when we were always together, and-"

You're stunned into silence when his hands come up to frame your face, impossibly gentle as large fingers trace your jaw.

"You're right, I said that." A hand travels higher, cupping your cheek. "I shouldn't have, though. I should've... should've told you."

You can't help but whisper, the intimacy of the moment blanketing the small room in quiet. "Told me what?"

As if in answer, he ducks his head towards you, and you instinctually crane your head upwards to meet his lips.

It's practised, even if it's been a while. Your hands travel up his sides, bracing your palms on either side of his jaw as his come down to grip your waist.

His lips are soft yet insistent, pressing against you like he's trying to impart a message. Lips part, breath stolen, and it's minutes before either of you pulls back.

Your forehead presses against his, chest heaving. His eyes are light, and a breathless giggle leaves his lips as he looks at you.

"Don't go on that date. Please."

"You're going to have to take that up with Garcia."

[teaboot]

hiiiiiii so i have concepts of a story that were halted months ago due to my inability to fathom writing From The Perspective Of A Toddler. & now i have learned that you apparently remember the experience VIVIDLY. & i would like to ask,, if you would be so kind,, if you would be amenable to. giving tips. answering questions. etc

for instance the extremely crucial Do You Remember When You Learned How To Spell Your Name. & What Was Thinking Like

. pretty please i had lost hope

Oh, sure! Yeah, no problem

Kay so I learned how to read at around 4 and was p much fluent around 5- I remember cause I LOVED Calvin and Hobbes and Calvin was one year older than me

When I was 3ish I remember my mom starting with the alphabet, and I remembered learning it in chunks- so I usually didn’t forget just a single letter, but the whole chunk. ABCD-EFG-HIJK, like how the song goes, but if I got stuck on D and couldn’t remember E I’d jump to H just grasping for the next thing I could remember. And she made me learn in German too, so I got the idea of certain letters being able to make different noises

*(English alphabet LMNOP was the hardest cause it sounded like a word- ELEMENOPEE- and since all letter names sound like words I thought it was just one letter, like DOUBLE-YOU and WHY.)

**(My favourite German letter was OOPSILON ‘cause my mom made it sound like something you’d say after falling down in a silly way- like “whoopsie-doodles” or smthn)

So by the time it came to reading and writing, I already had most of the sounds memorized- the hardest things to remember where letters that COULD sound the same but weren’t interchangeable- like G and J- and which letters were usually in pairs and when- like -CK and Qu- -and which directions they faced when I wrote them down.

The most common backwards-letters were J, L, N, b, d, S, Z, a, q, and r.

I’m not getting doxxed today but my name had letter/s that I consistently wrote backwards.

In early grades, our teacher wrote our names on big pieces of paper and taped them to the top of our desks so we could see them every day, and let us decorate around them with pencil crayons so they’d be personalized. So remembering the right letters in the right order was pretty easy pretty fast, but some would still be backwards.

After we had the alphabet song down, we all got workbooks with 26 double-sides pages or so where there was one line of a single letter spelled in dashes we could trace, like Aa Aa Aa, then a line of capitals we had to free-write, like AAAA, then a line in lowercase- aaaa. After there was a line of text using that letter we could trace- Anna ate an apple- and then like five lines where we’d repeat it.

We were only supposed to do one or two a day, and I frequently got in trouble for blowing past that.

We had other workbooks just like that for learning cursive, but IMO cursive was easier because we already knew the letters, we just had to learn how they looked then they were fancy and how to connect them fluidly.

The worst part of learning to write was keeping the pencil steady. Holding a pencil to write when you’ve never done it before is kind of uncomfortable till you find a position that works for you, and it takes a while to get a feel for how close your fingers should be to one end. On top of that, it’s super hard to get a tidy line of any shape until your motor skills catch up- and they only catch up if you DO it enough.

My least-favourite things about learning to write was guessing which words ended in a silent E, whether or not a Wr- word was just an R-, and remembering that Q was always followed by a U.

Th- Wh- Ch- -Ce and Sh- sounds had an entire class one day, and a separate poster on the board with trains and people shushing so we’d know which one was which. Like a cheat sheet! Our teacher would sometimes tape construction paper over them before class started or during recess and we wouldn’t notice until after she announced a surprise pop quiz.

I hope some of this was what you were looking for?

Good luck writing! :D

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: No Credit to Fate

Pairing: Juju Watkins x Reader

Fandom: USC Women’s Basketball

Summary: she believes in us… and that’s what matters the most.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @paige05bby , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

Living with Juju meant learning to love chaos.

Not the dramatic, emotional kind—but the kind where there were basketball shoes in the kitchen, protein bar wrappers under couch cushions, and Deuce, our chunky little Frenchie, somehow snoring louder than a grown man at 3 a.m.

It also meant waking up next to the softest version of Juju—the hoodie-still-on, hair-in-a-bun, drooling-on-the-pillow kind of soft. The kind I fell in love with our freshman year when we were just two USC athletes pretending not to notice how often our paths “accidentally” crossed.

Sophomore year hit different, though. We had our own apartment now. A cozy two-bedroom off-campus with string lights on the balcony and a pink ceramic dog bowl that said “Deucey” in cursive.

That morning, she was sitting on the couch, hoodie pulled over her head, with Deuce curled against her thigh. She was scrolling on her iPad, lip tucked between her teeth, headphones half-on. I walked out of the bedroom holding her water bottle and her keys.

“You forgot these.”

Juju looked up and smiled, reaching for both.

“My savior,” she said, then leaned over to kiss my cheek. “And the only person Deuce likes more than me.”

“He’s literally obsessed with you,” I said, reaching down to ruffle his ears. “I’m just the second mom who feeds him when you’re at practice.”

Juju grinned. “Second? Nah. You’re tied for first. Dude cries if you’re late coming home.”

“Just like you, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wow. Okay.”

I laughed and plopped down beside her. “What’re you watching?”

She showed me the screen—highlights from her last game.

“I missed three open looks in the first half,” she mumbled, annoyed. “Need to fix that.”

“You also had nine assists and twenty points.”

“Still.”

I kissed her shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

She turned to face me, head tilting slightly. “You love it.”

I did. God, I did.

Our day unfolded like most do. She went to lift, I went to class. She texted me midday asking if Deuce pooped, and I sent her a picture of the evidence (she’s very hands-on about parenting, okay). By evening, we were both home, sprawled across the couch, half-watching a movie while Deuce snored between us.

Juju had one sock on, her hair down now, and I was curled under her arm with my hand resting on her stomach.

“Remember when we used to sneak into each other’s dorms?” I murmured.

She smirked. “Yeah. And Nika caught me climbing out your window and called me Spider-Man for a month.”

“She still does.”

We laughed, and then I got quiet.

She noticed immediately.

“What’s up?”

I hesitated, playing with the string of her hoodie. “Do you think we’re soulmates?”

Juju blinked at me like I’d just asked her if she wanted to move to Nebraska and live off the grid.

Then she scoffed.

“The fuck?” she said. “After all the work I’ve done? Nuh uh. Fate gets no credit.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

She sat up a little, lifting Deuce so she could face me directly. “Soulmates implies we were just meant to be. Like some magical shit just made this happen.”

I tilted my head, curious. “You don’t believe in that?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I believe in the fact that I spent three weeks figuring out how to flirt with you without looking like an idiot. That I learned how you take your coffee, your sandwich order, how you like your notes color-coded. I didn’t fall into this—I chose you. Over and over. Even when it was hard. Especially then.”

My throat tightened. She wasn’t yelling. She wasn’t even mad. Just…passionate. Juju was always passionate.

“So you don’t believe in fate?”

“I believe in us,” she said, eyes locked on mine. “But I’m not giving fate the win for something we built with our own damn hands.”

I smiled. “That’s actually kind of beautiful.”

She leaned in. “I’m kind of beautiful.”

I kissed her. “Yeah, yeah. You are.”

Later, we were making dinner together—well, I was making dinner while she danced to SZA with a spatula in her hand. Deuce sat on the floor like our little sous chef, occasionally sneezing at the smell of garlic.

“Y’know,” she said between dances, “it’s weird how normal this all feels.”

“What do you mean?”

She leaned against the counter, eyes soft. “Like… we’re twenty. Sophomores. But it feels like we’ve been building a life together forever.”

I turned down the heat on the pasta and joined her, wiping sauce off her chin.

“I know,” I said. “But that’s how you know it’s real.”

She nodded slowly, then asked, “You ever think about after college?”

“All the time.”

She raised an eyebrow. “With me?”

“Who else is gonna co-parent Deuce?”

She laughed and hugged me from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder. “You’d come with me if I go pro?”

I turned to face her fully. “There’s not a version of my future that doesn’t include you.”

Juju didn’t respond immediately. She just leaned in and kissed me—slow, certain, grateful.

When we finally pulled apart, she whispered, “You know, if I did believe in soulmates… you’d still be mine.”

“Same.”

Deuce sneezed again like he was annoyed by the romance.

That night, curled up in bed, her legs tangled with mine and the sounds of the city humming in the distance, I whispered:

“I don’t care if it was fate or hard work. I just care that we’re here.”

She didn’t open her eyes. Just smiled, half-asleep, and replied, “Here is my favorite place.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[awordsmith]

where you came from 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you receive a letter detailing the death of your grandfather, head back to your hometown, and wonder if you ever should have left.

katcember

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s8 genre: angst to fluff (comfort) content warnings: proofed! not much sad angst (more sad angst if that makes any sense), death of a family member/funeral, reader's hometown is in Europe (purely for aesthetic), more plot than spencer (kind of idk) reid with warmth word count: 11.2k a/n: this was my one of my first ideas when first posting on tumblr so i really do hope you enjoy it! there are a few words not in english, but sometimes when writing in english it's easier to say something in another language because english can be really...corny sometimes...anyway ily cari !!

The loops and curves connecting the words in that elegant font you grew up learning stuck in the back of your mind like a non-removable tumor. You could feel it. You had a time limit–but not to live. Two days. In two days you would go back to Europe, back to a continent you had thought you’d left behind years ago, a place you had thought you held no attachment to… no emotion.

Maybe, though, it was the fact that you had been gone so long, had not once gone to visit in all your time in America, and now–now your time had run out–or rather, another, no longer invisible hourglass had lost the last of its sand and someone had flipped it again, setting a new timeline in motion.

Your grandpa, your beloved nonno*–oh how you just couldn’t believe it. 

It had hit you so suddenly, your mother normally sent you letters, you didn’t mind her old ways, she was raised by the man who taught you cursive and calligraphy–with craft you thought ancient, and technology was still rather new, and she wasn’t one to conform to change.

You sighed, shifting in your seat as Hotch and the rest of the team gave the profile. The lights were too bright; you stared at the floor, one leg crossed over the other, and your arms folded. You tried keeping your focus. Yes, you were dealing with your own problems, and yes, you had just gotten the letter yesterday, but these children needed you now–and if you couldn’t be at your best with a personal issue weighing on your shoulders, could you even call yourself an FBI agent?

Emily had just left the team a month ago and her replacement wasn’t bad, but she wasn’t Emily. You desperately needed your friend right now, your soul sister. She could tell you what to do and how to handle things like this, she’s been doing this a lot longer than you, has more experience–and she understood you, at least where family matters were concerned.

“You okay?” Spencer whispered as the officers went back to their desks or collected in groups–some even leaving–probably to talk about the best course of action. This guy was going to strike again, every indication of it was there on the board.

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling your stomach growl.

He furrowed his brows, “when’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhm,” you stood, rubbing your wrist, “I’m not sure, but I’m fine, really,” you gave him a tight smile walking over to the board, “We know he’s targeting school busses on their drop off, he’s insecure about something, his physical strength? That’s the only reason he’d subdue the bus driver in a blitz attack.”

Spencer called your name–almost as a whine–and you paused. “Look,” he said, “I don’t think the rest of the team’s noticed, so if you eat, I won’t say anything…”

You frowned, rubbing an eye, “fine.”

You’d think a look of triumph came over him, but you’d be wrong. He looked resigned, but not indifferent, it was more of a soft relief. Spencer had no idea what you were going through, you hadn’t told anyone–and you weren’t really planning on it. You liked to keep your personal life separate from work as much as possible, that’s one of the reasons you and Emily had clicked so well–you were nearly identical in that department, and, well, you both could agree Clyde was a little bit of an ass. You’d never worked directly with her during her Interpol days, but when she left, Clyde became your team lead, and–well, actually, that’s, pretty self-explanatory.

A few years in, you were able to transfer to the BAU, you’d performed considerably well and Clyde had recommended and vouched for you and–well, Emily knew Clyde, okay perhaps your connections helped a little, but was it really your connections or your skill because without your skill, you wouldn’t have been recommended now would you have?

Regardless, you had known how massive the opportunity was, which is why you’d said yes without a second thought. You joined the team two years ago, when Emily had shown no sign of leaving. You sighed, rubbing your hands together, they were sweaty and you felt sick, maybe you should try eating something.

“Alright,” you affirmed again, “come on you’re driving.”

You threw the keys that had been lying on the table next to the board at Spencer, he’d been close to Emily too, you assumed they still spoke sometimes when they got the chance as you did with her. Your mutual bond was probably–at least you considered it the most probable–reason for why you grew so close in such a short amount of time.

You were close in age, too, which you assumed added to the comfort.

Spencer took you to the closest fast food and you ate in the car devouring each bite. He asked for coffee and “real” sugar on the side, and then he sat there and watched you eat, and when you were finished he drove you back to the police station. 

The case took you to Santa Monica, California. Penelope had ushered you all into the room as soon as you’d got into the office this morning, honestly, you were expecting it, and with the hurriedness she had, you knew it couldn’t be anywhere near good–though you considered none of the cases you received “good”, this one involved children, and it seemed they were the prime target, but what you couldn’t figure out was why.

He didn’t kill all the children–in fact, in both cases, the unsub only killed three kids; it seemed as if he was targeting specific children, but they all came from relatively different backgrounds, and both schools–when considering the environment and looking at it from a geographical perspective–weren’t at all in near-to-similar neighborhoods. Even the two kids that were killed on the same bus had no connection, they weren’t friends, the witnesses said the boys stayed away from each other unintentionally, they just never seemed to cross paths and it just did not make sense.

You wanted–no needed–to figure this out, for the next potential victims–but the team had no clue as to which school he’d hit next. For this reason, Penelope was emailing schools at the masses to keep them on high alert.

“He’s targeting school buses,” you said, taking a sip of your water. “Not schools…” Spencer nodded and you asked, “Why?”

“Perhaps something happened to him on a school bus?”

“It’s important,” you agreed, “but wouldn’t that make him–like–fifteen?”

“No,” Spencer shook his head, “a fifteen-year-old wouldn’t have this much time, he’d have been caught by now.”

“The survivors say he wore a mask, he called the students by name–”

“But not their name–maybe he’s living in a delusion?” Spencer’s speaking sped up, “maybe he’s not fifteen but he’s reliving his teenage days. Maybe he was bullied and now he wants revenge?”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain going after high school kids now. Why not just go after the people his anger is directed toward?”

“Because he can’t? Maybe they’re substitutes?”

“We need to tell the others.”

Spencer nodded, you rushed out of the car and into the police station, catching Morgan, Hotch, and JJ leaning over a phone, talking to Penelope. You explained your theory and funnily enough, Penelope had just found school records that supported it. Each victim had been suspended within the past year, accused of bullying or inflicting some type of physical or mental pain on another student.

Complaints about the victims were filed by students, so now you knew your unsub had access to all this information, the question was what title did someone need in order to garner this details.

“That has to be how he’s choosing his victims,” Morgan said.

Hotch thought for a second, then nodded, “All alright, call Rossi and Blake, tell them to get here, Penelope, are you still on?”

“Running and ready, sir,” she confirmed, “All alright, give me a list of the next potential targets, all kids who have been suspended or complained about in the last year due to bullying, narrow the search to males, fifteen older.”

“Sir, do you want me to narrow the search between the two schools?”

“No,” Hotch sighed, looking each of you in your eyes, “I want the entire city–”

“Hotch–” 

Spencer’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but Hotch cut him off, “you really want to sit around waiting for another body?”

Everyone went silent and Spencer’s eyes flitted to you for a moment, almost as in reassurance.

“He’s right, Hotch,” you stepped forward, trying to push away all thoughts of what was to be expected of you in two days.

“You,” Hotch narrowed his eyes as if just now suspecting something was up with you. 

A silent staring contest ensued, though it was quickly broken when an officer burst into your makeshift bullpen. “Another body was discovered.” Your heart sunk and you glanced to Spencer for comfort, his eyes drifting to yours for the same thing.

It always just seemed a little bit more painful when children were involved. Your stomach lurched and you felt sick, wanting to throw up the food you’d just eaten. You just wanted this all to be over so you could focus on your family issues. It might have been selfish, but wasn’t that your right? You couldn’t think about this right now, you needed to find this guy before he murdered another innocent kid.

“Give Garcia the geographical point and have her narrow the search.”

Hotch directed at Spencer, turning to JJ, “Stay here, help him and Rossi figure out what career our unsub might have. Morgan go Blake to check out the new crime scene, and,” he turned to you, “Come with me.”

You turned to Spencer one last time, not wanting to leave him. You were always together, working together, that is. Hotch never split you up so you thought there must be a reason for it now, but why, well, you couldn’t know for certain. You shook your head and followed him out the door. He seemed to wait for you with pause, his expression unreadable, almost like he was analyzing you. You tilted your head in warning and he finally relented.

“Let’s go.”

From that point forward, there wasn’t really much of a struggle, it just sucked you had been called in so late, and that another kid had died before you caught the guy. Four kids in total, three crime scenes. The ride back on the jet was tense.

Everyone seemed to need their own space whenever you dealt with a case like this, you, well, you’d play with Spencer’s hair, if you were really tired, he’d let you lean against his shoulder or use his lap as a pillow and sleep. This time, though, you were restless and you couldn’t find the need to sleep anywhere. You knew you probably should,but…it was just too much.

You couldn’t stay seated, you paced back and forth, your mind fleeting from the case to the letter you’d received yesterday. You’d brought it with you and you hesitated only for a second before pulling it from your bag and sitting in one of the empty rows. You could feel eyes on you, though they were trying to pretend they weren’t looking.

You wanted to say you could see them, say you weren’t in need of monitoring, but you were the youngest on the team, and despite your closeness, with Emily particularly, they all cared for you, which is why when JJ slid into the seat across from you you resisted rolling your eyes.

“Are you okay? You’ve been kind of… not yourself.”

“I’m fine, JJ, thanks.” You returned your eyes to your mother’s letter.

“You sure?” she asked, “is it your mother? Has something happened?”

She motioned toward the letter. They’d gotten accustomed to seeing you read over the renaissance looking artifacts throughout the day. That wasn’t the unusual part, no JJ was talking about how you weren’t attached to Spencer’s hip, how you avoided them all almost the entire day, and how you had been so focused on the case as if you were trying to make something else dissappear.

“We’re all here for you, you know.” She reached her hand out, rubbing her thumb over it.

“Yeah,” Morgan motioned for JJ to scoot over, “we’re a family, you know.”

“Aww, I wish I was there,” Penelope said from the other side of Morgan’s phone. You wanted to scoff, but a sad smile pressed to your mouth instead. They were cornering you as if they’d planned it.

Your eyes flitter over toward Rossi and Hotch who were pretending not to listen and Blake, who was evidently really not, then they landed on Spencer’s who stood suddenly from his normal spot in the front of the jet and began walking toward you. “See, even pretty boy’s upset.”

“I am not upset,” Spencer scoffed, sliding into the seat next to you. But then he held your gaze as if trying to communicate with his eyes, “but we are here for you, you know I’m always here, and…I’m sure if you called, Emily would be too.”

You took a breath, and when it came out it was shuddering, and that was the first time crying had crossed your mind. So, you said–first in general, “My grandfather just passed, I’m supposed to leave in two days for his funeral.” You let them take it in, then, “I need time off, Hotch.”

A snort came from Rossi and the team frowned at him, but you smiled, why was he so unserious all the time? You rolled your eyes, but then Penelope spoke up from the phone in Morgan’s pocket, “if you need someone to go with you, I’d be willing.”

Your eyes swelled at her offer and you opened your mouth to say ‘Really?’ but Spencer said, “I’d go too–you know, if you wanted that is,” before you could open your mouth.

“Thank you,” you nodded, “I’d like that…and you know��it wouldn’t hurt if the rest of you came as well,” your admission scared you, what were you doing? This is the exactly the opposite response Emily would have given, but maybe you weren’t as strong as Emily, and maybe…maybe that was okay.

“When are we leaving again?” Rossi sighed, pulling out his phone, “I’ll have to check my schedule.” And with that you let loose a snort, appreciating the kindness of your team.

“Jack, Will, and Henry are welcome to come as well.” You said, “And that girlfriend of yours, Hotch,” you added, “I think I’d be able to brave my family again if I had the Guardians of the Galaxy with me.”

“What about Strauss?” JJ suddenly asked, “What are we gonna tell her?”

“Oh you let me worry about her,” Blake smiled, though you had been sure she wasn’t even listening.

“You’re from Europe right?”

You huffed a sigh, “Yes, Rossi, I’m sure we’re not cousins.”

A few chuckled as Rossi responded with a nod and a smug grin,  “Just checking.”

You claimed the window seat, forcing Spencer to sit in the middle, though you had to climb over him multiple times to use the bathroom, you didn’t care, and neither did he…much. You thought you’d be able to sleep, but just like on the jet, you found yourself restless, and Spencer, well, he couldn’t help but ask.

The first question was simple, “how do you feel about going home?”

You laughed, a bitter expression framing your face, “I don’t know.” You were lying, though he wasn’t sure if you knew that fact yourself as you seemed genuine. The only way he knew for sure your response wasn’t what your subconscious truly thought was was by the way your lips pressed together right before you spoke, that was your tell.

He didn't know if you knew you did it, but he’d caught on to it pretty quickly when you’d first met, it had been something small, but he remembered it as clearly as if it were playing out right now in front of him. It had to do with your favorite food. Morgan had said he’d overheard you talking to Emily about how you wanted a certain order from this new restaurant because it tasted like the one you had back home, and to surprise you, he had brought it in one day and set it on your desk, brimming with energy to see your reaction.

You were confused at first, but when you saw him, you’d grinned, prying to box open, then your eyebrows had shot up and he’d asked you if it was your favorite food. You’d pressed your lips together and nodded, grimacing with the first bite, “I love it, thank you.”

Later on, he’d smacked Morgan for the first time upside the head, running away quickly after, Morgan had chased him for some time until Hotch had told them to stop acting like, “idiots,” and thst, “Jack acthas better self control than you two most days.”

“Do you have any pets at home?” He asked, watching you stretch out your arms above your head, deflating against your seat.

You smiled, “I used to have a dog, but she died before I left for university.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowned.

“Don’t be, she wasn’t really mine, but my sister’s.”

He nodded, it was early morning, everyone had gotten up way before they’d wanted to, except him. He was ready to go a bit too early, and when he’d picked you up at your apartment, it seemed as if you hadn’t slept much either.

“Hey, Spencer?” You suddenly whispered.

“Yeah?” He stared down at you as you began to move, causing him to shift until his body aligned with yours and your back hit his chest.

“Do you want to hear a boring story?” He quirked a brow, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. To the normal eye, you seemed incredibly close, strangely close–a couple kind of close, but to the team and between the two of you, it was more like the relationship Penelope and Dereck had, although instead of heaty words, it was comforting gestures like this, that, and you were always attached at the hip, you were partners with each other before anyone else, work partners that is.

“What’s a boring story?” He asked and you didn’t know if he was trying to be poetic, but it brought a smile to your face.

“My grandfather,” you focussed your eyes on the window, finding warmth in being pressed against him, his arms acting as a blanket that wrapped around you. “He was old in age, I mean, I knew that even when I was a kid, but there were times,” you shook your head recalling the moments in your mind.

Spencer kept quiet, listening intently as he rubbed circles on the exposed inner corner of your elbow.

“He would take me on adventures and back then, he seemed so young, so exceptionally immortal. It was otherworldly,” your voice got quieter as you continued, “I don’t know how to face him,” you sighed–God it seemed like all you could do for the past 45 hours was sigh.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me about the adventures.”

You paused, turning your head slightly to see him, you’d done this countless times, but for some reason, it seemed more pertinent now. More….significant, “my grandad,” you murmured, “he was my captain. That was the game. We’d go to the pier sometimes, or the forest, and he’d always have these elaborate scavenger hunts set up in advance. He really–” you blinked and breathed, “...he was really good at things like that.”

“Setting up games?” Spencer asked incredulously, but you knew it was good-natured, meant to bring the smile that had so evidently fallen off back to your face.

“At crafting and cultivating imagination.”

“Ah,” Spencer nodded, “yeah how did I miss that?”

You smacked is chest playfully.

“How do you feel about seeing your family, how long has it been?”

You gazed out the window again, there was low chatter around the plain, it was dark, the lights were off, and most people were asleep. You pondered briefly about why Spencer was still up and deigned to ask him when sunlight shone through the window, blinding you momentarily. It wasn’t a lot nor was it as bright as you were used to, and it was quickly hidden behind the clouds once more, but you smiled at it anyway.

“A new beginning,” you raised your hand, blocking the slight sunlight that filtered in now and then, not really sure what you meant.

Spencer chuckled, reaching out to grab your wris. He held it, waving it around as if you were casting a non-verbal spell.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he whispered, “but whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

“I know you will,” you replied as easily as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “You always are.”

And again, for a moment, you pondered why that was, why Spencer always seemed to be the only person–other than Emily–who was always there for you when you needed someone, why he was the only person you wanted there when things went wrong. 

It was a question that had bubbled up over the last month since Emily had left. You’d begun to lean on him a lot more, yes, but you could very well just have as easily called Emily. Spencer wasn’t lying, you knew she would pick up no matter what, but oddly, you found you didn't want to call her because–you already had the person you needed with you. And he would always be there, even if you stopped working together, Spencer would always be there.

You were sure you could call him in the middle of the night and he’d come running. But why would you want to? You shook the dangerous thought away. 

“It’s sunrise,” he said, pulling your attention back to the window. Slowly, he brought your hand to once again rest on your stomach.

“We still have about 5 hours,” you sighed, noting the time.

He leaned back, shifting in his seat, “Then we better get comfortable.”

You wondered what you’d do first when you landed, would you have so much jet lag you wouldn’t be able to see your family for some time? Would you be able to sleep? Finally? Where would your grandpa be? Probably at the funeral home. Would other family members be traveling into the city for the funeral? If they were they’d have to stay at the main house, there wewould be no other space available in the others.

You were only staying three days, and if Stauss called you in early, you’d have no choice, but to leave before that. You were able to solve one more case before you left, though you had still strained for sleep, everyone else seemed to be a little overly excited. Blake stayed to help other teams, she was new and you weren’t that close, though she didn’t seem to mind.

She was like Rossi in that department, unable to take days away from work as she ran on catching these guys. But for you, and everyone else on the team, you were sure, you couldn’t wait for your days off.

They were the closest thing you got to normalcy, that and time with Spencer outside of work, it was time in your world, one where bad guys didn’t exist, one where you could escape into the realities of a Charlotte Bontë novel, one your grandpa had gifted you before you could remember a life without it.

You wanted to thank Spencer, but you didn’t know how. You wanted to thank everyone, really, but Spencer most of all, and instead of thinking about why, of letting it plague your thoughts, you leaned further into him, rubbed your face into his soft sweater vest, and closed your eyes.

Penelope threw her head back as she grabbed her suitcase, “where to now?” Spencer pushed her sunhat out of the way. She was in for a rude awakening, it was winter in Europe, and though most people were on holiday, that only meant the airports would be extra lively.

“First, let’s make sure we have everyone.” You began counting of heads, narrowing your eyes, “where’s Hotch?”

“We’re here!” Jack came running, Hotch sprinting after him. It was not too odd a sight, for you to see Hotch in dad mode, he normally had that look on when Spencer did something stupid or Penelope said too much on speaker–but this, oh this was gold.

Rossi snapped a photo with an old camera he’d brought along, chuckling when Hotch glared at him. “Alright,” you nodded, noting Hotch’s girlfriend slowly filling the space beside him. “Now, my immediate family isn’t that big, but the rest of the family does live in the same town, so you’ve all been assigned housemates.”

“Housemates?” JJ raised a brow.

“I’ll,” you checked the time, “explain on the train, come on.”

You were honestly surprised everyone had come, you’d invited them because you truly had thought them being here would lessen the pain, but to think that they all wanted to be here for you as well, even Rossi had come–and he hated taking vacation time. Though, the most surprising had to be the fact that Blake had actually succeeded in getting Straus to let you all come.

You stayed together, it was easy for some, though others kept getting sidetracked. You stopped a few times to look at a few shops and monuments, though you kept explaining to Penelope she’d have more than enough time later to go on her mini explorations.

You supposed it was normal though, that was how you were your first time in America–your first time in any new country or state, really. Most everyone had never been to Europe, even for you it felt like stepping into a storybook. You hadn’t been home in so long, it was like a lost memory.

Though afternoon, the day was getting dark already, and people were milling about, readying for Christmas–your heart lurched, and though you tried not thinking about him too much, you couldn’t help but wonder if your grandfather had been alone during his passing, what were his last words? His last thoughts? Rainclouds not only drew to the sky but your mind as well.

You felt more than guilty, that was the only way you could describe the horrid emotion twisting in your gut ever since you’d received the letter. You hadn’t seen your parents–your sister–face to face in a long time. It was part of the guilt of moving to America without giving them a heads up and for leaving when you knew they wanted you to stay.

Your older sister had stayed, why couldn’t you have? There really was no explanation other than you just couldn’t. It felt small, suffocating. You loved your hometown, but eventually, you knew there had to be something more out there, something more calling your name, and the longer you stayed, the more you buried that feeling, the less motivated to do anything you got.

So, you saved up during your uni days and took the first position in America you’d found, which is how you ended up at Interpol, climbing the ranks slowly but surely and eventually working with Clyde.

You reached the train station, the cool weather making everything around you a tint of blue. The benches that sat in front of the train tracks were taken up by Jack, Henry, and Will, who’d been carrying a ton of baby supplies. You paused, checked your watch again, nodded, and turned your face toward everyone again, “Alright people, here’s the plan. My family knows you're coming, one of the reasons they were okay with it is because we own a few properties and can house you all, hence your housemates, or if you prefer, hosts.” You glanced at JJ, “You, Will, and Henry will be staying with my sister and her husband. She has two kids so she’s used to the noise.”

You had thought about letting Hotch stay with your sister, but that would have just been too weird. No, instead you’d paired Hotch up with one of your cousins, who was married, but had no kids. Jack was older, no longer in diapers, and had a controlled temper, so it seemed perfect.

You relayed this information and moved on, “Penelope and Morgan, you’re staying with my aunt and uncle on my dad’s side, trust me, you’ll be thanking me–and Rossi, you’re with my aunt an uncle on my mom’s side Is that everyone then?” You looked around, nodding.

“Hang on,” Rossi held up a hand, “I don’t like the way you said that last part.”

“That’s everyone then?” You ignored him, “All alright, the train should be here–” You cut off your sentence as the train pulled into the station, “...right on time.”

 Waiting your turn to step onto the train as people made their way off, you felt around in your pocket for the letter one last time, sighing in relief when you it was still there. You grabbed your suitcase and began pulling it aboard the train when Spencer grabbed your arm and held you back. You glanced at everyone else boarding the train, making sure you had time before turning back, “Uhm,” he frowned, looking awkward, “where am I staying?”

“Hmm?” Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at your watch again, “with me and my parents.” You said it so simply, as if it were an afterthought–as if it was so incredibly obvious that you didn’t think you had to mention it.

“Oh,” he didn’t know how to feel, he was a little embarrassed, but there was something else…sick? He didn’t know, but it made him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Come on,” you latched your hand onto his wrist and yanked him onto the train, “before it leaves without us.”

You honestly wanted to go straight to your parent's house, but you knew you had to introduce your co-workers/friends to your family so when you left it wasn’t so weird, though the only one who complained was Rossi, you couldn’t blame him, but at the same time you found it funny. He swore up and down you had put him in this position on purpose and he didn’t find it funny–“Not one bit,” he’d said right before you left him in his room. “I’ll get you back for this,” he’d warned.

Once you’d left JJ, Will, and Henry at your sisters–she hadn’t been home, thank God, as you didn’t think you could face her just yet–you and Spencer hailed a cab and had all but drifted off to sleep during the ride to your childhood home. Your mom had been the firstborn, so she’d gotten the main house, though your grandparents never left. They had kind acted as your second parents growing up and you were incredibly close, especially you and your grandfather…and now he was gone. You bit the inner corner of your cheek, feeling like you wanted to cry but just couldn’t find the comfort to do so.

Spencer noticed, of course, that you were leaning on him, and had been the entire cab ride. When the it came to a stop in front of a large, three-story Victorian house, he hesitated before shaking you awake. He wouldn’t have done it if he knew what to do, but this wasn’t his house and this was the first time he was going to meet your parents, though it excited him, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

You were like–his platonic soulmate, nothing had ever happened between you two and just because you were going to be sleeping in the same house, probably a few feet apart, didn’t mean anything was going to start now. Morgan slept at Penelope’s all the time and though Spencer always suspected they were more, nothing had ever happened, which meant it was possible for a guy and a girl to just be friends–and yet, here is was, palms sweating, mind running, mouth drying as he walked up the trail leading to the front door of your parent’s house.

A knock, and hushed whispers, and then the door opened, your mother standing in the doorway with a bright smile on her face. She called your name and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You wondered if your grandpa was at the funeral home still, if he was cold, which was a stupid thought, he couldn’t feel anything, he was gone, no longer here roaming the earth, telling his outdated jokes and taking you on secret journey’s, and you were no longer that little girl who laughed at his outdated jokes and believed in the magic of his secret journeys.

When you pulled away your mother, with her now thinning, grayed hair pulled into a tight ponytail and the wrinkles lining her frail face–said, “Oh, let me get a look at you.” 

She took a step back and that’s when your father came into view, “Dad,” you smiled, the feeling almost overwhelming.

He pulled you into another hug, and just when you didn’t know if you could handle seeing one more relative you hadn’t seen in ages, your grandmother shouted from somewhere on the first floor, “Is that her? Is she here?”

Your heart seized itself and you took a step back, unknowingly stepping into Spencer’s personal space. You turned to apologize, but your grandmother had already wobbled in on her two dainty legs, as quickly as she could have if in her prime. Her old crone eyes narrowed, “nice of you to grace us with your presence.” She sprinkled salt on the floor as she glowered.

“Mom,” your mother groaned.

“What?” She crossed her arms and turned her head as if she had things better to do than welcome the granddaughter–who’d left everything behind–back into her life.

“It’s fine, Mom,” you reassured as your father went to close the door behind you’d walked in, Spencer gled to your back.

Your grandmother stomped out of the room in old lady fashion. “How are you dear? Have you been getting my letters?”

You cringed, “Yes,” though you never sent one back, you did always text a message, thanking your mom for writing you, she’d only heart it, though, which left you wondering if maybe you should’ve picked up a pen and paper. “I keep them all secure in a drawer.”

She nodded, a placid smile falling to her lips, “Well, you must be tired and–” she glanced at you, then at Spencer, then at your father and held his gaze for a moment before returning her eyes to you, “who’s your…”

“Oh, this is Spencer,” you patted his chest as if that was explanation enough.

Your mother nodded, not really sure how to take it, she turned to Spencer, hoping he’d offer a little more information, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer stared at her hand, contemplating and you were just about to say something about it when he reached out and shook it. Slack-jawed, you eyed him suspiciously, turning away in a huff. When you’d first met him, he’d refused to shake your hand, sure he had come a long way since then, but it still annoyed you for some reason.

“Come, let me show you your rooms.”

Your mother led you up the starcase than faded into a small stairwell, leading up to the second floor. The wood was old mahogany, though you weren’t paying much attention to it. At the end of the left hall was another staircase that led to the third floor, but even half awake you knew it was probably locked. It always had been. 

You recognized the wallpaper, a deep, forest green and you half wondered if the wallpaper in your bedroom had changed, if it had been converted into a guest bedroom. Your mother gave Spencer the guest room down the hall. You waved goonight to him before heading into your room. He paused his eyes taking in your childhood home.

It was so incredibly different from his, but it also felt…small. You were this giant, bubble of energy and a quiet town in Europe just dind’t seem to add up to your personality. He sighed and pulled open the door, you weren’t a few steps away like he had hoped, but you were close enough. He stopped himself–this was completely bizarre, even for him. This was more up–well, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t up his alley.

Tired, you’d turned in for the night, though your eyes caught on all the things you’d left behind, you told yourself you’d look at it in the morning. You were glad everyone was here supporting you, you were especially glad to have Spencer–were glad he came, but then of course he came, that was just the kind of person he was.

You turned off the lamp on the bedside table, burying your face in the sheets, finding yourself still unable to cry, but whispering, “You would have liked him a lot, nonno*.” Which was madness, firstly, why did it matter if you grandfather would have liked Spencer or not. Secondly, your grandfather was gone, and the whole reason you were here was because of that fact. Maybe you just couldn’t accept it yet and that’s why you were thinking all these weird thoughts, why you couldn't cry.

You sighed, shutting your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t dream; to face tomorrow, you would just need sleep. Sleep and a lot of quiet.

You cracked open one eye, light trickling in through the curtains though it wasn’t bright. You left your door ajar as you headed toward the bathroom. There was soft chatter on the first floor, and you were sure your grandmother and parents were awake. The faint aroma of coffee wafted through the air and you wondered if Spencer was up too.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out as he stepped out of the bathroom just as you went to open the door. His hair was wet and he was wearing a white collared shirt under a brown sweater vest. He smiled when he saw you, though your eyes were drawn to the water dripping down his forehead. He was holding a towel, you assumed to try and dry it, though it looked if he hadn’t had much success.

“Morning.” You murmured.

“Good morning,” he echoed, stepping out of the way. “You’re parents said I could,” he motioned behind him, pressing his lips together when you raised a brow. He nodded, “hurry? I am kind of nervous.”

You snorted and shook your head, “sure thing, piccolo*.”

You shut the bathroom door behind you, feeling an airy sensation float through your body as you began pulling your clothes off.

Half an hour later, you found Spencer in his room still trying to dry his hair. “You should just let it air dry.” You voiced, tucking a lock of your own wet hair behind your ear.

He looked up when you opened the door, sighing, and setting the hand towel to the side. His hair was nearly dry, though he was trying to get the wet bits in the back. 

You huffed, climbing on the bed and sitting behind him on your knees, “let me see it.” You began massaging the now-damp towel into his hair, trying to use the little dry parts it still had left. He chuckled, jerking his head slightly when the towel rubbed a sensitive spot. You smirked, “that tickle?”

He huffed another laugh, “stop,” he called your name in warning, “I’m serious.”

You laughed, running the towel teasingly up and down his neck. He jerked and eventually jumped up, pushing you backward on accident. He launched a tickle attack, fingers jabbing at your sides, your neck, under your arms, and when you thought he couldn’t get any worse, he sought your feet, your sockless feet.

“Okay!” You snorted, “Okay, you win!”

“What?” He asked, staring down at you with triumph.

“Oh, don’t be an ass.” 

He grinned playfully, but relented, “Alright, come on, your parents probably want to see you.”

You huffed a sigh and threw your head back, the pillows coming to its rescue as you let your hands come to rest on your stomach, “do we have to?” His grin eased into a gentle smile and you gave in, jumping up, “Yeah, fine.” 

You headed downstairs, passing picture frames from past relatives. There were so many ancient trinkets that your generations had left behind, Spencer said it was like walking through time, and it honestly was. Not just because the house was built in the middle 1800s, but because everything from the wallpaper to the furniture, and right down to the people still living in it–had that reminiscent aura about them.

“Nice of you to join us.” Your grandmother said as you walked in, “And who’s this, a boyfriend?”

Your mother sent hers a warning glare before turning back to you, “good morning, please sit,” she motioned toward the breakfast table.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Spencer said taking the seat beside you, “again.”

Your mother laughed and waved a hand, “There is no need for formalities, but I do want to thank you for coming.” She glanced at you momentarily, but you avoided her eyes. You knew you would eventually have to speak to everyone again, but you weren’t ready for that yet.

“So, how long have you been dating my daughter?” Your father asked. You would have choked on the tea had you drunk any prior. Your eyes widened instead and you turned to Spencer apologetically, but he didn’t seem at all fazed, “we’re just friends.”

His smile seemed content, but your grandmother scoffed. You turned to her, almost already fed up with the little attitude that’d been present since your arrival. You knew she had always preferred the company of your sister, and she detested you for leaving without a word–not to her, but to your grandfather.

You frowned, wanting to ask about it, but you couldn’t find words that would bring the least amount of sadness to the room. 

“Are you going out today?” Your father changed the subject, turning toward Spencer. He seemed to catch on to the fact that you were uncomfortable, so he directed all his questions at your beloved pretty boy.

Spencer answered them with ease–to which you knew you’d be in debt. An hour went by and Penelope was blowing up the team group chat, asking when you were meeting up. Eventually, you knew you’d have to take her around town and to be honest, you could use a little distraction from the looming presence of being around the rest of your family when they got in this afternoon.

“When will you be back?” Your mother asked

“Not sure,” you replied, more clipped than you meant for it to be.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her,” Spencer reassured, trying to ease the tension.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” your grandmother poked her head out of nowhere.

You shot her a glare and said, “Is this your way of seeing me off?”

Shocked by your reply, she tutted and jerked her head away, with closed eyes and crossed arms. You rolled your eyes, whispering, “see you later,” in the softest voice you could manage.

“That was…”

You huffed, wrapping your arms around yourself, “tell me about it.”

“So…your grandmother…”

“She hates me because I left, deep down they all do.” You frowned, but no tears came, they seemed to evade you.

Spencer pressed his lips together, normally he had the perfect response for anything you said, but you never spoke about your family. You were always sure to draw a boundary, you were very much like Emily in that sense, or at least he thought so.

You took a cab to the pier, agreeing to meet at the beach seemed simple. There were a few people, mostly locals though, your hometown wasn’t a place tourists normally visited. The main reason this town was able to survive was because a lot of the residents were wealthy, and that wealth stayed in the family and–well, the families stayed here.

“Woah,” Penelope yelped at the fourth store you stopped in, “we have to look around,” she said, eye-widening. Jack and Henry were milling about together, looking at little trinkets. You recognized the shop, it was an antique toy store–your grandfather had bought all your gifts over the years from this one in particular, some were secondhand, but they were sentimental to you and you had taken a few with you when you’d moved to America. 

“Babygirl, calm down.” Morgan laughed, following her down an aisle.

“How’s everyone settling in?” You asked, turning to Rossi when he huffed and muttered something under his breath. “What was that?” You leaned in, grinning.

Spencer pulled you back just as Rossi glared and called you a sadist. “We’re doing fine, your sister is nice.” JJ smiled, “she was asking about you,” she paused, waiting to see if it was an alright topic of conversation. When she realized you were waiting patiently for her to continue, she did, “she said she was sorry for not being home when you dropped us off. She wanted to catch up.”

You took a breath, your cheeks seemingly hot in the cold weather. “I know it’s not my place,” Will started, catching your eyes, “...but I…I think you should talk to her…”

You frowned at him, contemplating, then you nodded, sigh slipping past your lips, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Oh!” Penelope shouted, “Gelato, my phone says there’s a gelato place right around the corner!” 

You noticed Morgan walking up behind her when a laugh–though it sounded more like a croak–rang through your ears. “Your phone would be correct,” an old woman rounded the counter, short as could be. Her eyes bounced from face to face, settling on yours, “I told your old wench of a grandmother you’d come back. Were it for anything it’d be for him.” She sighed, “Come here, let me have a spin, my God how long has it been?”

You wanted to say eight years, but you neglected that subject and instead focussed your memory on figuring out who this woman was. 

“Hmm,” she hummed after a moment, taking a step back, her arms so incredibly bony they looked as if they might snap with the slightest pressure. Her pallor was somewhat tanned, and there were a few black spots up and down her exposed skin.

“You’re nonna’s old classmate.” It clicked, she was always stopping by the house in your earlier days, and she’d sometimes sit on the wraparound porch, sipping wine with your grandmother.

“Did you forget me already capretta*?” She chuckled as if she’d made a joke.

The rest of your group had deemed the conversation not there’s to listen in on, so they’d taken to wandering around the shop, the only one who stayed–partially because he wanted to and partially because you’d grabbed his wrist when he had tried walking away–was Spencer.

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” you murmured, “you shouldn’t call me that.”

“Oh, you’ll always be capretta* to me, you and all the others.” She smiled, her beady eyes watching you for a moment, as if expecting you to do something brash. Eventually, she said, “his funeral is tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah,” saying it brought out a wave of pain. Your mouth felt heavy and your stomach dropped to your feet.

She nodded, “have you decided what you’re going to say?”

You shook your head, “I won’t be speaking.”

She paused, disappointment flashing across her face, “well, I’m sorry to hear that.” You pressed your lips together and began turning away, ready to get out of this uncomfortable situation, but she wasn’t finished, “you know, I’m sure he’s happy you’re here.”

Spencer watched you close your eyes, take a deep, shuddering breath, and open them carefully. He watched them gloss over and without thinking about it, snaked a hand behind your back, as if holding you to this earth would help you in some way, unbeknownst to him, it did. His touch grounded you, and you thought, another debt to be owed.

“You’re amante*,” she said right before you walked back outside.

“He’s not my–” you waved your hands but your your words faltered as she shook a cloth at you, a knowing smile adorning her face.

“Maybe not yet, capretta*.”

You sighed, yanking Spencer outside. “What did she say?” He asked as if he couldn’t use damned context clues.

“Nothing,” you responded, but Rossi raised an eyebrow, holding up his hands when you shot him a look, your eyes flashing in warning. 

The other’s finally joined you outside and you spent a few more hours acting as a tour guide. When you deemed it time to go home, you told everyone to be ready in formal attire around 8, the rest of your family would be coming in, staying at the main house as it was the last place that still had room, and a small party would ensue. Everyone only came together for weddings and funerals so they tended to make the most of it.

You weren’t really looking forward to seeing the rest of your cousins, hell you could barely face your immediate family, extended seemed a little too much too soon.

You thought about hiding up in your room, you hadn't had much time to take it in yet and you thought it might help.

Relatives started arriving around 7:30. Spencer had wandered down to your room and knocked, though you could hear the hesitation in it. “Come in,” you said, sitting up.

He walked through, shutting the door softly behind him. “So this is where I find all your secrets.” He chirped, an easy smile settling on his face as joined you on the bed, leaning back. “It’s pink,” he noted.

“Hey,” you said, “the wallpaper came with the room.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes catching on a few blankets stacked neatly on a shelf linear your bed, “are those your baby blankets?”

“No,” you laid back down, the lamp at your side dimming slightly. “I think I stole those from my sister.”

He smiled, “I wonder what it’s like to have a sibling.”

You smiled, recalling all the idiotic fights you’d get into, how your parents would send you two to your room until you, “learned to love each other”. “She’s older by a few years,” your voice carried through the silent room, though it was lively on the first floor. You suddenly remembered you had a third, but you couldn’t recall a single memory of you being allowed there as is had always been locked.

“Do you want to talk about her?” He asked after a while.

You debated, on one hand, it might be good practice for when you spoke to her, on the other hand, what would you even say? You had no idea how she’d been these past eight years, what her life was like. What could you say and so you said, “ask me about her.”

He hummed for a moment, falling on, “why’d you steal the blankets?”

Your lips pressed together and you tried piecing together an accurate depiction of the event. “Well, she’d got them on a trip with our grandmother. My grandfather and I had been on an adventure, I think we were in the forest, I can’t remember,” you sat up and pushed yourself off the bed, walking over to the dresser and bending down to the shelf that held the blankets.

Spencer sat up, letting his eyes follow you, he felt warm, not anxious. Though his mind was working slowly, he found he didn’t mind. You seemed to calm everything down for him, it was a sense of comfort he hadn’t known he’d needed until you came into his life, and his headaches from before had slowly ceased the closer the two of you got.

“This one,” you held up, “was originally hers.” You brought it to him as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed, his feet sprawled around you. You didn’t think twice before stepping in between him, but you had never done that before and it caught him off guard. You had never been in such proximity when you were both wide awake, and you certainly had never faced each other like this.

Nevertheless, he didn’t mind–in fact, he was finding it increasingly obvious that he preferred you to be as close to him as possible. He ran a hand over the smooth ruffles of the white blanket. It was pleaded with light pink embroidery. “You should give it to your daughter.” He heard himself say, though his throat went dry right after. 

“You think so?” You found yourself wanting to be closer to him–as if I’m not close enough, you scolded yourself.

“Yeah,” he looked up at you, and gosh–it looked like he wanted you, and gosh–you felt your heartbeat speed up.

Your body moved on its own, stepping forward, loving the way his legs close together to entrap you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dropping the blanket down beside him. You lifted your knees onto either side of his waist and sat in his lap, his arms snaking around your hips. “Hi,” you murmured, a nervous–almost hesitant–expression falling over your features.

His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes, but he managed to force out a, “hi.”

You bit your lip and it drew his gaze instantly, you could feel his heart palpitate in his chest, almost as fast as yours. His eye fluttered close and his head fell back when you ran your hands through his hair. You didn’t know what you were doing, you told yourself multiple times, unsure of why this was happening–now of all times, oh your sweet nonno! Forgive me, you pleaded.

You angled your head forward, ready to do the one thing you’d knew your subconscious had been wanting for God knew how long, but then a knock sounded on the door and Spencer’s eyes opened once again.

“Who–” you cleared your throat, “who is it?”

“Uhm,” a nervous chuckle came from the other side of the door, “it..it’s me.” Your sister. You cursed, glanced at Spencer, then with an apologetic look, unraveled yourself from his embrace.

You walked toward the door, trying to fix your nettled clothing in the process. You took a breath and paused, then opened the door. Your sister stood there, tall, lean, and elegant, as you remembered her to be. “Hi,” she smiled, tilting her head.

You smiled back, trying your best to not give away what had just been going on–what the actual hell was just going on? You wanted to contemplate it more, wanted to ask yourself what the hell you thought you were doing–but refrained from doing so in the moment.

“Can…can I come in?”

You tensed, your eyes darting behind you and Spencer stood, throwing you an understanding glance. Your sister took a step back as he left the room, eyes following him as he disappeared somewhere down the hall. You swallowed and shifted out of the doorway, “come in.”

She raised an eyebrow but kept quiet upon you lifting a hand. 

“How have you been?” She asked once you shut the door. 

You thought about your answer, settling for, “good,” because you had been good, you had been very good, up until you got that letter.

“That’s good,” she responded, looking around the room, smiling, “you know, mom kept it just the way you had it when you left.”

You nodded, yes, you had noticed that, but you weren’t sure how you felt about it just yet.

“What’s this?” She walked toward your bed, where Spencer had been not a minute ago. She picked up the dainty blanket and sat down, steering clear of the part that had been undoubltey rumpled by Spencer. “Oh,” she said as if just recalling, “it’s the blanket I gave you.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together, you distinctly remember you stealing it from your room and hiding it when she had come asking if you’d seen it.

She laughed, apparently recalling the same thing, “I knew you had it back then,” which came as a surprise to you. She bit back a smile as she began folding it again, “nonna told me to let you keep it.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “did she?”

“Yep,” your sister popped the ‘p’.

“Hmm,” you hummed.

“What?” She asked, setting the blanket aside.

“She’s become batty.”

Your sister’s eyebrows rose, “how do you mean?”

“She’s been nothing but brutal to me,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

Your sister’s eye crinkled like she was about to laugh, “wow,” she said instead, “you’ve been gone so long you must have forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?” You scoffed.

“That’s how she’s always been,” your sister shook her head, mumbling your name and something else incoherent before turning to look back up at you, “I hope you visit again, that this isn’t some one off thing.”

You pulled away, your walls instantly going back up and your sister sighed, clearly noting the mask of an expression. “You always did that when you were a kid, you know.”

“Did what?” You furrowed your brows.

“Fold into yourself,” she waved her hands, “I don’t know how else to explain it.” She huffed, “you know, we really miss you, everyone. My kids,” she started, tears thrreatening to break loose, “you nieces and nephews–they don’t even know you.”

You looked down and for a second you weren’t sure what she was talking about, but then you remembered that yes–you were a zia*, your sister had children, three of them, and you hadn’t met them once.

Guilt wrapped itself around you like a veil, “I’m sorry,” you heard yourself saying, your face contorting as if you wanted to cry, wanted to express how remorseful you felt, but didn’t know how to.

“You’re just like her,” she threw her head back as a few tears ran down her cheek, “I think that’s why you were closer to Nonno*. You and Nonna* are too alike, you’re both so damn stubborn.” She huffed a laugh and for a moment, a sliver of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“I think love my best friend,” you found yourself admitting, maybe it was your way of trying to reach out, to tell your sister you were still you.

“That guy that was just here?” She grinned at you, “yeah, the family has been talking about it, Nonna* said to expect a wedding within the next year.”

Your face fell, embarrassment taking over, “what? Why? That old bat!” You scoffed, standing, “I can’t believe her, I’ve only been here–what? Two days? If that? That crazy old woman,” you marched toward the door, “Well?” You called to your sister, “are you going to back me up or what?”

She stared at you for a moment and then slowly, but surely, an calm smile crept onto her face, but her eyes were ones of storybook villains,“yeah, sure.”

The day started gloomy, though when you met Spencer in the hall, it became just a little less than that. You weren’t feeling like yourself, though you weren’t actually sure what self you were referring to. 

JJ had messaged the group chat that she’d be late because Henry had an accident right before they set off to leave. You thought about messaging your sister, but it felt weird, you weren’t used to initiating conversation with your family, so you didn’t, although you did plan to speak before the funeral.

You wore simple black attire, as did everyone else and you caught yourself holding onto Spencer’s hand tighter than usual, almost as if he’d leave you too, and you couldn’t have that. Your heart studded in your chest once you saw the coffin, it was closed, of course. It had been open for the hearing, but that had occured before you’d landed.

You couldn’t move forward. You told the others to go on and after making sure you were okay, they did, “but you’re not allowed to go,” you’d whispered, almost to yourself.

Spencer had squeezed your hand, whispering back, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your family gathered around the casket and the sacerdote* stepped forward, reading off a few of the retellings your grandmother had no doubt written down with the help of your parents. You noted a few other, non-related spectators, probably friends.

A few of his favorite songs were played and then your mother said a few words, followed by your grandmother, and finally your sister. “Are you okay?” Spencer pulled you closer by your arm.

You pressed your lips together, watching the coffin being lowered into the grave. “I don’t know…” and when you swallowed, you found your throat dry and for the first time since the letter, you not only found yourself wanting to cry, you found it was almost within reach.

The ceremony ended and relatives began dropping dirt into the grave, you thought to say one last prayer before leaving, but you didn’t want anyone to see you. You turned to Spencer and let go of his hand, “I just…” you turned away, pressing your lips together as you eyed the fresh grave.

He smiled sadly, but he nodded; he always seemed to be able to understand you no matter how silent or how loud you were. Maybe that’s why you loved him, you couldn’t be sure. There were so many things you loved about him–gosh you loved him. The revelation was like a wish from a birthday candle being answered.

You stepped away and Spencer watched as you pushed through the crowd. Hotch and the others surrounded him, questioning stares ever-present. “We should give her some time,” he said after seeing you hesitate, then sit near the makeshift headstone.

“What’s she doing?” Penelope frowned, watching you shift in your spot on the wet grass.

“Saying goodbye,” Spencer was the only one to respond–he was also the last one to retreat.

You didn’t know how to begin, you hadn’t spoken to him in eight years. You were scared that he was angry at you, but then again, you knew that couldn’t be the case, yes you knew he was gone, but what if his spirit was still here? What if he couldn’t move on because he had unfinished business and it was your fault?

You stopped yourself, since when did you believe in superstition? That was your parents…and Rossi; not you.

You sighed, running your hand through the grass, deciding to start as if he were still there, trying not to sound too guilty.

Nonno, you began, I–I’m sorry, you shook your head, I know, I know I should have visited. I know– a single tear fell down your cheek and you paused to wipe it away, shocked by your own emotions. “Forgive me,” you whispered.

“You sound like a crazy person,” you jerked your head to the side, eyes landing on your grandmother.

You huffed, eyes narrowing as you sniffled and wiped another tear that had fallen. “You’re one to talk.”

Your grandmother shifted, as if uncomfortable, and then she moved forward, more brittle than you had noticed the first time. “I’m not going to sit down,” she said after a moment, “don’t let my looks full you, I’m not how I once was.” She grunted as she stood beside you.

“Yeah, well, your looks aren’t fooling anyone, so.”

“Ouch,” she laughed, but it sounded like a wenches cackle. “Oh nipotina*,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head, a complacent smile making its way onto her wrinkled face.

You sat in silence, comfortable or not, you were glad she had stopped talking, you didn’t know what to say to her. In your opinion, you had never really gotten along with your grandmother, this wasn’t reconnecting with your parents or sisters or even your zia* and zio*, this was…new territory altogether.

You frowned, “listen, child,” and you did, you perked up, you could listen to her talk, that would be easy, you just hoped she didn't expect a response. “Your grandfather loved you, he never stopped talking about you.” You smiled, but then it faltered. You had abandoned him, hadn’t even deigned to visit because of how guilty you’d felt…

“He knew,” you whispered, heart racing. 

You heard your grandmother sigh. “I thought as much,” she frowned, staring at her husband's grave as if she could bring him back by will alone. 

“You did?” You hadn’t left without saying goodbye, not to him at least, that was one thing everyone had gotten wrong, your grandmother knowing had never occurred to you because you were sure your grandfather kept it a secret. Why else would the entire family have blown up when they’d realized you had left? When they’d realized it was too late to stop or convince you otherwise–because by the time everyone else had found out, you were halfway across the North Atlantic already.

“I always thought it was strange how he never said anything about it.” A grim smile tugged her at her red-painted lips.

“Nonna*, did I make the right decision?” You asked, surprising even yourself.

She sighed and you thought she might say ‘I can’t tell you if it was right or wrong’ or something a normal grandmother would say, but your grandmother wasn’t normal, she was an old bat, probably the same one you’d turn into at her age and she said, “You’re damned right you were wrong.”

Your mouth dropped, taken aback, and then you burst into laughter, throwing your head back as you tried wiping your tears, “oh you’re such an old bat,” you sighed.

“I knew you always called me that behind my back,” she harumphed, jerking her head away and crossing her arms like a child.

“Oh come now, Nonna*,” you stood and reached out the touch her shoulder.

She huffed and dropped her arms, eyes darting around your face in what seemed to be concern. “You were wrong for not telling the rest of us, you had your parents worried sick, and your sister too.” Her frown deepened, “even me.”

You nodded, “I know, but nonna*,” you sighed, wanting to explain yourself, but she held up a hand. You raised a brow, almost saying huh, so that’s where I get it from, out loud.

“Your grandfather always said you were meant for something greater, that your heart wouldn’t allow you to stay in this town the way ours allowed the rest of us.

“No, no nipotina*, you were not wrong for leaving. This town, this family? Yes, you come from here, but there,” she nodded her head toward your co-workers, (or friends, you were honestly still deciding), “with them, that is where you belong now.”

You smiled, finding acceptance in her answer.

“And your friend,” she rolled her eyes when she said it, “well, I expect the wedding to be here.”

You huffed a laugh before turning, catching Specner’s eye, and when he waved your heart swelled. “We’ll see,” you started walking away.

Your grandmother trailed after you, throwing her hands up and shouting, “incovalato*! You insolent child!”

a/n: ahhh i can't wait to write my next fic because i already know waht it is. i don't want to give spoilers, but just know you're going to see dad!spencer !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[darqx]

[It's going down] I'm yelling timber

Several doodles in this one!

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

Everything is similar but she wears a dress version.

Yes (after becoming a Royal) but it's more of a "formaility" as he hasn't had any reason to use it yet. There's a lot of gaps since he relies more on mobility than brute force, and he can also rapidly fill in any areas with harder ichor if need be.

He used to work for the previous King as a Collector.

I think it depends, since he's a Royal now they tend to use some variation of their demon signs as an official "signature" so it might look like the first pic. His prior signature might look something like the second (fancy cursive).

Base: [x]

Rire's ichor tentacles are directly controlled by his consciousness/sub-consciousness so yes technically they could do such things XD But that is something that would have happened more when he was a child/learning how to use the ichor powers - he has such fine control now that the likelihood of it happening anymore is negligible.

...you could kiss them if you want I suppose, he does have some feeling through them lol.

I once described Rire's ichor as existing but not existing at the same time (ah, dichotomy haha). Basically if the ichor is not connected to the manifestation point on Rire's back all trace of it will eventually disappear. So that's handy in more ways then one :d

This post goes into more detail about the ichor consistencies:

Rire was born 973 years ago and was primarily raised by his mother after both his father and then later his stepfather died when he was a child/teen.

He would raise a child similarly to how he was raised. 🤔 YMMV whether this would be considered good parenting but he does have affection towards his own parents so there's that.

Well i did draw the baby!BTD in that same picture so...however i drew them as lol XD; Thanks muchly and keep at it!

Yes the years are the same. As stated in my BTD FAQ "I don’t know if you could classify what he feels as “love” in the same definition we are used to…" :d

Short answer: no.

Long answer: if you consider real world biology it would be like this

SOME species of demons are close enough to humans that they could reproduce with them. If the offspring is viable it's usually infertile like a liger (cross between a lion and a tiger) or a mule, though sometimes/rarely it could result in fertile offspring.

This works similarly between different demon species (different ones are more compatible with certain species compared to others etc), though the likelihood of fertile offspring is greater. Also depending on the species some genes are way more dominant so a child might end up basically being more or less one species type.

[An excerpt from a World War letter. Several similar letters have been documented from both Allies and Central/Axis Powers]

My dearest, I witnessed the most peculiar scene several days ago. Honestly I am not sure if it actually happened or if my mind was playing tricks on me. I was on my evening sentry duty over No Man's land when I saw him - a man, standing alone in the fog past the razor wire and amongst those poor souls neither side had managed to retrieve. Dearest, I swear that man had not been there a second ago! At first I thought this was enemy activity, but his uniform was clearly not German and neither was it one of ours - maybe the oddness is what stayed my tongue at the time. Out of a morbid curiosity I watched as he crouched near several bodies for a long moment - perhaps to pay his respects? - before walking off and disappearing out of sight. I am honestly surprised no one had shot at him! The next day there was a large shout as a grievously injured Johnson - whom was lost in No Man's Land after a failed trench raid - was suddenly within reaching distance just over our trench walls! It was a miracle! He was delirious and had no idea how he had made it back by himself, but mentioned a "General" who had offered help in his lowest moment. Clearly he was unwell as there were no Generals around...but dearest...I can't help but wonder --

[Johnson would survive his injuries and go on to become a well decorated soldier before returning home a hero. He would die 10 years later from "idiopathic anaphylaxis" with an odd look of fear on his face.]

I'm not sure why some of you think this but to put it as clearly as I can (since this is not the first time I've been asked this):

Cain is not my character.

I would hope that you guys understand that just because someone doesnt seem to be on the internet anymore it doesnt mean their character is suddenly an adoptable/up for grabs???

No - I have enough of my own characs I dont need to actually steal someone else's. (Also see above answer)

IMO in any universe Rire and Cain are like oil and water. So, i would say yes there is a way that they could get together but it would probably involve kidnapping and criminal confinement on one of their behalfs :d

I never read Warrior Cats so I have no particular thoughts about this lol.

Demon!Strade is a Gatoverse creation XD; - meaning Gato created him and so it has no correlation with my demon types. He would probably be like a level 4 or 5 maybe (aside from being LARGE, idk about his other power sets lol) and a clear case of needing an exorcism :d

Both of them are naturally charismatic (though, Demon!Rire can dial his up to noticeably unnatural levels). Human!Rire can be considered more manipulative and subtle than the demon version since in his 'verse "real world" consequences are actually things he has to consider. He is also a bit less interested in mind games than Demon!Rire.

-...gestures at humans, which he prefers to mess with for the sheer variety of reactions-

That is not part of his skill set, no :d Also much in the same way that animals with sharp teeth don't willy nilly bite their tongues off, demons with sharp teeth are like...used to having/biologically designed to have sharp teeth.

THANKING YOU \o/

It wouldn't lol. Also if i saw Rire IRL i would immediately pretend to have NOT seen him because that would mean that I've somehow had a hand in creating a tulpa.

[ageofmurph]

Brandy, You’re A Fine Girl.

19th century sailor!soap x fem!reader

synopsis: you live in a small port town, loving a man who's not around.

semi-angsty, sexual content, 3.4k words.

(this was supposed to be a super short drabble using brandy by the looking glass but i guess that story just got me really good, and here we are. i was gonna cut it down a bit before i remembered the distressing lack of soap fics on here. # be the change you want to see in the world)

dividier by @strangergraphics !

You’d spent your entire life by the ocean. Watching the tides bring sailors in before carrying them back out on their ships. Wishing you could go with them, even if only in search of him. 

The sailors travelling into town keep you entertained enough, especially when you serve them more whiskey than necessary. The young and rowdy ones try to win you over with different stories of the sea, stories of whales and tidal waves. 

The young men loudly proclaim it while the seasoned sailors gently murmur it to you when you bring them another round, but they all tell you that your beauty is enough to steal any sailor away from the sea. But you could never be swayed; not when the solid presence of the silver braided chain that sits steadily on your chest against the beat of your heart was all that remained. Not when you can open up the locket and see ‘Johnny’ engraved inside of the locket. 

You remember it was summertime the first time he anchored in the port. The gentle breeze carried the smell of salt through town in a way that reminded you of chasing after birds to the shore as a child rather than of the cruel whip and sting of sea spray during a winter storm. He sailed in on a cutter that had been weathered with time, decorated in a paint that was a deep blue in some places and a faded, chipped mess in others. A' Bhean Uasal Gorm was painted on the side in beautiful cursive lettering. 

You heard him before you saw him; a booming laugh at the market on a Sunday morning, a deep voice talking proudly in a Scottish accent down at the docks. You learned through murmurings in town that he was a trader from the Highlands stopping to rest and restock before the final stretch to somewhere exotic, somewhere that you would only ever dream of. 

The first time you saw him you stopped short. Tan skin loosely covered by a thin old poet shirt, untied and revealing more of his chest than modest, and a flowing blue kilt. His hair was shaved on the sides with a strip down the middle that was wavy and untamed, just long enough to twirl around your finger. He was tall and broad. Strong, full in the way physical labour demands. His body was speckled with dark hair. Beautiful by all measures. 

He had brought gifts that summers day that he showed up, from faraway places that were otherworldly to those of you tethered to the port. He traded some of his treasures and others he simply gave away, to strangers he had never met before and would never meet again. 

The first night that he came into the tavern, he walked right up to you and introduced himself. Johnny MacTavish. You could still hear him saying it; the way his mouth moved around the vowels in a lilt that you had never heard before. You longed to hear him say your own name.

You let him distract you from work all night. He was a shameless flirt, saying your name as often as he could, moving just slightly too close to be casual, flexing his biceps when he caught you looking, calling you a ‘bonnie lass’ any chance he got (not that you knew what it meant). 

But while he flirted and teased, shamelessly showing off and demanding your attention, he told you stories of his travels. Johnny was beside himself when he told you stories of the things he’d seen; glaciers and waterfalls and fjords that stretched so high they kissed the clouds. He told you of dolphins and seabirds and schools of the biggest fish you could imagine. He told you of swells taller than the fjords, open waters so calm on days so clear you could see your reflection in the water, and being so far from land that there was nothing else as far as the eye could see. He told you of the deafening roar of a storm, and the all encompassing silence of still waters on a clear and windless day. He told you of crew mates, and solo sailing, and pirates. 

You felt every word that came out of his mouth. Saw the ocean reflected in his eyes. You could hear every bird call, feel every spray, see every sunrise and sunset on the water. You fell for him through his stories.

You'd taken him home after that first night in the tavern- something you had never done before. You told him just as much. It felt like you were ripping your chest open and asking him to reach in and grab your heart.

But he was an honest man and he told you the truth; that he was thrilled by you much in the same way that he was with the ocean. That he saw a fierceness in you, something enduring and formidable. He would give himself to you, learn you in this way and devote himself completely to you for this time, but he made it clear that he couldn't stay, no matter what happened. No harbour was his home; he belonged out at sea. You did your best to understand. 

Johnny was slow and gentle when he made love to you that night. He took his time with you, getting you ready and wanting. He undressed you and laid you down on the bed, holding himself up above you to kiss you before moving his lips down your body. He lingered at your breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth.

He moved further down, holding your thighs in his strong arms as he buried his head between your legs. You looked down at him, at his body; powerful sculpted muscles that rippled with each movement.

You found that he was a firm and steadfast presence all night. Something you could anchor yourself to. 

When he pressed into you, surrounding you in a way that stopped you from seeing anything other than him, the stretch of him brought tears to your eyes. His lips brushed yours as you panted, breathing in each other’s air as you tried to adjust to the pain and he tried to stay calm despite the tight warm squeeze you had on him. Once you adjusted his thrusts were slow and deep, letting you feel every ridge and vain of him. Johnny murmured encouragements and sweet things in your ear, ghosted his lips along your neck, caressed the peak of your nipple and circled your clit as the pressure of your second release slowly built up in your stomach. 

As he looked into your eyes on a particularly firm and deep thrust your mind went blank. All you could see, hear, and feel were Johnny and the ocean. You could see it fall and rise. You saw its raging glory. 

The rest of the week that Johnny was anchored in town followed that routine, until he took you down to the dock on the day he left. You stood on the edge of the dock while he stood on the hull below you, still close enough to wrap his arms around your waist.

“Tell me where you’re going again?” Your voice was quiet. Anything to get him to stay for even a minute longer. 

Johnny indulged you, stepping closer and circling your waist with his arms, resting his hands just above your rear. 

“Cantabria, in Spain. It’s in th’ north.”

“What are you going to do there?” You reached out and ran you fingers through his strip of hair. He blinked for a second longer than natural and leaned into your touch. 

“Whi’ever, really. Trade, meet new folk, see th’ country. A’ve never bin before. But it’s more aboot th’ journey there, lass.”

“How long will it take?” You started playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Three months. Mibbe more.”

You sighed. 

“Will you…” you focused your vision on where your other hand sat on his shoulder, “Will you be back?”

“Aye, bonnie. Soon as ah can.”

You leaned down and kissed him, offering up everything that you were just for him. He seemed to do the same. 

“Wait for me?”

You nodded quick and hard before pulling him in for another kiss, this one more desperate than the last. You stayed at the dock until he wasn’t visible anymore, past the horizon. 

You tried to continue on like normal in the months that Johnny was away. Though it seemed he flipped your life upside down; the sailors travelling in and out no longer entertained you. Their stories outright bored you. You missed Johnny’s touch, his voice, his weight on top of you, his eyes. You couldn’t remember what life had been like before him. 

You saw beauty in the sea now. Before Johnny you’d mostly ignored it; growing up beside it your entire life led you to barely even notice it. Such a constant that it no longer occurred to you. But now, you went down to the dock as often as you could. You watched the tides come in and out, watched the waves break. 

You saw Johnny when you looked at the ocean; strong, wild, unbeatable and untameable. While Johnny was gone you never felt truly alone, not when you were by the ocean, the only thing that connected you to him while he was away. 

It was late Autumn when he returned, and this visit was much the same as the first. He brought gifts for everyone again; treasures of all sorts from the north of Spain. For you, he brought a silver locket hanging on a braided chain of the finest silver.

He gave it to you the first time you laid together in the afterglow since he had been back. Johnny had finally invited you to his boat, and you found the inside was far nicer than you’d thought; homier than you pictured, a welcoming warmth to it. It brought you peace of mind to know that Johnny still had a comfort when he was out at sea, not just a paper thin mattress covered by a dry rotted quilt in a dinky, mouldy cabin. 

You were laying together, touching each other in any way you could, when he started to get up.

“What are you doing?”

“Hold oan, bonnie. Got something for ye.”

You watched him from the bed as he moved around the cabin searching for something, as naked as the day he was born. He seemed to be somehow stronger than the last time you had seen him.

“Can you come back to bed? It’s freezing, Johnny.”

“Hang oan. Ahm tryin’ tae mind where ah put it.”

He held his hand behind his back when he finally came back to bed.

“Alright, hold yer hand out an’ shut yer eyes.”

“Can’t you just give it to me?”

“Why wid ah dae that when this is so much more romantic? Just dae it fur Christ’s sake.”

You relented and felt something cold and solid land in your palm, followed by the coil of something lighter. You opened your eyes. It was the most beautiful piece of jewellery you’d ever seen. Beautiful engravings adorned the outside and it shone even in the dark. 

“Open it up, bonnie.”

Johnny sounded nervous for the first time since you’d met him.

The inside revealed his name engraved in beautiful swirling cursive lettering on one side. The other side held a tiny photograph cut to shape and size. You looked closer and saw a portrait of Johnny; waist-up and from a slight distance, you could see the bright smile he wore, the one that you loved so dearly. His hair was as messy as ever, and his posture was tall and brave. The portrait had captured him joyful and proud- just as you knew him to be. 

“Ah found it at a market an’ it made me think o’ye. Ah, erm, got ma picture taken in town. Thought it might be nice for ye tae have something tae mind me by.”

“Put it on for me?” Your voice was wet with unshed tears. You held it up for him to grab as you sat up and moved your hair out of the way.

He followed suit and sat up behind you, clasping the locket around your neck. He leaned forwards and gently kissed your shoulder.

You leaned back into him and he embraced you so tightly you thought you might stop breathing. You needed him to hold you that way. 

“Ah missed ye sae much, bonnie. Thought aboot ye th’entire time- aboot comin’ back tae ye.” His hand snaked around your front, ghosting it over the top of your thigh and inching it closer to your centre. 

You sighed heavily and nodded, urging him to continue.

“Ah fucked ma hand thinkin’ aboot you. Aboot the noises ye made, how bein’ inside ye felt, th’look on yer face when ye came aroond me. Wanted tae taste ye again so bad.” 

Johnny was panting now. His fingers gently circling your pulsing clit. You’d never even imagined someone could say such vulgar things, let alone imagined that it would get you so hot. 

He slipped a finger inside of you and your breath caught. Then another, then a third before he started pumping them in and out in a way that made your spine cave in on itself. 

That night was long, and the next morning you were gently rocked awake by the movements of the boat. The empty space next to you urged you to get up.

You found him sitting at the bow, looking out at the sunrise against the water. You draped a blanket over the two of you, uselessly trying to stave off the cold Autumn chill. His broad palm reached over and grasped the fat of your thigh, pulling you closer. You sat there together, unmoving, for a long time. 

You spent three miraculous weeks together, never apart and intertwined in ways you hadn’t known were possible. Your entire world shifted when you met Johnny. It was useless to try and explain it to yourself. There were simply no words in any language that could describe what you felt for each other. 

His last night anchored in town was immeasurably harder than the last night on his previous trip. This time you both knew he wouldn’t be coming back.

You knew that he was unwavering in his love for you. Knew that he believed it could move mountains and part seas if he needed it to. He had told you that he was certain that he could find you no matter where you were on this earth- that there was something cosmic and undeniable that tethered you to each other. A piece of you was forever anchored in his heart. 

But his honesty still didn’t falter. 

“Ma life is the sea, bonnie. These sea legs barely ken how tae walk oan land anymore.” 

You did your best to understand. Vowing to yourself never to be so selfish as to ask him to stay. He belonged out at sea. The open ocean was his home, and it would go against all of your love for him to try and deny him of that.

The last night that you spent together before he sailed out was the most punishing and beautiful night of your life. 

Your tears began mingling with his the last time you made love. The stretch of his cock felt as wicked as ever, soundly pressed against every surface of your walls, hitting each spot over and over again. Johnny's eyes locked onto yours, seeing you in your entirety- parts of you that would have never otherwise known the light of day.

He moaned loud and unrestrained as your walls gave him a particularly tight squeeze.

“Fuckin’ chokin’ me, bonnie, Christ almighty.”

“I want... want you to cum inside of me.” You spoke quietly, feeling bashful about the request.

He moaned even louder, and slowed his thrusts to a gentle roll.

“Cannae say shite like that tae me unless ye mean it, bonnie.” He sounded pained, choked.

“I mean it, Johnny.” He sped up again, thrusting harder this time. “I want to feel you- need to feel all of you.”

You knew it was almost over, and soon he would be leaving you. His thrusts grew more frantic, more desperate. He knew it would be the last time, too.

He started speaking to you in a voice that you hadn’t heard from him before. There was a pleading tone, one of defeat. It almost sounded like a prayer. 

“Iarr orm fuireach. Mas e do thoil e. Iarr orm fuireach agus nì mi.”

You hadn’t heard him speak in his native tongue before. It felt like you’d had the wind knocked straight out of you. He held your cheek in his palm, gently caressing it with his thumb, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Dhutsa. Rud sam bith dhut. An-còmhnaidh. Dìreach iarr orm fuireach.”

The desperation and need in Johnny’s voice sounded like he was out of control, like he didn’t even know he had slipped into his native language. 

You felt a tug in your heart at his words, despite not understanding them. The sense that he was gathering himself in his hands and holding it up to you in offering, raw and pure and wholly open, washed over you like the break of a wave that had been forming since the beginning of time.

“I’ll be here waiting for you, Johnny. Always. You can always come back to me.” You softened your voice, whispering in his ear. A loud moan forced it’s way out of his chest, a beautiful and melodic sound. You came together, grasping at any skin you could get your hands on. He came inside of you, hot and full, and you came around him, squeezing him with all of the strength in your body.

Johnny left in the early hours of the morning without waking you. He hadn’t fallen asleep that night, and spent the last couple of hours in town watching you as you slept. Memorising every detail on your body. Memorising the feeling of you hair running over his fingers. Memorising the steady beat of your heart and the constant rise and fall of your chest. If anything was going to keep him from the ocean, it was going to be you. But you hadn’t understood when he’d asked you earlier. Maybe a part of him did that on purpose, knowing that he would’ve said yes in a heartbeat if you had asked him. Deep in his chest he knew that no matter how badly he wished he could stay, wished he could be with you, he would never be able to give you the life you deserved. His love for you couldn’t override his nature. 

He was restless, and wild. Reckless to a fault, risking far too much in storms he knows he shouldn’t be facing. While he would never grow tired of you, he would grow tired of his surroundings. And it wasn’t fair to make promises to you that he would come back when even he couldn’t predict what might happen on a voyage- what the ocean might do.

He knew he couldn’t give you what you deserve, what you need. So he knew he had to leave. 

After he finished dressing just before dawn Johnny took one last look at you. He leaned down and caressed your head gently, feeling you one last time. His lips ghosted your ear as he whispered to you.

“Smaoinichidh mi ort. Is leatsa mo chridhe.”

All you could bring yourself to do that day was sit at the dock and look out at the horizon. More than once you convinced yourself you could see his boat floating out there, but he was long gone. The only traces of Johnny were the locket, and the smell of the sea that he left in your bed.

You waited for Johnny for a long time after that. Years, truthfully. Your love for him never faltered, you never questioned it- but you slowly stopped expecting to see his blue cutter sail into the port.

Still, he was always on your mind. You prayed that he was safe, and that he was looking after himself at sea. You prayed you might see him again one day.

You spent your life working at the tavern, wandering the silent town after closing and loving a man who wasn’t around. 

[sunseed-fandump]

oooo!! Since someone asked about Dark Enchantress I’ll ask about Pure Vanilla, we love our peepaw.

Yeehaw-Peepaw Pure Vanilla Headcanon time!

Pure Vanilla is visually impaired. He is not totally blind, as he can make out shapes and colors, but it was enough of an impairment to require braille while he was in school.

His Orchid Staff was grown by him when he was first learning magic. It is one of his oldest companions.

When he has the staff in his hands, he is able to use it to see clearly. It's sight also allows him to see things Cookies normally wouldn't be able to see. You know the True Seeing spell from DnD? Basically that.

Pure Vanilla may be the forgiving sort, but his staff certainly isn't. If someone goes out of their way to be rude, the Orchid will either glare at the offender or use one of its vines to trip them up.

When the Vanilla Kingdom was in its prime, he knew every single one of his subjects' birthdays. No one is quite sure how he remembered them all. Even when he had amnesia, he still would get the sense that a day was special for some reason.

Speaking of his time as Healer Cookie, whenever he saw something or experienced something that reminded him of his past, he would freeze up. When one of the villagers would snap him out of his trance, he would forget all over again.

Some Cookies have a hard time reading his handwriting because he writes in a VERY intricate cursive.

He has gone out of his way to tutor some of the younger Cookies himself. Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie, and Wizard Cookie included.

The best kind of gift to give him is one you made yourself. It doesn't matter how good it looks, he loves and appreciates every ounce of effort put into any gift.

When he was a child, he would read stories to the sheep in his village. He always loved the idea of traveling to places far away.

He absolutely HATES losing his temper... But he can. And he has. Those moments are far and few between, but when they happen, it's scary.

It's not the loud and explosive kind of anger either. When Pure Vanilla is angry, he goes totally silent. And when he DOES begin to speak, it's one of the most painful digs the individual can personally get hit with. You know how they say the Truth hurts? Yeah that.

Someone would have to go REALLY out of their way to get him like that though.

He likes playing games with the children, even if he's not all that good at them.

He is VERY sappy and he is VERY easily brought to tears by death scenes in stories. Don't let this man read Charlotte's Web he would be a MESS for DAYS!!!

[zablife]

Becoming Mrs. Shelby (Part 10)

Tommy Shelby x wife reader

Summary: Boredom sets in soon after Tommy leaves, but when you begin to explore Arrow House, you're unprepared for what you find.

Part 9 Masterlist

The day after Tommy’s departure was marked by cold, dreary rain, the gloom of it seeping into your bones from the moment you woke. However, you were determined to hold your chin up and follow his instruction to keep busy.

Heading off in search of Mary, you were eager to learn how you might contribute to the efforts of planning the gala. However, when you finally found her in the kitchen, she was engrossed in conversation with the chef. You listened for a moment as they discussed options for the hors d’oeuvres and secretly thrilled when you thought of a solution.

Heels clicking toward her with excitement you eagerly stated, “I couldn't help but overhear you talking about the hors d’oeuvres. You know, when T-tom…erm, Mr. Shelby and I were on our honeymoon we sampled the most delicious oysters," you grinned, pleased with yourself for your small contribution.

“The chef has suggested smoked trout croquettes," she informed you.

"Far more suitable for a single bite than oysters,” he explained, returning to his note taking.

Biting your tongue against the criticism you nodded in agreement. “Of course, very sensible,” you acquiesced. “Would you like me stay to hear the remainder of the menu?”

She smiled sweetly at you, eyes downcast as she demurred, “Surely you have more important things to attend to, ma’am.”

Her hint was not lost upon you, you were being dismissed. Rather than force your way into the planning, you shrunk away with feigned excuse. 

With little else to do, you decided to locate the missing steamer trunk misplaced when you’d arrived. Your footsteps echoed along every corridor, peeking into the unused rooms to find the piece. You faltered as you approached the last area of the house to be explored during your residence, the East wing. 

There was something haunting about the deep shades of red and dark wood that made you uneasy. Far more ornate than the rest of the house, you couldn’t help but feel out of place there. However, you were determined to check every door as you felt was your right as lady of the house. It wasn’t until you reached the last room at the end of the corridor that your racing heart nearly gave way to a fainting spell.

A large four poster bed stood regally at the far end, curtains drawn around it as though it held a great secret. You were immediately drawn to it, pulling back the sash to reveal a delicate lace negligee laid upon the mattress. You frowned at the sight of it, wondering who might be coming to claim it when you realized it must have belonged to Mrs. Shelby.

As you turned to survey the room, your heart caught in your throat realizing you’d been correct in your assumption. A dressing table decorated with gold brushes and comb engraved with a cursive G along with expensive perfume could have belonged to no one other than her.

With a sudden wave of curiosity overcoming you, you raised the crystal bottle to your nostrils and inhaled deeply. It was a heady mix of bergamot and jasmine, nothing like the light, sweet scent you wore. Suddenly Mrs. Fitzherbert’s insulting laugh came back to you,“You reek of cheap rosewater, my dear!” Replacing the small bottle in its rightful place, Grace's inherent sophistication seemed to paralyze you with inadequacy.

However, that was nothing compared to the small portrait nestled between the bottles. You reached for the emerald green frame, stabbed by jealousy as you studied the image it held. Immaculately preserved in crisp black and white, Tommy cradled Grace in his arms beneath the Statue of Liberty. Compelled for a closer look, you raised the delicate frame to your watery eyes, noting his blissful expression. Had you ever made him this happy? The thought mocked you as your hands began to shake with uncertainty. 

Heavy frame slipping precariously from your grasp, you failed to catch it before the glass shattered upon the floor. “No, no, no!” you uttered under your breath, stooping to retrieve the broken pieces just as a firm, clear voice rang out, “Is anyone there?”

You redoubled your efforts to sweep up the broken glass, a jagged edge slicing across your index finger. With a sharp intake of breath, you attempted to stifle your cries of pain, shoving the pieces to the side as you stood to collect yourself. 

Mary appeared in the door moments later and you couldn’t help but ask breathlessly, “What is all this?"

"I should think it rather obvious, ma'am. This was Mrs. Shelby's bedroom," she answered flatly.

"Did Mr. Shelby ask you to keep the room like this?” you gulped, unsure you wanted to hear the answer.

She snorted at the implication. “He doesn’t have to. She’s still here!”

You recoiled at her statement, glancing around the room as though you might find Grace's imposing figure watching from some dark corner. A shiver passed down your spine before you dismissed the ridiculous notion asserting, ”Well, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Mary continued, completely unbothered. “I wonder what she’d think about you taking her husband and using her name?” she pondered as she approached you.

As a drop of blood fell from your fingertips onto the floor, Mary pulled a small handkerchief from her pocket to hold against the thrumming beat of your pulse.

“Perhaps she’d want us to be happy?” you answered in your distraction.

“Not likely. You won’t find happiness here,” Mary warned as she relinquished the soft linen to you.

As you dabbed at your finger, you noted the bright blue G stitched at the corner and a sudden rage overcame you. “I'm taking this up with Mr. Shelby the moment he returns," you threatened, tossing the bloody handkerchief on the ground with disgust.

————————-

That night without your husband by your side, you had great difficulty sleeping. You tossed and turned thinking of the encounter with Mary in Mrs. Shelby’s bedroom.

When exhaustion finally took hold, you felt yourself slip into a dense fog. It surrounded you as you walked the halls of Arrow House back to the dark red corridor that caused you such fear earlier in the day. But as you eased open the door to Grace's room, you found it empty, a sigh of relief turning to a smile of contentment.

Happily returning to the opposite side of the house, you basked in the knowledge Tommy had done it for you, proof of his love and devotion. The comforting thought wrapped you in a cocoon of protection until you came to your own bedroom. A shriek of horror tumbled from your lips at the sight of the tall blonde standing at the window. Grace was waiting for Tommy in her expensive, lace negligee, but upon hearing your cry, she turned to you with a piercing stare.

"What do you want?" your shaky voice called to her.

"My husband," her voice echoed around the room eerily. "He's only ever loved me," her cruel whisper taunted you.

You held her gaze as she stalked toward you, evil intent brewing in her gray blue eyes. As she came face to face with you before the roaring fire, she grabbed hold of your arms, fingernails sinking into flesh as she shook you with such ferocity your head began to spin. “This will always be my house!” she warned before you fell to the floor with her hovering over you in victory.

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

You woke with a start, blinking against the bright light of the morning sun. 

“Good morning, ma'am,” Clara chirped at you before coming to turn down the covers. As she lowered the duvet, she observed the red marks upon your upper arms with a tiny gasp. “Oh, dear, you’ve been scratching!” she exclaimed, extending a hand to help you from bed.

"What?" you asked in confusion, racing to the mirror for a better look at the area that was beginning to throb.

“Look at your arms, ma’am. They’re covered!” Clara reiterated.

“Did I do this?” you asked in horror.

“Who else would have done it but yourself?” she replied with a puzzled look.

I don’t believe in ghosts, I don't believe in ghosts

Part 11

[babydollslibrary]

SPEAK NOW — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

published: July 19th, 2023

summary: in which y/n attends her ex-boyfriend, Quinn’s wedding and can’t hold her peace

it was the last thing i expected.

to receive the elegant white cardstock that sits in my hand. flowers of muted colors are printed across the bottom, cursive lettering across the top.

‘You Are Formally Invited to the Wedding of Quinn Hughes & Lindsay Carter’

it’s not that i didn’t think this day would come. quite on the contrary, i feared it would come sooner. i know firsthand how special Quinn is. i knew some lucky girl would lock him down. Quinn is the type of love that you never let go.

but i did.

i made the mistake of letting go of his love.

letting go of him.

and now i’ll be forced to watch as he marries another girl. one who provided comfort and a shoulder for him to cry on when i broke his heart. one who helped him glue the pieces back together after i left.

we had both known the risks. getting together despite the warnings of his brothers. and Jack was right.

“romance is not worth risking a lifelong friendship.”

because in the end, i lost both.

i lost the love of my life and my best friend since kindergarten.

now reduced to awkward tension at conjoined family events, and pity invites to major events like these. more awkward to invite me than it is to face me afterwards, knowing that i knew what was happening and was deliberately left out.

setting the invitation on the counter, i check yes on the guest list website on my phone. confirming that i’ll be in attendance.

despite the envy that weighs heavy in my heart, and the irrational feeling of betrayal that eats at me, i know i’ll feel worse missing this milestone in Quinn’s life.

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

i’ve had months to prepare for this moment. to guard my heart and get ready to watch the only man i’ve ever loved, get married to another woman.

and in spite of that, all i’ve done is the very thing i spent the last two years keeping myself from doing.

asking about Lindsay.

i never thought they would get this far. under the impression that this was a fling and wouldn’t last long. the only thing i knew for two years was that they were opposites.

Quinn is a responsible, down-to-earth guy, focusing on feelings and equality in relationships. whereas she was more materialistic; never attending Quinn’s games unless she was guaranteed a photo opportunity, using his card to buy luxury items, and according to Jack, constantly reminding Quinn how low he had felt before she came into his life.

and now, after asking around and learning everything i could, i can guarantee that Quinn doesn’t know half the things that i do.

i can guarantee he doesn’t know that she was a bully in high school, that that mean girl attitude never left. i can guarantee he doesn’t know that she brags to all her friends that she bagged a rich fiancé and she’ll never have to work to afford her luxury lifestyle, or that she has no issue in saying he isn’t attractive but his money makes up for it. and i know he doesn’t know she’s been sleeping with her personal trainer when Quinn is out of town.

and i know what i must do today, despite my nerves.

there’s still thirty minutes until the ceremony actually begins, and no matter how much i’ve steeled myself, i’ll never be ready to face the pity filled glances and the sympathetic words of Quinn and i’s families and friends. so, i wander the halls of the stuffy church, thinking about how unlike Quinn this all is.

perhaps he’s changed his mind since we had fantasizingly planned our own wedding. laid in bed, the golden sunrise lighting his face in a greek god-like way, speaking in hushed whispers, discussing our dream wedding. nothing like this one.

my feet pause on their own accord as yelling reaches my ears, and i identify the sound coming from an open door down the hall as Lindsay.

“are you stupid?” her voice drifts out of the room, carried by the empty space. “i told you to get nude heels, not cream!”

i make quick work to pass by the room, catching just a glimpse of the blonde bride, her fluffy white gown swallowing her.

heaving out a relieved sigh, i try to ignore the pounding in my chest, turning left down the hall and towards the main room. maybe it’s best for me to just get the pity and commiseration over with.

my heels click against the hardwood floor of the crowded room, and a hush falls over most of the right side. Quinn’s side.

scanning the room, i’m grateful to find Trevor and Cole. i know Quinn’s family is with him getting ready, but i at least have these two to bring me some comfort amongst the sea of strangers.

“y/n, you came!”

pop! the comfort bubble has broken. i thought i could trust Cole to treat me normally, but the gentle incredulous tone of his voice tells me otherwise. a mix of shock and sympathy.

“yeah, of course i did.” my lips quirk in a forced smile, shoving any resentment and nerves down deep inside me. “i wouldn’t miss Quinny’s big day.”

“y/n/n, you know you don’t have to act strong in front of us, right?” Trevor’s hand rubs my arm, providing the perfect grounding for me.

“yeah, no, i know that.” i nod. “but seriously, guys, i’m fine. i knew this day would come.”

“it’s not too late.” Cole jokes. “the priest does say that whole ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ thing, right?”

i let out a genuine chuckle at the deep and ominous tone he uses to imitate the priest; the first real laugh i’ve had all day. if only he knew.

i join Trevor and Cole in finding seats, sitting in the 4th row. not quite at the front, but also not quite the middle. i perch in the seat closest to the aisle, open for a quick getaway if needed.

the guys engage me in small talk, asking me about my job and frowning when i give the generic answer of ‘it’s okay.’

but i couldn’t tell them the truth, could i? that i hated it. that i regretted ever taking it. that it wasn’t the job that was bad, but rather that i was filled to the brim with resentment that it took me away from the man i love.

i knew i had brought it upon myself. i made myself this miserable. i chose this job over him. i got the internship and thought Quinn and i could withstand the distance while i was in Boston, but i was wrong. we didn’t make it more than two months before i was forced to watch our relationship crumble before me; knowing there was nothing i could do to fix us, i had to let him go.

i knew he would live on. i knew he would be able to put our relationship in the past. but i was only more disconsolate than ever. stuck in a mournful heartbreak. unable to move on and unwilling to try.

i’m shaken from my thoughts by Cole, who points out the mother of the bride walking down the aisle, signifying that the ceremony is getting underway.

i strain my back, twisting around in my seat. my eyes are drawn to the open double doors, where Quinn makes his entrance. his parents on either side of him.

my heart races in my chest, my nerves settling low within my stomach. he looks breath taking. but i can’t help noticing the lack of spark in his eyes. the once lively eyes that used to be so full of emotion, now seem empty.

my gaze tracks his movement, following as he walks down the aisle and to the altar, coming to a stop in front of the priest. his parents take their seats as he scans the room, seemingly searching, and when our eyes meet, he seems to stiffen. his back straightening and his jaw locking.

i can only hope my eyes convey everything i’m thinking.

i’m sorry.

please don’t do this.

his brothers are quick to follow down the aisle, decked out in navy blue suits, joining him at the altar as his groomsmen.

Jack’s lips quirk up in a smirk when he sees me, and he sends me a wink, but i can’t muster anything more than a simple straight lipped expression.

the next 20 minutes go by in a blur, a haze of bridesmaids and eventually Lindsay making her entrance.

“dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore - is not by any - to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly - but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly.”

the priest begins, and i’ve been to enough weddings to know what comes next. steeling my nerves, i take a deep breath in, letting it escape back past my lips with a silent whoosh.

“should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

a silence falls over the room, the priest looking out over the seated crowd.

my hands tremble by my sides, anxiety growing deep within me, but i know this is my last chance.

i rise to my feet, slowly and shakily. i can hear whispers start from the left side of the room, and i glance around to find everyone staring at me with horrified looks. everyone but Quinn’s immediate family and friends.

Jack and Luke share a glance before letting out relieved sighs; but i’m only focused on Quinn, who stares back at me with wide eyes and parted lips.

“go on.” the priest urges me, an annoyed expression painting his face.

Lindsay’s face turns red, hands balled into fists at her sides.

“don’t say ‘yes’.” i plead of Quinn.

“y/n-” he sighs, and my heart skips a beat in my chest, the well-known effect he has on me.

“you need to hear me out.” i beg. “Quinn, i’m sorry. i’m sorry i let us go, i’m sorry i didn’t fight harder for us, and i’m sorry i ever even took that stupid internship. but even if i’m too late to win you back, you deserve better than this.

“she’s been using you for your name and your money.” i continue, but Quinn squeezes his eyes shut in disbelief. whether he’s in disbelief of Lindsay or me, i can’t be sure. “and she’s been cheating on you.”

gasps sound out across the room and his eyes snap open wide again. his gaze flickers between me and his bride, who has now turned a pale white; all color draining from her face at my accusation.

“she’s lying! she just wants you to herself! she had her chance and she lost it and now she doesn’t want you happy.” Lindsay cries out.

“i have it on good authority that she’s been sleeping with her trainer when you’re out of town. you know i wouldn’t say anything if i weren’t completely sure. if i didn’t have proof.” i tell him “and you don’t deserve that. you deserve someone who will be absolutely head over heels, purely, and loyally in love with you. and i’m not saying that i’m that person for you. this isn’t me begging for a second chance, even if i am still out of my mind in love with you. i just can’t stand idly by and watch you make a mistake. i can’t let you marry her without knowing the truth.”

i take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. silence plagues the room, astonishment written all over the faces over every guest in attendance.

“okay, that’s all i wanted to say.” i purse my lips and nod, stepping out into the aisle. my heels click against the floor as i make my exit, not staying to see the outcome of my outburst.

***

i sit on my couch, staring at my hands fidgeting in my lap; my phone shut down entirely and sitting face down on the coffee table in front of me, not ready to face the consequences of my earlier actions.

a movie plays on my tv, but i pay no attention, only having put it on in attempt to escape my thoughts and avoid the quiet.

it’s been approximately twelve hours since i objected to my ex’s wedding. now midnight, and my anxiety has not lessened. i have no clue whether Quinn carried on with his marriage or if he took my words to hold the truth. too afraid to find out.

i’m broken out of my trance by a heavy knock sounding out on the door of my apartment, and i stand frantically. i expect that it’s Jack or one of the many other friends in attendance of the wedding this afternoon, but my heart rate picks up when i look through the peephole to find the very man i confessed my love to today.

my hand shakes as i unlock the door, opening it to reveal Quinn. he’s no longer in his tux, rather adorning sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he still looks handsome to me.

“Quinn.”

“i didn’t say my vows.” he rushes out.

“what?” i question, fearing i heard him wrong.

“i didn’t say my vows.” he repeats, pushing past me and into my entry hall. “she tried to deny what you told me, but i trust you. i held my ground, and she confessed everything. you were right.”

“Quinn, please.” i plead. “i’m happy that you’re not upset with me but i can’t-”

“i’m so glad you were there.” he cuts me off, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him. “were you telling the truth?”

“Quinn, you just said she confessed-” i push against his chest, tears gathering in my eyes.

“about being sorry. about still being in love with me. were you telling the truth?” he clarifies, his free hand coming up to hold both of mine in his clutch, and my arms go slack.

“yes.” the tension in the air is palpable, and i’m unsure whether it’s worrisome or comforting.

“say it again.” he breathes out, a subtle smile resting on his lips.

“i love you.” a lone tear spills over my waterline, rolling down my cheek. “i am absolutely and irrevocably in love with you.”

his lips crash upon mine in a bruising kiss, finally letting go of my hands in favor of resting his right one against my cheek. i stiffen against him, seizing up in his hold, and he pulls back. his eyes scan my face, his face etched in worry.

“did i do something wrong?” a hoarse whisper, our faces still millimeters apart.

my hands raise to cup the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to mine. my eyes flutter shut,this time it’s slow and passionate; holding my heart on my sleeve as i pour my soul out to him in the form of a kiss.

he pulls away, pressing his forehead against mine, but my eyes remain shut. we’re both silent, nothing but the sound of our mingling breaths and the tv lowly drifting in from the other room.

“i love you too.”

[achelouise]

Lies, mysteries, and tricks

Fandom: Honkai Starail

Pairing: Sunday/Gen!reader, MENTIONED Gallagher/reader

Warnings: Spoilers for 2.1 and written before 2.2! Very toxic, from both sides, I think? Maybe OOC Sunday.

Summary: You learn about Robin's death, and rush to console Sunday. He isn't the thing you should be worrying about, though.

A/N: It's been a while! Came back to write this, because I couldn't stop thinking about this idea. It's rushed, and it's not really well-written, and it's short. Please forgive me~ (I am obsessed with Gallagher rn, so if anyone has any ideas I would love to hear and write about them :D (I still don't know how to properly use tumblr btw))

“Sunday? Are you in there?”

No answer. You drum your fingers against your sides nervously.

“Sunday, can we talk? Please?”

Still no answer. Your heart beats widely in your chest.

You ignore your thunderous heart as you slowly push the doors of the mansion open. The creaking doors echo and bounce along the empty halls, revealing a giant room, devoid of any light. A luxurious bed, dorned with lights and gems and painted with beautiful colors, is tucked away at the very side of the room. Sunday’s bedroom.

The factions had established that, other than the man himself, Sunday’s blood-related family, along with his spouse, would have access to it. Sunday himself had no permission to grant access to anyone, so you are surprised when the bellhop simply glanced at you and let you in without protest.

You could only guess it was because you two were close friends, and they were used to seeing you enter the Pavilion as children. Still, to enter his bedroom must be a breach in security…

But he wasn’t in any other room you could find. Time was slipping, lives were being lost, and you needed to find him. Fast.

You’re not exactly in the know. Most things you know, only Gallagher has told you. But you know full well that Sunday needs support.

“Sunday, please. I know I haven’t visited in… a while. I know what happened, and I’m sorry. Let’s work this out together. Don’t run away. Please?”

Only your echoes answer.

You were rambling to yourself at this point, desperation climbing further and further up to your chest. You have seen what Sunday does when he loses those he loves- and you want to help him. You don’t ever want to see him like that again. Never again.

You glance at the papers scattered on his desk. Maybe they have some information on where he went. He likes to rant in diaries.

You close your eyes, and pray to whatever Aeon you follow.

Forgive my sins for ever trespassing privacy to this extent. 

You don’t exactly have a clear mind when you start to rummage through the papers that endured wear and tear. You start to read some.

How could she do this?

It’s fine. It’s fine. Itsfineitsfineitsfineitsfineitsfine

Robin. Dear Aeons, Robin. 

When I find the traitor I will make them pay in blo o d 

Please don’t leave me please

Please please please please pleasepleas  e 

Your stomach drops. Poor Sunday.

Something else catches your eye, though. A soft reflection of a photo, pinned at the corner of the widespread desk. You lean over to take a good look at it.

You bite your lip so hard it nearly breaks skin. But even that dulls in comparison to the piles and piles of photos- all of them just you and Gallagher.

There are a wide range of those photos; from you two sitting across each other in the Dreamjolt Hostelry, to your hands linked together, faces flushed and smiles bright. All of them, with Gallagher’s face crossed out with glaring, red circles.

How dare he HOW DARE HE HOW DARE HE

HE DID IT  HE KILLED HER   HE TOOK THEM   I WILL MAKE HIM PAY

The words are jagged and rough, as if he had barely managed to carve it out with his bare hands. It is a gigantic contrast to the sweet and elegant cursives he writes in his letters to you. It almost made you believe it wasn’t even Sunday who wrote this.

But you’re not stupid. You swallow the bile down your throat as your stomach churns with heightened fear and uncertainty. Sunday is a clever man, which makes him infinitely more dangerous.

Admittedly, he is far more unhinged than the public understands. You’ve never had a problem with it- only crazy can recognize crazy, and that was probably how he uncovered the plan of that gambler.

This doesn’t work in your favor, though. You don’t want to know what it means when he directs this insanity towards you.

You turn to leave.

“Ah, you found me.”

A hand shoots out to grip your arm, and you have no time to react. Shock, as quick as it comes, is slow to settle down. You try to scream.

“Oh Triple-Faced Soul, please seal this traitor's tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that the traitor will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.”

No.

Your whole body goes cold. You feel it- the soft waves of Harmony pulsing in your head, trapping your tongue and seeing through your eyes. You had seen its effect- seen how it slaughters and breaks those who disobey. But to receive this kind of treatment yourself…

You finally process the dangerous situation you’re in, and wrench free from his grasp. You regain your stance as you stumble backwards, a question on the tip of your tongue. “Why?”

Sunday looks… off. His clothes are askew, his eyebags more apparent without the illusion of Harmony, and a smile, out of place and out of his mind. He chuckles, far too gentle, so much so that it sends shivers down your spine.

“You know how this goes, don’t you?” he coos, berating and condescending. “Answer my questions truthfully, or suffer the rejection of the Harmony.”

“Why would I ever lie to you?” you ask, “What is there even to ask?”

His eye twitches. His voice drops an octave, laced with poison and jealousy. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

He breathes in, regaining his footing as the questions begin. “Are you interested in Gallagher? Is he interested in you?”

You think of him. A few hours ago, he insisted he came along to find Sunday with you. You’re starting to regret that decision. “Yes- and, I… I think so.”

Sunday tsks. “Do you know what he is? What it is?”

You cross your arms. “No. He is not human, but I am not exactly a young damsel in distress myself.”

“Do you not understand? That that man is nothing but a memetic entity, with thousands of truths woven together as a lie? Do you not know that the man you hold hands with killed Robin in cold blood? Why would you want to be with a foul beast like him?”

You are taken aback at the venom in Sunday’s tone. He isn’t even hiding it anymore. His breathing is ragged, and his eyes are blown wide.

“I… didn’t.” you admit, far too overwhelmed by his genuine frustration to confirm the validity in his claims.

Sunday suddenly withdrawals, as if sensing he has taken you off guard. He draws himself to his full height, casting a shadow with the light outside in the halls. The pulses in your head die out, as if they were never there.

“You are being tricked, dearest. He is not the man you think he is. He is a monster, a murderer, that serves under a shameful stain. Join me, in the pursuit of the Watchmaker. We can make all of them pay in blood.”

He rants, and you feel your heart sink. He is unstable because of this recent loss, but he has clearly not lost his mind. There is still rhyme and reason to what he does.

“My past? Hah, let’s not get into that just yet. I’ll tell you- someday.”

You glance down at the hand he offers you. His gaze is tender, but far too fragile. His lips are quivering, a silent plea.

You want to reject him. You want to scream at him, punch him, and run away, as far as possible. Gallagher had promised he would explain himself one day, and you had not mentally prepared yourself to know.

But given the unstable state he was in, it is unwise to simply respond with violence.

You reach out for his hand- only for a blade, dark and violet laced with gold, piercing from his stomach. Blue liquid pours from his gut, and this time, you truly do scream.

You don’t hear anything. The withdrawal of the blade is defeated by the look of despair and shock in Sunday’s eyes. He reaches for your hand, in a blind desperation- only to dissipate at the softest graze into a sea of bubbles.

Your heart thunders in your ribcage. A silent dread washes over you, and you hear your breaths grow shorter.

A lighter goes out.

Strong, warm arms envelop you. 

A voice, low and gruff, tells you that it’s going to be okay. The voice hovers over your ear, gentle and sweet, almost fabricated to ghost over your ear in a way you can’t refuse. You don’t respond, though, as you feel a sharp cut to your neck, and you’re out like a light.

[slytherinsrule89]

Project partners -

Tom Riddle x Reader smut

This does contain smut so be aware. If you are uncomfortable with that please don’t read :)

Word count: 1414

Sitting in class you had already begun to grow bored. What was with these professors in always droning on about topics that have nothing to do with what we are supposed to be learning? Looking around the classroom you spot a boy. He had soft waves in his hair but his expression was hard and unwelcoming. He certainly was hard to read but you had heard of him before. Tom Riddle, you believe, was his name. You’ve never talked to him before. He wasn’t exactly…approachable.

Tom was very sophisticated and practically knew everything. Top of the class and even head boy. It was certainly impressive. “Ms. Y/L/N?” You quickly got out of your little trance and whipped your head up to the professor. “Sorry?” The professor sighed before speaking. ”You’ll be paired with Tom for this project. And partners cannot be changed.” He announced the last bit a bit louder for the whole class to hear.

You looked at Tom but he hadn’t looked back once. This would be fun. By the time class had ended you tried to pack up your books quickly so that you could talk to Tom about the project. But the moment you looked up, he was gone. Goddamn it. When you walked out of the classroom the hallway was too filled with other students to be able to even see him. What a great start, was this man ever going to speak with you?

Later that night an owl flew to your windowsill and perched there, a letter in hand. You gently took it and the owl flew off. That's strange, you don’t often get mail. The envelope didn’t have a name either so you had no clue who it was from. Opening it you were met with a short note in very elegant cursive. Meet me at the library. 9:00. Signed T.M.R. It took you longer than you’d liked to admit to realize it was Tom but whatever.

Checking the time you realize it’s already 8:45. You got up and dressed into some clothes that weren’t as casual as the ones you were wearing and made sure you had all your books and notes. Assuming obviously that he had wanted to either talk about or work on the project together. You walked out of the dorm knowing it was a bit of a longer walk to the library from the girls dormitories and Tom was probably already there.

A bit later you opened the library door and took a moment before seeing Tom in a corner of the library. You weren’t nervous before but it was certainly kicking in now. Awkwardly you walked over and took the seat a few down from his. Without spearing you a single glance he speaks. “You’re late.” A frown quickly swept my face before he started again. “It is 9:01. I said 9:00.” You rolled your eyes internally at that. He was one of those.

Nevertheless, you ignored it and spoke up. “You wanted to work on the project right? Or talk about it at least?” “No.” He replied. What? How could this not be about the project? So far it has been the only thing that’s gotten us to spare a glance at each other. Well excluding when you were staring at him in class before the professor had mentioned the project but never mind that. “So…what exactly is this about then?” You asked him, trying to rid your confusion of the whole situation.

He stayed silent longer than you had the patience for before finally speaking. “You…infatuate me.” Okay, surely my hearing was getting worse because there was no way he just said that but he went on. “You make me feel a way that I’ve never felt before and I don’t like it.” You paused for a moment. Tom Riddle, the Tom Riddle, was admitting feelings…for you. “Are you saying that you have a crush on me?” “I said infatuation, not crush.” You rolled my eyes. “Same thing.”

Tom had sighed “I suppose I do then.” You were in shock. How could someone like him ever like you? Plus you hadn’t even talked to the guy before. “Stand up.” He blurted out. About to ask him why he cut you off and said it again this time with a little more demand to it. A bit hesitant, you stood up and moved your chair in before he quickly did the same thing. In a second he was inches away from you, staring you down. “Tom…?”

Before you could react to anything else his lips smashed into yours and he grips your hips hard pushing you against the table. “Jump.” Not sure what else to do you jumped a bit and he placed me on top of the table before standing between your legs. He quickly resumed with his lips on yours not caring about being gentle whatsoever.

Soon enough you feel his hands begin to grope your thighs, making sure that you’ll be bruised by tomorrow. His hands trailed up closer and closer to where you needed him the most while never once stopping or even slowing his attack on your mouth. Not that you minded one bit. Feeling his fingers stroke your clothed center your mouth let a small moan against his lips which caused him to groan and quickly push your panties to the side, sliding his fingers against your slick.

“So pathetic, you’re already this wet for me little slut?” Tom has wasted absolutely no time shoving a finger into your hole making you let out another noise and as you accidentally bit his lip. The taller boy had groaned again before biting your lip twice as hard causing you to cry out a bit. “You don’t keep that pretty little mouth shut soon and I’ll have to shove my cock into it.” You were shocked at his degrading words but couldn’t get much of a response out as he added another finger and started pumping them in and out at a faster pace.

As soon as he could feel you clenching down on his fingers indicating that you were getting close he took them out, and you let out a loud whine before he shoved you down to the ground on your knees. “Did you not listen to a word I just said? Too much a little slut to keep your mouth shut by yourself huh? Need someone else to do it.” You could only nod dumbly, pleasure and desperation clouding your mind.

Hearing as the zipper goes down your eyes refocus and he’s already pushing his trousers and boxers down revealing his hard cock, precum dripping out from the tip. Your eyes widened at the size wondering how the hell you could fit that in your mouth let alone your pussy. Tom's mouth grew into a smirk at the look on your face. “Come on little slut, you can take it.”

You leaned forward a bit and stroked him a couple times watching as it twitched before slowly you started sucking on the tip. Though quickly you realized that Tom was not going to wait as he took a step closer before started to fuck your face instead, taking his time for a second before losing all patience and just going for it. Tears started streaming down your face and you had kept gagging which Tom seemed to enjoy immensely. After he had found a rhythm you finally started breathing through your nose in order not to not gag so much.

His dick began twitching in your mouth but before he came he pulled you up again and onto the table, wasting no time in slamming his cock into you. Pounding into you mercilessly as you were a moaning mess, blabbering against his shoulder as he groaned above you. “You gonna be a pretty little cum slut for me? Gonna let me cum all over you princess?” I nodded against him, my moans increasing as I came. Still thrusting as my orgasm washed through me, he let me finish before cumming all over my thighs and lower stomach.

Both panting and catching our breaths he gives me a softer kiss. “Such a good girl for me aren’t you?” “Uh huh, only for you Tom.” “Good. That’s what I like to hear.” Helping me fix my skirt leaving his cum on my body, he then pulls up his boxers and trousers as well before starting to walk off. “Same time tomorrow, don’t be late.”

I hope you guys like this, let me know if you want to be tagged in future writings :)