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brainrot-of-a-thot · 19 hours

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One-shot of Tsubakino helping reader get ready to confess to Umemiya!! Like they help reader with makeup, hair, getting dressed, etc. And have a wholesome conversation where reader is like "why are you helping me don't u love Umemiya too/aren't I your competiton?" But Tsubaki just assuring them that isn't the case and whatnot!! Then reader confesses to Umemiya but he takes it the wrong way and think it's like family type love at first ope but eventually he'll understand when reader explains again though maybe a bit angrily at the end? Up to you!! Also sorry this got so lengthy omg if it's too much feel free to ignore!! I just wanted some platonic tsubakixreader fluff leading up to love interest umemiyaxreader

take it from another love-struck fool [hajime u.]

tsubaki gives you some much appreciated advice and the nudge you needed to finally truly confess to umemiya — if only it could penetrate his thick, family-oriented skull.

a/n: eeeee tsubaki my looove (platonic). I just wanna go shopping and have sleepovers with tsubaki and talk about boys while we do our makeup ;w;

c/w: afab!reader, fluff, not-so-unrequited love, language, clueless!ume, love confessions, very minor angst with fluffy ending, tsubaki is the bestest friend uwu, tsubaki nation pls rise!!

the first time you confessed to umemiya, it was an absolute disaster — but it wasn’t because he flat-out rejected you or anything.

after all, there was no possibility he could of rejected you — not when he didn’t even understand the depth of your confession.

when you’d finally plucked up the courage to say those three, incredibly difficult words, umemiya had simply blinked then beamed at you before exclaiming, “I love you, too! you’re my little sis!”

it wasn’t a rejection, but it stung just like one; and that was how you found yourself on the plush comforter of tsubaki’s bed days later, eyes achy but thankfully dry, spilling your heart out to him.

“a-and he just— he called me his little sister! it’s like it just — flew over his head, or something!” you huffed, trying desperately to bite back the fresh tears that threatened to gather in your eyes. tsubaki had already lined your eyes expertly with liner, and you were loathe to waste his meticulous work. tsubaki was rummaging through his vanity drawer, pulling out a myriad of items; some of them you didn’t really recognize, but you could deduce that they were used for hair styling.

“it probably did go over his head, doll.” tsubaki assented with a hum, hovering his fingers over the splay of styling wands atop his vanity.

you weren’t entirely sure why tsubaki had offered to do your hair and makeup — you knew it was a hobby he enjoyed, knew that he loved doing it for you, especially; heavens knows he’s done it many times in the past.

but all of those times were just for fun… this occasion was on a different level than the ones before it.

tsubaki was offering comfort and encouragement on levels that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend; he was so gentle when speaking to you and so careful when he applied your makeup — he sounded so genuine when he told you to keep your head up, as if he truly wanted to see you achieve your goal of successfully confessing to umemiya.

as if he wanted to see umemiya return your feelings.

you watched tsubaki with careful eyes as he finally grabbed the tool he was looking for — well, tools. he turned to face you and held up the two long styling wands with a smile.

“curled or straight?” tsubaki asked, and for a moment, you had trouble discerning what he meant — but then it caught up with you, and all you could do was blubber out, “whatever you think is best.”

tsubaki pouted and laid one of the wands back on the vanity.

“I think curls will frame your face a lot better,” tsubaki yipped. he pulled the comfy chair out from underneath the vanity and patted the bottom of it. “now come, sit.”

you robotically obeyed his gentle command and sat in front of the mirror. you scrutinized the layer of makeup tsubaki had applied to your face. it wasn’t anything super flashy, but everything he’d done enhanced each of your features in the best way possible. he truly was incredible at this. tsubaki hummed as he plugged the iron into the wall and set it to the side to heat up. his fingers were gentle when he ran them through your hair, massaging your scalp nicely.

“your hair is so pretty.” tsubaki cooed, that gentle smile on his painted lips. you smiled back through the mirror. guilt was still gnawing at your chest — you couldn’t help the way your skin crawled unpleasantly.

tsubaki loved umemiya — that much was obvious. he’d never tried to hide it, not even from umemiya himself. when you’d started to develop a crush on umemiya yourself, you’d felt so incredibly guilty for it.

you had sworn to keep it from tsubaki; but he was incredibly perceptive, and had pegged your crush on umemiya almost immediately. you truly expected him to feel sour or threatened by it, but he was so genuine when he beamed at you and offered encouragement.

everything tsubaki did seemed far too genuine to be an act… but you couldn’t help but feel a guilty nibble of doubt.

“hey, tsu…” you ventured gently, lacing your fingers nervously in your lap. tsubaki hummed in acknowledgment but kept his focus on your hair as he separated it into smaller sections.

“I… I really appreciate you doing this… but — why are you doing it?”

tsubaki’s hands stilled in your hair and his eyes shot to yours. you couldn’t quite decipher the look in them, but it didn’t appear to be angry; but you swore you could detect the faintest trace of hurt. but tsubaki blinked and it was gone, and his lips broke out into a soft smile.

“you’re meaning to ask why I don’t see you as a rival, yes? or why I’m perfectly okay with you being in love with umemiya, and even helping you out with getting him?”

your eyes widened fractionally and that guilt in your chest turned into a rabid beast. you broke eye contact with tsubaki and stared down at your hands. your throat felt too tight to speak, so you simply nodded.

“that’s simple, love.” tsubaki huffed with a small laugh. steam was rising from the iron now, and tsubaki plucked it up with expert fingers. he began to wrap a small section of your hair around the metal bar. “it’s because I want you both to be happy.”

you glanced back up. tsubaki still had that small, soft, genuine smile on his face as he worked your hair around the iron.

“I’ve been in love with umemiya for a long time,” tsubaki continued. “but I know he’d never return those feelings. and genuinely, I don’t need him to. I’m happy with the way things are between us.”

your heart constricted painfully at tsubaki’s words. you were just the same as him; hopelessly in love with umemiya. but the thought of umemiya never returning your feelings that way… it caused so much pain that it made you physically ill.

it must have shown on your face because tsubaki burst into a mini-fit of laughter.

“I’m sure it’s difficult to understand,” tsubaki affirmed, now finished with the left side of your head and moving on to the right side. “but it’s true. as long as I can love him, and see him happy, then I’m happy. after all, isn’t that all we want for the people we love? to see them happy and being true to themselves?”

you were struck silent. it made sense, it did; but you still couldn’t understand how tsubaki could stand the thought of seeing you with umemiya in the way he wanted to be — how he could remain happy seeing the one he loves loving someone else.

“I know you aren’t ever going to be able to fully understand it, and you’re always going to feel guilty in the back of your head. but that’s because you’re a good person.” tsubaki murmured, softly, running his fingers through the bouncy curls thrown over your shoulder. they looked amazing.

“but I want you to know that I want to see you happy, too. and I know that umemiya would make you as happy as you make him. and nothing would make me happier than seeing that.”

tsubaki meant it. you could feel just how truly and deeply he meant it. you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t cry and mess up his work, but…

“hey, no tears!” tsubaki barked playfully. “you don’t want mascara running down your face when you meet him, do you? speaking of which,” tsubaki had curled the last section of your hair and threw it over your shoulder. he placed the curling iron back on the vanity and used his hands to gently fluff your hair. “you’re all done! now,”

tsubaki waltzed to your side and reached down to cup one large hand over your wrist. you looked up at him and he beamed down at you.

“let’s go get your man.”

it had taken a bit of convincing, but tsubaki had successfully managed to get you into a flower-patterned, light yellow sundress and planted you in front of pothos thirty minutes after finishing your look.

you could see umemiya sitting alone at the back booth, a gentle smile on his face as he gazed out of the window beside him. your heart was fluttering in your chest and you swore your stomach was trying to claw at itself.

“be assertive,” tsubaki had insisted before he left. “word it in a way that leaves no doubt towards how you mean it. that’s what it’ll take to get through his thick skull.”

be assertive? how on earth were you supposed to do that?

you shook away your doubt and took a deep, stabilizing breath. you blew it out from between painted lips and reached forward to grip the knob, then opened the door as casually as you could.

pothos was empty save for kotoha behind the counter — she noticed you immediately and shot you a thumbs up, causing you to blush profusely. at least it was only kotoha here; you weren’t sure if you would be able to confess to umemiya if someone like hiragi or sakura were there.

umemiya, thankfully, hadn’t noticed you yet; but he was quick to do so when you had made it half-way to the booth. surprise painted his features for a second before they melted into a beaming smile.

“hey!” he greeted when you made it to the booth and slid into the seat across from him. your stomach was officially doing somersaults in your body, and you had a hard time maintaining eye contact with him. “tsubaki asked me to come here, so I thought he’d be here, but… I mean, don’t get me wrong! it’s super nice to see you here, but is tsubaki okay?”

you swallowed and willed your cheeks to cool down.

“uhm, yes, tsubaki’s fine—”

“oh, that’s good to hear! so, why isn’t he here? or is he just running late?”

a twinge of irritation rocked your unsettled, nervous gut. this was already incredibly nerve wracking, and if umemiya didn’t stop chattering, you’d lose any semblance of confidence you still had.

“actually, uh, tsubaki asked you here to meet me.”

umemiya’s blue eyes took on a shade of surprise and confusion, and fuck, why were they so pretty? this was starting to become very difficult. oh, no, what if you choked up?

“you… wanted to meet me? why didn’t you just ask me yourself?”

because all of my systems are nervous and I have the biggest crush on you, you thought bitterly, but forced yourself to remain physically calm.

“I, uhm… I wanted to t-talk to you.” you stuttered out, looking down at the table. shit, your throat was getting tight. you needed to hurry and get it out before you shut down or clammed up.

“oh, well, is everything okay—”

“please just stay quiet for a bit,” you rushed out, and distantly, you knew your wording was a bit rude, but you couldn’t have umemiya interrupting you during this. if he did, you’d most certainly choke.

you sucked in a shaky breath and kept your eyes downcast as you started, hesitantly, “the other day… I, uh, I t-told you that I loved you but… I don’t think you understood what I meant.” your eyes were feeling very warm; almost as warm as your cheeks. damn it, you couldn’t stop now.

“I guess maybe I’m to blame for that.” be assertive. “I didn’t word it the right way. umemiya, I… uhm… I’m—”

be assertive.

gathering up every ounce of courage you could scrounge, you lifted your head and met his eyes head on — blue clashed with your own, and umemiya’s face was attentive, and maybe even eager; you felt a bit more confident from that.

“I’m in love with you, umemiya.”

the silence that followed felt like it stretched on for centuries — umemiya stared at you, and you stared back. it was as if everything else had melted away, and your body was vibrating with multiple sensations that you couldn’t even put a name to. nerves, anxiety, dizziness, oh god, why wasn’t he saying anything? was this just some big mistake? what if he didn’t even respond back, or worse, what if he rejected you—

light, warm, bubbly laughter — umemiya was laughing. your heart dropped in your chest and tears pricked at your eyes; you didn’t want to cry, but you couldn’t help the way this reaction hurt. it hadn’t even been one you’d considered a possibility. all you could do was stare at the man as his laughter faded slowly into small chuckles. your entire body was burning, you needed to get away—

“you know, I’m really glad you decided to confess here.” umemiya said, halting your brain and knocking you into a state of confusion. his pretty eyes met yours, and they looked so soft — warm, like a cloudless summer sky.

“I truly can’t think of a better place for a first date. that is, if you’re up for turning this into an impromptu first date?”

at first, you couldn’t quite digest umemiya’s words. a… date?

a date.

a date?!

you nearly choked on your own spit; your heart had abandoned its journey to your stomach in favor of leaping into your throat. umemiya was staring at you, softly and patiently, eyes clouded with something that you couldn’t recognize.

“a… date?” you echoed back, and umemiya nodded.

“a date.” umemiya confirmed before leaning back in his seat. “I mean, I know it’s not how I would have done it — if it were up to me I would shown up at your door with flowers and asked you myself, but… this could work too. if you want it to.”

you couldn’t breathe — you were happy, you were nervous, you were full of disbelief; was umemiya being serious?

his eyes said yes. you swallowed thickly and smiled shyly before nodding. umemiya brightened significantly and gestured to kotoha.

“how about something special, kotoha? it’s our first date so bring us something yummy!”

truthfully, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel any pity for the trouble umemiya was suddenly stacking onto poor kotoha. you were too lost in your own world, happy and warm and fuzzy. you were officially on a date with umemiya — sure, it happened pretty fast and you were about ninety percent confident this was some fever dream you’d conjured up, and you weren’t actually inside pothos but rather outside of it still watching umemiya —

but, if you pinched yourself and still found yourself in this booth, you’d call tsubaki later to thank her.

I’m not completely sure how I feel about this one babes. I swear I redrafted it at least three times. I just hope it’s good enough urghh

#tsubaki x reader #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #hajime umemiya x reader

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queensunshinee · 2 days

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Time Of Our Lives || Part 9

warnings: SMUT! 18+!, dirty talk, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, praise.

Part 9

"What did I miss?" Liana asked as she sat down, seeing the boys exchange looks. Sometimes they spoke without words. She always envied that connection. She didn’t have anyone who could understand her with just a nod or a blink or, in this case, a stare.

"Hello, Earth to Art and Patrick?" she tried to join in, but something about the current situation didn’t feel right. "It's my turn to go inside. I need to drink some water. You two catch up, it's been a while since you’ve seen each other," Art said without looking at her, causing Liana to frown as he walked away. "That was weird, right?" she asked Patrick, who responded with a half-smile. "When is Art not weird?" he said. "How are you?" he asked, turning his gaze back to her and seeing her give the widest smile she could offer anyone. "Do you forgive me?" she asked, moving to sit next to him, placing her head on his shoulder. "What do I have to forgive you for, Amanda?" he chuckled, tracing shapes on her shoulder while taking another sip of champagne. "I was terrible. The exams made me crazy," she tried to justify her behavior over the past month. "Do you know if you're leaving yet?" he asked. "I’ll know when we get back from vacation. I’m terrified," she murmured. On one hand, Liana desperately wanted that year in Oxford. She wanted to see Europe. The architecture. The atmosphere. The culture. She wanted to see something other than the American suburb she had lived in her whole life, with the same people and the same opinions and the same tennis. On the other hand, she didn’t want to break her parents’ hearts. Her parents who had always talked about Stanford and how she’d join the family business after she finished school, and her parents who were the best people she knew but whose dreams for her flew past them as if they were never there. And now there was Art too. Art, who in the past two days had made her feel things she had never felt before. Art, who in the months at Stanford had become an inseparable part of her life. Art, who made her stomach ache at the thought of not seeing him for a year. Art, who still didn’t know she was considering leaving. "You’ll pass that test, we both know you will," Patrick said calmly. "And then you'll conquer Europe, building by building." He chuckled, but his voice faded with each word. "And we'll stay here, missing you," he said, and she straightened up, looking at him. "I’m not going to die, you know," Liana rolled her eyes, trying to lighten the conversation. "No, you're just going to meet people much better than us, and I'm enough of a bastard to be worried about that," he said honestly. "I don’t think there are many people in the world better than you, Patrick," she concluded. The next day Art left. He texted her that a spot opened up in some tennis group he could join, and he didn’t want to miss the opportunity. That he’d see her at Stanford. When Liana tried to call, he didn’t answer. So they kept missing each other throughout the vacation, she trying to call just as he was going into practice or the shower or falling asleep, and him sending messages that he was okay, just busy. On the last day of the vacation, she received a message that her exam results had come in. She had been accepted. Liana cried. Which wasn’t anything special because objectively Liana cried a lot, but this time she cried out of excitement. All the effort she put in had paid off, and now she could prepare for the student exchange. She could make her dream come true, start being a real person in the world. The conversation with her parents was horrible. There were shouts and accusations, and her mother said they wouldn’t pay for this, which Liana had suspected might happen. Her father seemed more conciliatory but didn’t say much. "Do you think Mom will be mad at me for long?" she asked him on the way to the airport. If there was one thing Liana hated, it was that it was always obvious she had been crying. Her pale face would turn red, and her eyes would swell, sometimes for days. This was one of those cases. It could be said with confidence that Liana looked like she had been run over by a bus yesterday.

"I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’re proud of you. Mom will come around, don’t worry," her father hugged her as they got out of the car. "I want this so much, Dad," she sighed.

"I know, honey," he said, kissing the top of her head. He hated seeing the emotional turmoil his daughter was in. His daughter, who above all feared disappointing people. "I’ll come back to Stanford after that," she mumbled, feeling the lump in her throat take over again. "I don’t want her to hate me," she looked at him with teary eyes.

"She doesn’t hate you. Li, look at me." Her father tried to wipe her tears. "Your mother is a stubborn woman, and you’ll see that a month after you’re there, she’ll come visit you." He smiled, and she nodded, not sure she believed what he said. "Besides, you have another semester at Stanford. Make the most of it, maybe you’ll love the place as much as we did." He shrugged, seeing her take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "I love you, Dad," she hugged him again and started to walk away, hoping everything would calm down and her mother would eventually look at her like she did before she told her she was planning to leave. Art opened the door after five knocks, looking at her with a puzzled expression. "Did we have plans?" he asked. "Hey Arthur, I missed you too," she rolled her eyes and gave him a small kiss on the lips, seeing him close his eyes and deepen the kiss within seconds as he closed the door. "Hey," he smiled at her and moved her hair out of her face. "Have you been crying?" he asked after examining her. Art couldn’t stop himself from asking. It was like an instinct; seeing what he could do to make her feel better. But he was so mad at her that he didn’t really want to talk to her or know how she felt right now; after all, she didn’t care how he felt. He did want to fuck her. He wanted to feel like she was his. He was afraid he was a little addicted to the feeling of looking at her and feeling like she was entirely his. He was afraid that if she left, he wouldn’t feel that way again. He was afraid of losing.

"Did you know?" his mother asked on the phone. Her voice worried. "What?" he returned the question, panting after practice. "That Liana is planning to leave for Oxford? Did you know that?" she demanded the truth. And the truth was that he knew she was leaving. But he didn’t know where or when and he didn’t know it was official. His heart pounded faster. "Yes, I knew," he mumbled, not wanting to reveal how far he felt from Liana in reality. Not wanting to reveal how stupid he felt that of all people, Patrick knew before him. "How could you not say anything, Art, she's our Liana. How will she manage in England alone? She barely manages to find her way in the supermarket without getting lost," his mother sighed. And she was right. He knew she was right. And she wasn’t even their Liana; she was his Liana. And she was his Liana for exactly two days. What an idiot he is. "She’s a big girl. She can navigate the supermarket in England without getting lost. I have to go," he mumbled, angry at himself for still feeling the need to protect her. "Just tired from the flight," she smiled at him a tired smile and felt his lips leaving small kisses on her neck, causing her to close her eyes. "Can I help?" his voice was teasing as he took off her shirt without much resistance. Examining her for a second, as if trying to remember how she looked. "You're already helping," she smiled a genuine smile, and his lips were on her again, hungrier than she had felt him so far. "I want you so much, Li," he groaned into her mouth. His tongue intertwining with hers as if he had wandered for years in the desert and she was his source of water. "Do you want this?" he asked, as they moved to his bed and she nodded. In complete haze, at this point, she decided that Art Donaldson could do whatever he wanted with her. And it was a liberating decision. Knowing she was safe in his hands and he decided how good she could feel now. "Words, Liana," he demanded as he started taking off her jeans. She didn’t even notice she was already half-naked in front of him. "You're wearing too many clothes," she mumbled incoherently as his hand brushed over her panties. "You're already wet, Li?" his voice was amused as he took off his shirt. "Already ready for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet," he whispered in her ear and heard her moan, which caused him to release a groan of his own. "Do you want this?" he asked again. This time his hand applied more pressure over her panties. "Art." Her voice was desperate. "Please," she whispered, and he bit his lip. Stopping himself from all the things he wanted to do with her. "Please, what?" he asked, his mouth close to hers, teasing, barely touching. He kissed her right cheek and then her left

"Touch me. Please," she almost cried out of frustration and desperation, exactly the way he wanted her. His. His again. And he felt desperate too, so her panties came off in a flash and he gave her exactly what she wanted. He heard her moan beneath him as his fingers moved inside her rhythmically. He felt how tight she was. He tried not to imagine his dick inside her, thinking he might not last. She was a virgin. He knew that. She had told him. He was going to be the first inside her. "So good for me, Li," he murmured and smiled, never taking his eyes off her. He didn't think anyone could look better than Liana did now, beneath him, eyes closed, desperate sounds escaping her, moaning his name. He was sure the student in the room next door was jerking off to the sound of her. He was sure no one in the world could resist Liana Levy when she looked like that beneath him. He was no different from anyone else. Almost captivated. Almost helpless. Just wanting to deliver. Just wanting her to always be like that for him. His lips roamed over her body until they reached her clit, while his hand sped up.

"You take me so well, Li," he said as the room filled with the sound of her fluids and moans.

"I'm going to-" she mumbled, her voice breaking, making him look up at her. He had to see her come. He had to remember this moment.

"Come for me, Li, come on. I want to see you," he demanded in the most authoritative voice he could muster, even though he felt himself melting under her influence.

"Art," she moaned again.

And he was right, her face in that moment was truly the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his 20 years of existence. Her half-open mouth, her eyes closed, slightly teary, her hand on her breast. It was a magnificent sight and he knew only he had seen her like this.

Her body shook and he gave one last kiss on her sensitive clit, then stood before her.

"Open your eyes, Li," he said, and she did exactly as he commanded. "Kiss me. Taste yourself." Another half-command with a smile and scheming eyes. Within seconds, her lips were on his, her tongue mingling with his intensely, just wanting more.

"I want to be inside you," he murmured, and she nodded. "Can I?" he asked. He had to ask. He knew she could say no and he would have to accept it, and if he were less greedy, he might even be satisfied with that anyway.

But he was so angry with her. He wanted her to know. He wanted her to know that just as he was hers, she was his. That she couldn't just ignore him like that. Dismiss him as if he didn't matter.

"Yes," she murmured into his mouth, feeling him smile against her.

"Yes, what?" he asked, teasing.

"Fuck me," she whispered, and it came out vulgar and blunt, uncharacteristic of the girl in front of him. She was even surprised by the words that left her mouth, her eyes widening for a moment before remembering it was Art and relaxing. She was safe with Art. He wouldn't use her words against her. It was okay for her to need him.

"I didn't hear you," he murmured, removing the rest of his clothes and moving to his desk to grab a condom. "I'm on this side of the room, Liana. You need to speak louder." He leaned against the wall as he put the condom on, taking a breath. He had to steady his breathing if he wanted to last inside her for more than three seconds.

"Please, Art. I want to feel you inside me," she said louder, more confidently, more desperately. He moved toward her. "Please fuck me," she looked him in the eyes and bit her lip, feeling almost small but also kind of powerful. He looked almost as desperate as she did as his hand traced her face and then her chest, stopping at her sensitive nipple, making her moan.

"That much, huh?" he asked, positioning the tip of his dick at her entrance and hearing her sigh in response. "Don't worry, I've got you. Are you going to be good for me, Li?" he asked, watching her nod in response. "Are you going to take me like you were made for me?" he asked again.

"Yes, please. Art." She was almost crying with frustration. Liana didn't know what to do to make him enter her already. To feel him. For him to fill her with himself. For him to be close to her. Part of her. She didn't know when she started feeling all these emotions for Art Donaldson, but now was not the time to figure it out. He began to slide into her.

"Oh, Art," she bit his shoulder, making him groan.

"Fuck, Liana. So tight. Fuck. Hang in there, baby, are you okay?" he asked, studying her.

"More," she mumbled. The pain didn't matter. She just wanted him. She wanted all of him. He did move more. A bit more each time. Another moan and another sigh each time until he was fully inside her. Their lips merged in their most sloppy kiss yet. They were one for a moment.

"You can move," she managed to say after a few seconds.

"Are you sure?" he asked, seeing her nod. "Fuck, Li. I won't last long like this," he murmured, his movements gentle. He was careful with her.

When he felt he was close and knew she wouldn't come from the first time someone inside her, he added a finger to play with her clit.

"Fuck, Art," she moaned his name for the umpteenth time.

"I know. You're doing such a good job, Li, taking care of me so well," he said, feeling her tighten around him, bringing him to the edge almost with her.

After a few seconds, he gently pulled out of her, seeing her panting and feeling just as spent. He took off the condom and walked it to the trash, finding his boxers on the way and putting them on. He saw the girl in front of him, completely naked. Completely his.

"When were you planning to tell me?" he asked, looking at her from a distance.

Liana was still in euphoria, her eyes half-closed, confused by the question. "What are you talking about?" she sounded amused, looking at him with a smile as he put on a shirt. For a moment, she felt fragile, not understanding how she was still completely naked while he was fully dressed in front of her.

"About leaving Stanford. About Oxford? I don't know. Maybe there are more things you'd like to tell me." His gaze was cold, making Liana freeze too. She felt her nakedness now. She understood why he was dressed and she wasn't. She was vulnerable right now.

"How long have you known?" she asked quietly, swallowing and searching for her clothes.

"My mom asked me about it yesterday," he said, never taking his eyes off her. "Do you know how stupid I felt when I lied and told her I knew?" he asked. His voice didn't rise, but the frustration was clear.

"Art, I found out two days ago," her eyes glistened and she breathed quickly, feeling everything slipping away from her. He was slipping away from her.

"You're lying," he stated with an eye roll, sitting down on the bed.

"Art," she knelt in front of him, studying his face. He showed no emotion, only coldness.

"It's okay, Liana. We both know what this is," he said, instinctively moving her hair out of her face.

"What is it?" she swallowed. She knew Art. She knew he was about to say something he'd regret, and yet she still pushed him to say it.

"It's me passing time until Tashi realizes she wants me," he said, seeing her expression change to one he'd never seen on her before. She moved his hand from her face quickly and scooted back on the floor as fast as he didn't know she was capable of, as if afraid of his touch.

"Wow." She swallowed, looking at him, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," she tried to salvage the situation, and he chuckled.

"Come on, Liana." He rolled his eyes and lay down on the bed, no longer looking at her.

"You just fucked me, Art." She felt sick. It was the first time she had slept with someone. He knew that. She felt so humiliated.

"I know. I was there, and if I remember correctly, you asked for it. More precisely, you begged-"

"Shut up. Just shut up." She cut him off and stood up. She couldn't hide her tears anymore.

"Why did you do it? We could have just continued meeting at family dinners. Seeing each other in the hallway and occasionally saying hello. Why did you do it?" It came as a sob. She had never felt so humiliated. It was like a truck had run over her.

"I was bored, and you were cute, and let's be honest, a little desperate," her hand found its way to his cheek with a force neither of them knew she possessed. She wanted to apologize automatically because she wasn't violent, but it didn't come out.

"I hate you so much. I will never forgive you. You are the worst person I know." She mumbled and moved toward the door.

"At least I beat Patrick to it," he found himself saying. He had to have the last word in every argument.

"No, Art. You lost to Patrick. Even in twenty years, you won't have half the character and heart that Patrick has already. You're a complete loser compared to him, and I hope you never forget that." She said without stuttering while he didn't take his eyes off her, swallowing hard, finally hearing the door slam.

The moment Liana reached her room, after passing a considerable number of people who looked at her with worried expressions, some even trying to ask if she was okay, she collapsed on the floor and let out the loudest cry that had probably ever escaped her. She felt dirty. Almost used. She had trusted the wrong person.

She picked up the phone to call the only person she thought could understand her.

"Liana, are you okay?" Patrick sounded concerned and confused, probably because of the late hour.

"He really hurt me and I didn't know who else to call," she managed to say through her tears, hearing Patrick sigh, as if silently saying he knew. He knew this would happen.

Writing this part kinda broke me. I know Art was being cruel, but well, he was acting out without thinking about the consequences. Got your requests and maybe on the weekend we'll give Liana/Patrick/Art some more layers. Keep sending me questions and such. I LOVE it. Hope you're still enjoying and again, if you wanna join the taglist, say the word ❤️

taglist: @swetearss @ganana @yoitsme-04 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @serenadingtigers

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers fic #challengers #tashi duncan #art donaldson smut

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dadbodbuck · 23 hours

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fuck it friday

quite literally from my buck 1.0/118 tommy fic titled "fuck my face, closet case"

And, really, Tommy should have known better. Two weeks after he kisses a man for the first time—like he means it, hidden and lonely in a gay club in WeHo where Tommy knows nobody will find him—that’s when God decides he’s had enough of a good thing and sends him Evan Buckley.

Evan walks into the firehouse all nervous energy hidden behind a blinding smile, and a little voice in the pit of his stomach whispers, oh, that’s trouble. The others razz him a little for being late, and he squawks, the tension melting from his shoulders. Tommy’s brain goes a little fuzzy. Evan is hot—lean, long legs, almost as tall as Tommy and bright like the sun.

“—and this is Tommy Kinard, who’s leaving us in six months, so don’t get too attached,” Chimney introduces, snapping Tommy back to reality. Tommy doesn’t get up, just reaches out a hand for Evan to shake. He hopes he can play it off as cool. Evan’s hand in his is warm, firm, and Tommy thinks about what those fingers would feel like in—

Nope. No, no, no sir. Tommy shuts that line of thinking down very quickly, which becomes much easier when Evan starts talking.

“Retiring?” he asks, tilting his head like a dog trying to figure out a puzzle. Tommy needs to be so careful.

“Moving to Harbor,” Tommy corrects, “I was a pilot in the Army. Turns out, they’d love to have me over at Air Support. Nash just couldn’t bear to say goodbye.”

“He’ll be here for your probationary period,” Bobby adds, “We were short-staffed after an… unexpected departure, so it’s just best for the team if he stays until you’re trained up. In fact, I’ve partnered the two of you together, since he’s our most senior firefighter. He’ll be mentoring you.”

An easy (Flirty? No, Kinard. Down, boy.) smile stretches across Evan’s face. “Well, I’m sure you’ll teach me everything I need to know.”

And really, that should be that. Tommy should let it go, and get as far away from Evan as he can, but of course, it can’t be that easy.

No, because Bobby had to make them partners. Tommy is staring down the barrel of six months with this eager, genuine, pretty as sin man, who is almost certainly straight, and Tommy might need to quit while he’s ahead.

#my fics #fic tag: closet case/1.0

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pinkandpurple360 · 2 days

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I think something that bugs me about the argument Blitzo is more in the wrong is how self defeating it is

the argument against Blitzo usually goes like 'Stolas thinks Blitzo is into sex with him because he seduced him first. Blitzo gave Stolas the impression it was all about sex or that Blitzo was actually into him'

but if that's the case then why didn't Stolas just ask Blitzo if he wanted to come over normally? if he really genuinely thought Blitzo was actually into him in some way (which is already pretty delusional when Blitzo stole his book, dipped and tried to avoid him) then why didn't he simply ask for his company?

The Full Moon deal itself is the smoking gun here, because no one would logically go to the length of proposing a transactional deal for something they thought the other party might be interested in doing freely (and not even bother to check that possibility first). Like we're supposed to simultaneously believe Stolas thought Blitzo was happy to sleep with him again and that he used the book to force Blitzo into it, when he was being shot at no less? It doesn't make sense!

It's just the result of rewriting the story between seasons, because it did used to make sense

Season 1 - the two are strangers who had a one night stand which Blitzo leveraged to steal Stolas' book. Stolas, being entirely aware Blitzo's principal interest is the book, decides to use Blitzo right back to get sex out of him, probably rationalizing that the power imbalance this creates isn't that bad because [insert minimizing reasoning here]. The transactional deal is entirely sexual until they both start catching feelings but the transactional relationship and Stolas' behavior has badly affected Blitzo's perception of Stolas, complicating things

Season 2 - Stolas was in love with Blitzo the whole time? And he is apparently now so dumb he didn't realize Blitzo was just interested in the book to begin with despite being robbed for it (and the fact that he himself proposed a transactional deal for it). And he only made it about sex because Blitzo slept with him first, or something? Which kind of begs the question why Stolas couldn't just ask Blitzo out properly or if he wanted to come over if that's what he actually wanted and if he actually believed Blitzo had just 'borrowed' the book or something??

Or are we supposed to assume Stolas just thought of the deal as 'Blitzo is interested in sex with me and he needs my book so I'll kill two birds with one stone here'? That still doesn't make sense because MF Stolas didn't propose the deal as 'just return the book once a month and maybe we can coincidentally have sex since we're mutually into it' - he explicitly framed the deal as a quid pro quo 'you give me X if you want to keep using Y': in his own words 'an exchange, favors for favors - passionate fornication and you get to keep it all the rest of the time'. That's how Blitzo and the rest of IMP understand it: the business is dependent on Blitzo keeping Stolas happy in bed. They don't talk about it as 'please don't mess up that relationship you're having on the side with Stolas since it could make things awkward & compromise our access to the book', they all see it as 'we have to make sure Blitzo fucks Stolas well enough that we can keep the book'. And Blitzo is anxious enough about this that he presumably pays out of pocket to get toys to please Stolas with, and everything about how he talks during the scene suggests he treats it as an extension of his job ('am I not doing good enough? I can do better! I'll do anything just don't wreck my business')

See, season one stolas fits the character the fans describe him as: A flawed privileged man who made a cruel decision to use someone but who in time slowly changed, regretted, and caught feelings. But now it’s not that.

New story: baby prince who did nothing wrong and is crying, is forced by his mean dad who hits him, to marry a mean girl who chokes puppies, then he met a special boy who is his soulmate and it was love at first sight, he’s been pining for his knight in shining armour to come back to rescue him.

This is apparently the correct sequence of events, the correct story, and it is the foundation of the romance. Blitzø changing his flaws to be better, for the sole purpose of saving Prince Stolas, whose only flaw is being too perfect and kind.

Season two stolas is somehow more twisted and terrifying than someone who did something wrong and at the time, had full knowledge of why it was wrong. But was just selfish. This new guy is someone who is so narcissistic and deeply delusional or “caught up in his feefees” (??) that he can’t fathom not being the victim, in every situation. To the point it makes everyone around him feel gaslit and brushed aside by him, and they resort to rage. Which he then uses against them by crying and forcing them to feel bad and say sorry. And no. This is not talking about Stella.

And to make it worse in the new story, it feels like he’s a ‘Stan’ in the literal sense. Someone who feels like he has a special ‘meant to be’ connection with a performer who was courteous but doesn’t remember who he is, just because he was attracted to him on stage. That type of “see? He gets it!” Is the perfect type of interaction with a star to ignite a parasocial obsession. And it did.

The lyrics of Stan even talk about the Stan guy thinking he and Slim can relate because they’re both fathers, that they both have bad dads themselves. That nobody understands Slim like Stan, so “we should be together” he describes how he turns to drink and drugs to cope with the pain, but mostly says it for pity, and if Slim only sent him a letter or a call (or a text) he could have saved him from drowning.

And does this all make him less tragic? Less sympathetic? No. But it is still a very antagonistic to behave in this way to someone.

Plus we know he hits the ‘nice guy’ entitled rage part of the rejection soon and gets revenge. Like clockwork.

Yuck.

#helluva boss critical #essays #stolas critical #stan #pink writing excessive paragraphs like good old days when she broke her leg and had nothing to do

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homeless202 · 1 year

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thinking about Eunyung breaks my heart bc remember when he had a problem with stealing and managed to stop? but even then he still got accused of stealing and no one believed him when he said he didn't do it except for Haejoon?

or when he finally got a job at the restaurant aka a (somewhat) honest way to make money and afford to buy his own things? but he wasn't officially employed bc he's too young and got fucked over by his employer and got beat up by the guys at the playground during thanks giving when Haejoon spent days looking for him?

or when he the dorms filled up and he got that shitty roommate? the one he tried to get along with since the beginning but the mfer just wanted a room cleaner and free food? when Haejoon stepped in with the pan when the guy wanted to punch Eunyung?

<- these are all instances where Eunyung tried so hard to live a good and honest life, go on a straight path, be an upstanding citizen and a good person. every single time that shit blew up in his face royally and his efforts had gone to waste. he tried so hard and nothing came out of it. the mere thought makes pieces of my soul die.

---

this goes to show how hard it is to pull yourself out of where you started. the thing is, familiar things are magnetic. if you grew up surrounded by bad influences, you'll naturally gravitate towards them, no matter how hard you try get away, move on, do better. bc we naturally feel a pull towards things we're familiar with, things we know. think 'comfort zone', and how hard it is to get out of it.

that doesn't mean it is impossible to leave them behind, but it takes lots of time and effort, until you get used to the new good influences. until you learn to feel comfortable with what you're unfamiliar with.

you try, fail and try again. it's hard, but doable. when the universe throws lemons at you, you pick them up, squeeze them all into a water gun and shoot. aim for the eyes.

#i wanted to point out some things i noticed #and the post turned into a life lesson #i kinda tend to do that #sorry #there's so much you can learn from all these characters #also notice how in all 3 situations #haejoon is there to help?#<- not to say that a savior is needed #but a solid support system works wonders #hj makes ey better #while ey makes hj worse #<- interesting dynamic to have #A needs B there while B needs A far away #it's like one gets better at the expense of the other #but in our boys' case i think it's getting better #more mutually beneficial #i love them so much #feels trip #eunyung baek #ey hj parallels #no home #no home wanan #집이 없어 #webtoon #meta #no home manhwa #my soul dies and my heart breaks thinking about it bc there's nothing i hate more than fruitless effort and wasted potential #to try so hard and still fail...then realize how much time you wasted and all the pointless sacrifices you made #<- i'm rambling ignore this last part

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yotd2009 · 5 months

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ok fr last one but there's actually a bootleg of my school's anastasia and i'm linking it bc you all NEED to understand that my infatuation with this one girl's voice which started when i was in the 6th grade and still hasn't really worn off isn't based on nothing

#brielle's the one in the n95 mask (the video is too grainy to actually make out any of the ensemble's faces but she stands out)#and i'm the in my 'teenage tboy's diy first short haircut' era in every scene she's in #apart from everything abt the girl who plays anya. the tea on everyone else is that our director liked the boy who played gleb's voice so #much that she actually lowered some if not all of his parts to be in his range. the guy who played vlad was a total diva and uhm. the phras #'peaked in high school' has been tossed around at him a lot. and the fact that he came back to sub the year after he graduated isn't helpin #his case. also he pressured the girl who played anya's grandmother into wearing old age makeup + spray her hair grey bc he decided he was #going to wear it and since she's supposed to be older than him she had to too and used to waltz into the girls' changing room whenever he #wanted. everyone was like super shocked during auditions though bc we all thought he was a shoe-in for dimitry esp since seniors get #priority casting bc it's their last chance. but at callbacks (we had singing auditions via video and dance auditions in person and callback #were tacked on to the dance auditions) he kinda flubbed his song and then this freshman. who was with us via google meet bc he literally ha #covid at the time absolutely blew him out of the water and i remember walking away w brielle like 'holy shit [first name] [last name] just #lost a part to a freshman' (he's the kind of person you just have to full name otherwise it sounds wrong). that said i do think he made a #much better vlad then he would've made a dimitry and while he is. a lot. he's always been nice to me and i did briefly idolize him and his #stage presence way i did anya's singing voice but that faded when i got into hs and started actually observing his prima donna ways #(the one production we were in together before in middle school we didn't have any scenes together). the girl who played the grandma #actually shouted me out in cast circle and that's the only time that's ever happened to me. also i'm p sure her dad is/was dating someone m #dad and by extension myself work with so that's. Oh My God. like she (the one who works for my dad) brought him w her to a comedy show as i #think her bf but i'm not 100% sure and when he found out what school i went to he mentioned his daughter went there and despite the fact #that i basically have a script for when people ask me that question bc i do NOT pay attention to most of my fellow students and don't know #anyone i was like 'holy shit' bc i actually did. hm what else. the guy who played the tsar and i used to shittalk bad period dramas #backstage during the first part of act 2. also during the press conference scene i need you to picture all the bolshevik soldiers and #romanov royals doing the macarena behind the curtain bc that was absolutely what we were doing back there. speaking of the press conference #the really high singing w/o a clear source was actually anya standing behind the curtain on the other side of the stage bc she's the only #one who physically could sing the part. also in regards to the bolshevik soldiers. we were originally supposed to have wooden rifles but fo #some reason our director took them out so we had to just walk menacingly towards the romanovs. you can't rlly see me that well in that scen #but that jacket would NOT stay closed and for 2/3 performances i had to awkwardly hold it closed the entire time. luckily the one that was #filmed was the one where i was smart enough to bring safety pins and also saved like all of the ballerinas bc their costumes all started #falling apart at once backstage.#romeo.txt #theatreposting

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bones-n-bookles · 1 year

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Re: my last reblog i kept trying to Not Ramble in the tags and failing bc im incapable of shutting up so. Venty ramble in these tags instead of my mutuals lol

#i didnt expect to get a cuddly laika but am so fucking glad that i did #moving away from cali was rough in that regard #my little brothers were always there for me to hug or just lean on as we did our own thing or talked or watched something #or worst case scenario my mother #but Kit got me through the move #and then she left.#and i had no one really to get that physical affection from #idk rn im just. aggressively more aware of how touch starved i am #most of my life ive had friends i could just lay in a pile with like cats but i havent really the past however many years #since i stopped talking to jules ig #i like to think of myself as independant and able to live on my own without anyone else #but i actually get very sad without my few favorite people and someone to hug #its annoying and depressing and very hard to remind myself that humans are a social species and i am in fact a human so #anyways #sometimes i think its better to just. live in deprivation without reprieve so i cant remember how depressed i am LMAO #that sounds terrible huh #its fine tho. ill be fine. i have my cuddly boy and i shall survive #maybe find friends i can lean on and hug who arent a bajillion miles away

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viro-lil-goat · 4 months

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I really hope this reaches more people, I'm only reposting this information from Instagram, the least that I can do. (Update: I changed their upbringing as it appears to have been listed wrong) Wiki page

When I just saw this information I couldn't stop crying thinking about it, and now my heart aches. They were the same age as me, I know for a fact like any other teen they dreamt of their future, who they would want to become, what to achieve, create, wondering if they meet those in the future they can call friends, wondeting if it'll get better when they grow up, maybe wished to leave that terrible place or maybe wanted to stay. How could anyone let this happen, why were they discharged from hospital so easily? And the school, we all know why. I hate to think about how, even with all the progress made, these things still happen.

"murdered schoolgirl Brianna Ghey on February 16, 2023. Candlelit vigils are being held across the UK this week for Brianna Ghey, 16, who was stabbed at Linear Park in Culcheth, Cheshire last Saturday. Brianna was a transgender girl and police are now investigating her killing as a hate crime. A boy and girl, both 15, have been charged with her murder"

An article that explains trans hate crime murders as on 2023

I hate everyone who have ever committed such vile hate crimes, I wish them in prison and hell. But i would never go down to their level. But I also blame the government, the school, and even those bigoted online accounts that teach their followers hate. In this case LibsOfTikTok, who targeted the teacher of this school, who supports lgbtq+, so they had to leave their position. It must have been the push for this to happen. I think their tiktok account has been thankfully deleten. But i have no idea about Twitter or any other. Please check and mass report them if it still exists. (Link to Instagram reel that this information is from)

ADDITION, PLEASE MASS REPORT THESE ACCOUNTS

#tw description of violence #tw death #lgbtqia #trans #trans kids #trans news #lgbtq community #lgbtq #lgbtq news #information #boost #Nex Benedict #please share #transgender #lgbtq+#lgbtqiia+#rest in piece #tw hate crime

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vitiateoriginator · 10 months

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Next week is Klaus' 10th birthday, and I'm in such disbelief. where did the time go

#my baby boy is almost officially a senioooor #I've never had a cat long to enough to see them into old age #as in my fam would have to get rid of our cats because the office threatened eviction because we weren't allowed to have em #but now we're in a place where we can have cats so I can keep my babies for as long as they both shall live #Mummas will be 9 in March approximately so that 2 nearly senior cats living with me #its amazing but also worriestf out of me #I should start a savings fund in case Klaus needs future medical care #because rn I could not afford for him to get sick #he's in perfect health rn thankfully tho #but now I'm going to be constantly anxious and worried that something will happen to him #like what if he gets cancer? like lung cancer because my fam are severely heavy smokers #or what if he gets a tumor or he develops diabetes #or what if he has a stroke or develops some kind of disease in one of his organs #or what if he loses his balance and falls off the couch and injures himself to the point of no recovery like my brother's cat boo #I love Klaus so much I hope I get to have him with me happy and healthy for another decade #I can't handle losing him #I don't think I would be as sad about it as I was for my past cats like Nachos or Dusty or Peanut. because they were all so young #Dusty being the youngest cat I lost and Peanut potentially dying in the worst way #(my fam left Peanut out in the fuckinh woods because they somehow thought he'd have a better chance at living than in a shelter #where he could be put to sleep in a matter of hours after surrendering him #vs in the woods where he probably got killed by a predator or died of starvation or parasites or disease)#but Klaus has lived twice as long as my other cats so far #and although his passing will crush me I can feel peace knowing he's gotten to be 10+ years old and live a long comfortable life with me #but he's ok rn so I should stop worrying and talking negative #Klaus is going to be 10!!! Stinky old man!! Ancient artifact looking mf!!#sam's rants about life #crazy cat klaus

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j-psilas · 9 months

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Will we ever get anything quite like Code Geass again?

I don't think it's possible.

Code Geass is Japanese nationalist propaganda disguised as a global political drama, disguised as a military mecha show, disguised as yaoibait, disguised as a teen melodrama, disguised as a high school romcom, disguised as a Pizza Hut commercial...

...except those layers aren't layers at all, but are instead comingled in a giant snake ball of insanity.

The lead writer, Ichirō Ōkouchi, only ever worked as an episode writer for other shows prior to Code Geass, and never took the helm of an anime series ever again. And it shows. [EDIT: Several people have pointed out his other lead writing credits to me. So I misread Wikipedia—sue me. I maintain that this guy is a better episode writer than he is a lead writer.]

The minute-to-minute pacing is impeccable from a mechanical standpoint, with tension and stakes rising to ever-higher peaks, balanced out by the slow simmers of the b-plot and c-plot. It keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat at all times. Meanwhile, the large-scale plot is the most off-the-wall middle school nonsense I've ever seen, continually surprising the viewer by pulling twists too dumb to have ever have been on their radar—and therefore more effective in terms of raw shock value.

"Greenlight it!" was the mantra of this anime's production. It must have been. It has, in no particular order, all of the following:

Character designs from CLAMP, the foremost yaoi/BL group in Japan at the time—for characters who are only queer insofar as they can bait the audience, and only straight insofar as they can be more misogynist to the female cast.

Speaking of the female cast, hoo boy the fanservice. We've all seen anime girls breast boobily, with many cases more egregious than Code Geass, but there's something special about it happening immediately after—or sometimes in the middle of!—scenes of military conflict and ethnic cleansing.

Pizza Hut product placement everywhere, in every conceivable situation. High-speed chases, light slice-of-life scenes, intimate character moments, all of it. Gotta have Pizza Hut.

The anime-only Pizza Hut mascot, Cheese-kun. He wears a fedora.

The most hilarious approximations of European names—which I would love to see more often, frankly. Names like, I dunno, "Count Schnitzelgrübe zi Blanquezzio."

A depiction of China that is wholly removed from any modern reality, with red-and-gold pagodas, ornamental robes, scheming eunuchs, and a brainwashed child empress. There's a character named General Tsao, like the chicken.

Inappropriate free-form jazz in the soundtrack, intruding at the most unexpected times.

A secret cabal not unlike the Illuminati, run by an immortal shota with magic powers, holding influence all across the world, at the highest levels of government. They matter for approximately three episodes.

An unexpected insert scene of a schoolgirl using the corner of a table to masturbate. She's doing it to thoughts of her crush, the princess Euphemia—because she believes Euphemia to be as racist as she herself is, and that gets her off. This interrupts an unrelated scene of our protagonist faction planning their next move, which then resumes as if uninterrupted.

Said schoolgirl, in a fit of hysteria, threatens to detonate a worse-than-nuclear bomb in the middle of her school. She then goes on to develop an even more destructive version of that bomb, and become a war criminal, in a chain of cause-and-effect stemming from the moment she finds out that Euphemia wasn't actually that racist.

A character called "the Earl of Pudding."

A premise that asks us to believe that the name Lelouch is normal enough that he didn't need to change it when he went into hiding as an ordinary civilian. "No, that's not Prince Strimbleford von Vanquish! That's our classmate, Strimbleford Smith."

The collective unconscious, a la Carl Jung, within which the protagonist fights his villainous father for control over the fate of humankind. After this is over, the anime just keeps going for about ten more episodes.

An episode in which a mech tosses a giant pizza.

A gay yandere sleeper agent who can manipulate the perception of time.

Chess being played very badly, even to the untrained eye. Lelouch frequently checkmates his opponent by moving his king. This goes hand-in-hand with the anime's crock of bad chess symbolism.

A fictional drug that can most succinctly be described as "nostalgia heroin."

Roller-skating mecha in knightly armor, and some of the most sickass mecha fight choreography that I've seen.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. This anime is what the average Westerner in 2006 thought anime was, and it was made in a confluence of factors that cannot be replicated. I've never had so much fun watching something that I found so... insulting. Repugnant. Ridiculous. Baffling. I love it sincerely.

Catch me cosplaying Lloyd Asplund at a con sometime, or maybe even the big gay loser himself, Lelouch vi Britannia.

#code geass #anime #lelouch vi britannia #rolo lamperouge #nina einstein #kallen kozuki #lelouch lamperouge #clamp manga #lloyd asplund

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nerdpoe · 1 year

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The One Unaccounted For

Danny had never seen Skulker look so pleased.

Normally the ghost was always at least a little happy to duke it out with Danny, but this? The ghost was positively vibrating with excitement.

"Okay, okay, time out. What's going on, man?" Danny had to call out, launching himself above a shot and hovering there.

Skulker fucking giggled. Skulker. Giggled.

"I have been hired by the Observants to hunt down a formidable foe. Our battle-" "-Will be glorious." Danny finished, much to the confusion of the ghost who had not been around for such refined culture.

"Yes! They also insist I bring another ghost, just in case it is 'too much' for me. Walker will not leave the Zone, Ember is still angry with me, Johnny and Kitty told me to..." Skulker cleared his throat, glancing at Danny, "And the last ghost I can think of is you, and I know you'll come to at least watch."

Danny's curiosity was piqued, he wasn't going to lie to himself. He still had to act like he needed to think about it though.

"Uh-huh, and who are you going after?"

Skulker almost started vibrating as he began his description.

"It is a ghost who has continuously evaded Walker, and caused so much strife and mayhem that even the Observants seek to drag him to confinement. He hides in the mortal world, in the city that knows no day, and alters the memories of that entire city."

So Danny was actually a bit on board with hunting this dude, actually. Memory manipulation was not cool.

"This ghost loves to torture mortals and claims it is for fun. Once! Once, he altered the memory of a young boy hero, to make him think he'd been tortured, and then altered the memory of the boy's mentor to believe that the boy was dead, all so that the boy would be buried alive. For fun. Then he almost completely wiped the boys memories of his life prior to being buried."

Skulker was beginning to actually get angry just retelling the story, and Danny was right there with him. Graves were sacred, and any ghost knew that. There was a ghost that willingly desecrated them? No wonder Walker wanted him.

If anything, Danny had to think that Skulker had glossed over Walker because he was positive that the Warden was foaming at the mouth just thinking about this criminal.

There was just one thing.

"So why do the Observants want in on this?"

Unless this ghost was actively threatening the balance of Life and Death, there really was no need to go after him.

"Because he has interfered with and altered the denizens of that city so much that the majority of them, if not all of them, are becoming as your puny mortal friends. Can you imagine that? A Living, a Mortal, blessed with the powers of Death. There are reports that one twisted their own time so much, he is now forever alive."

"Okay, that's super concerning. How did he do that?"

Skulker floated closer, almost like this was a gossip session in a sleepover.

"We believe he may have hidden a portal or twelve in the city of Gotham. He wears the semblance of a deranged clown, and is obsessed with laughter."

Well. Shit. Danny knew who they were after, he just hadn't know that Joker was actually one of their own. Half of his own?

"Fuck it, let's go drag the dude into the afterlife." He swore he heard a quiet squeal from the giant robot, but elected to ignore it.

He had to figure out how to either outsmart or work with the Big Bat himself, and he wasn't sure which would be better.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #phanfic #the one unaccounted for #this is a rough draft #i may or may not continue it #i may or may not polish it #as it stands #this tiny bit had to get out of my head.

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noisilyscreechingsong · 1 year

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Dp x Dc Crossover

Danny and Ellie somehow get tangled with Cadmus and frozen for study later. Obviously it comes to the JL’s attention and they all go ‘oh no another clone’. Anyone’s choice of who they think it is or if it’s a collection of people they took DNA from and meshed together to make these two sassy children.

Would be funnier if they came to DC universe by accident and didn’t have time to really learn about it before capture. The result being they have no idea superheroes are a thing and the heroes just thinking ‘these kids were traumatized and held captive, they don’t even know who Superman is!’ and cue another layer of hilarious misunderstanding.

When confronted about the whole clone thing, Danny immediately defends and protects Ellie. Obviously. Then they notice he was not defending himself, to which Danny goes ‘I’m not a clone!’ The heroes look at each other in clear doubt. ‘Oh he was in denial or seriously didn’t know who he was made from. That will make this harder.’

I may have started something though…

They found a discrete laboratory hidden in plan sight, underneath an office building. When researched, they found connections to Cabmus.

Considering the last encounter they had with the organization, they wanted to be prepared. Hence why when the small team noticed Batman walking down the stairs, Superman followed behind with a tight expression.

“Report.”

Red Robin stepped forward.

“Two cryo-stasis containers holding two nearly identical people. The first a male, approximately 13-14 years of age. Stable. The second a female, younger, approximately 10-11 years of age. Also stable, but her stats are lower than the boy’s.”

“What do you know?”

“Virtually nothing,” Connor says casually. “There are no documents left behind, digital or physical, and there are zero labels on these things.”

They arrive toward the back of the basement where the two frozen containers were sitting upright. One unit obviously smaller than the other most likely holding the girl. Batman has to peer down into the larger unit to see the boy’s face. Frost collected on his eyelashes and black hair like a forgotten doll. No movement from either forms, not even breathing.

“So we don’t know who they are made from,” Superman pushes, clearly displeased.

Batman keeps looking at their faces. The curve of their noses, the shape of their jaws, the positioning of their cheekbones. They didn’t look like Connor. No, they reminded him of someone else.

“We suspect hybrids of some sort,” M’gann contributes. “A mixture of different heroes if I had to guess, but there is no way of knowing with our lack of information without waking them up.”

“Can’t you look into their minds?” Clark questions.

M’gann squirms at the directness and Connor steps forward to defend her. Tensions rise.

“No, sir. They are frozen so there is hardly any brain function except to keep them alive. They aren’t even dreaming.”

She looks them over sadly, obviously distraught with not being able to connect to their minds in anyway.

Batman turns to Red Robin, the younger already watching him.

“You see it too, right?”

Batman grunts. Yes, he saw it.

“Is there a way to move them?” Batman brings back the focus.

“The containers are connected to the buildings power and then a back-up generator in case of emergencies. We’d have to switch the power to something mobile and there’s no telling what kind of effect that would have on the kids,” Connor explains, against the idea of moving them.

“It’s six in the evening. Most everyone in the building above as gone home for the day,” Red Robin helpfully adds.

“Evacuate the rest. Then call a medical team.”

“Wait,” Superman interrupts as the three younger heroes jump to do as instructed. “You’re not thinking about waking them up now, are you?”

“You have a better idea?”

Batman doesn’t even look at him as he studies the stats on the old screen connected to the nearest pod. This one holding the boy. He’ll be the first one out seeing as he’s the more stable one.

“They could be dangerous. They could try to attack us.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Batman deadpans. He didn’t state the obvious that they were children who had been frozen for who knows how long. If anything they’ll need reassurance that they were safe, not weapons in their faces as soon as they wake up.

Clark was not happy with his decision, but as long as he didn’t antagonize them Bruce left him alone.

It wasn’t long before they were ready to begin. Three medical personnel stood several yards back behind the heroes. Red Robin begins the defrosting procedure and they have to wait maybe an hour before the door slides open. There is a breath among them as they wait for his eyes to open. Instead they hear a cracking of thin ice and the boy falls forward without the door holding him in place. Connor is the one to catch him before he hits the floor face first.

Superboy turns him to lay him flat on the floor, the boy’s body still stiff with cold. Frost makes his hair and eyelashes brittle. His lips are a faint shade of blue.

“He isn’t breathing,” Connor informs quickly.

One of the medics push forward first, oxygen mask in hand.

“Bring the thermal blankets. We need to get his core temperature up,” the woman urgently instructs.

They get to work quickly in warming up the boy who is too small and fragile. After several minutes of the medics squeezing air into his mouth and rubbing his limbs and chest to get the blood flowing, the boy takes a breath. Then another. He coughs roughly, his throat scratchy, and starts to shiver.

“There we go.”

He whimpers and tries to move his hand, but the action is jerky and unpracticed.

“His eyes,” M’gann informs them, finally able to get some brain activity. “He can’t open his eyes. The ice-“

Connor takes a water bottle the medics brought and poured the room temperature water over his eyes to melt the ice holding them together. The boy jumps in surprise and tries to turn his head away but Connor continues until he can manually wipe away the ice and water from his eyelids.

Blue eyes. The boy has bright sky blue eyes. They aren’t the Krytonian blue, but they were still familiar.

He blinks and squints and looks around, breathing picking up at the people surrounding him and the unfamiliar environment. M’gann, sensing his distress, kneels down and sets a warm hand on his leg.

“It’s okay. No one here will hurt you. You’re safe now.”

He doesn’t relax, but he seems to at least understand her. He studies their uniforms and then her face before his eyes flick to something behind her and they widen. His breath stutters in his chest, making him wheeze out on the exhale.

They look behind the green skinned girl to see the smaller pod still holding the little girl, no change in her status.

The boy reaches out a shaky hand toward it, scraping against the cold concrete in his lack of energy to lift it.

“She’s okay too.”

He opens his mouth to speak, licks his lips, tries again.

“-ou-,” he rasps. His breath hitches and he’s coughing again. They help him onto his side.

“You want us to get her out?” Red Robin interprets.

The boy squints through the tears from the lack of oxygen at the hero. His expression is scrunched in discomfort and worry. As enthusiastic as he can manage, the boy nods.

“Okay, we can do that. You just have to wait, she needs to thaw out, just like what we did with you,” Red Robin explains to the boy.

He nods again in understanding, his eyes glued back to the girl in the pod. He still shivers harshly and his breathing isn’t regular but he’s not panicking and in no shape to attack them, so it seems like they were in the clear with that one.

While the girl is thawing, they get him more comfortable with warm blankets and get him to drink some water for his throat. He still wasn’t moving much except to curl up on his side and breathe on his colorless fingers. Every time he swallowed he cringed like he was drinking acid, so talking was off the table for now.

The boy was fighting sleep by the time the container door slide open. Connor was there and holding her before she could fall like the boy had.

Superboy lays the girl down close to the boy, seeing the pale hand reaching for her. As soon as he backed away the medics were on her to get air in her lungs and warm her body same as they did for the boy.

The boy watches, quietly holding her hand. Siblings it looks like it. Seeing them side by side was startling. They seemed to be clones of each other, one just younger and the opposite gender, but they were the same.

It was concerning as the number of minutes increased and there was no change. She didn’t breathe or move. She looked dead.

“Get the defibrillator,” the medic ordered, urgent.

The boy surprisingly wasn’t panicking, instead he held a hard determination that made some of the heroes curious.

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he leaned over the girl and started weakly pushing the blankets out of the way. Thinking he was just helping to make the medic’s job easier, M’gann helped until her torso was exposed.

“You need to back away so they-“

She stops when she sees him tug at the girl’s white shirt to get into direct contact with her skin, hand pressed to her chest.

“What are you-?”

He narrows his eyes in concentration.

Red Robin unconsciously takes a step back when the boy’s blue eyes change into a glowing toxic green, illuminating the girl’s face, frost shining in the light. The hand pressed to her chest also starts to glow the same green until it seeps into her skin like she’s absorbing this weird energy. It reminded them of Starfire actually.

The green in his eyes fades as soon as the unknown green energy is lighting up her entire torso just under the skin. He pulls away and looks expectantly at the medic holding the defibrillator. She flinches into moving, setting the machine down and charging it. She’s hesitant to touch the green energy but the boy nods in encouragement, not looking concerned for anything but the girl’s health.

“Clear!”

It takes one shock for the green energy to disperse through her body and cause her to gasp. The girl starts coughing harshly and the boy pulls her to lay on her side facing him. Connor quickly helps the boy to cover her in blankets. The boy goes as far as tucking them around her and taking one of his own blankets to pile on top. He was moving more easily now even if it was sluggish.

M’gann gasps quietly just as the girl starts sobbing, whining when the act of crying hurt her throat. The boy pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her under his chin so they could barely see her. They watch as he calmly comforts her until they are both eased into unconsciousness.

Batman give Superman a pointed look as he passes him. Clark doesn’t respond.

“Get them to the Watchtower med bay,” he orders.

It’s Superman who picks up the pile of two children tangled together and wrapped in layers of fabric, nearly throwing them at how light they both weighted. The three younger heroes follow behind, Tim mumbling about “Lazarus pits” and “Jason”, M’gann twisting her fingers in anxiety, and Connor keeping a close eye on the two kids being carried by his original.

It’s unsurprising that it’s Connor who volunteers to say with them when they are settled down in the med bay, still clinging to each other in sleep.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #elle phantom #batman #superman #superboy #red robin #story ideas #thoughts #funny #anyone is welcome #to continue #danny phantom

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cerisereids · 22 days

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𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗼𝘀- 𝘀.𝗿. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟮]

pairing- spencer reid x fem!reader

w.c.- 8.5k (wtf)

summary- it's been months since you've seen spencer reid. you miss him more than anything, but your friend convinces you it's better if you move on. what happens when he bumps into your new fling at the library?

warnings- sfw but making out at the end, reader is referred to as a woman, emily meddles in spencer's love life lol, angst to fluff, happy ending, not rly proofread im sorry yall i tried my hardest, reader is a little bit messy but she doesn't mean it, last part of this series! part 1 found here

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You ready, Pretty Boy?” Derek claps a hand on Spencer’s back as he assembles his desk for the weekend.

Spencer shudders at the nickname, like there’s a bug crawling up his spine. He can tell just from Derek’s debonair tone what tonight is going to look like, and he wants no part of it.

“For what? To watch you get phone numbers from every girl you meet?” Spencer teases, doing his best to deflect as he reluctantly stands to leave his desk with Derek.

“Maybe,” Derek shoots him a smile and wraps an arm around his shoulders, “but it’s also time for a special someone to finally follow in my footsteps,” he pinches Spencer’s cheek and he playfully pushes him off.

“Ooh! Are you guys getting drinks?” Spencer turns to see Emily and Penelope coming up from behind him.

“Yeah,” Derek responds, “trying to see if Mr. Grumpy over here can lighten up a little bit,” he shakes Spencer’s shoulders, and he unsuccessfully fights an eyeroll.

“Haven’t been grumpy,” Spencer mumbles, completely proving their point.

“Yeah guys, he hasn’t been grumpy at all!” Emily starts, and Spencer can tell from the theatrics in her tone that the other shoe has not yet dropped, “we all spend our free time moping at our desk after work, looking through old case files that we’ve already solved.” And there it is.

“You know, you guys are this close to becoming a trio for the night,” Spencer holds his index finger and thumb mere millimeters apart, and his comment earns a chuckle from the group.

“Hey now,” Emily gives his shoulder a playful knock, “we tease you because we love you!”

“Well, regardless of Reid’s attitude, we are so in!” Penelope chirps, nudging herself in between Spencer and Derek so she can link arms with both men, and it does make Spencer smile.

Spencer uses their newfound company as an excuse to keep to himself, at least on the way there. He knows Derek won’t let it go when they get to the bar, but for now, he allows his mind to drift. Emily was right, to his everlasting dismay. It’s true that he’s been grumpier in the past few months than normal. He sequesters himself away in conference rooms of local police departments, and he spends hours upon hours going over case files and documents until his eyes go cross. He plays solitaire on the jet home, tucked into a corner, not to be disturbed. He mopes on nights like these, nights where Derek tries to inspire him out of his comfort zone.

It’s all because of one stupid day on the job. One singular day in Massachusetts has turned his life more upside down than seven years in Quantico. It’s torturous, the way you flood his mind, his senses at any waking moment. The way you looked at him, your eyes piercing straight through him, is forever seared into his brain. He doesn’t need an eidetic memory for that. It’s been years since he’s truly felt someone understand him for who he is, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for letting you go.

Spencer is rudely thrust back into reality by the ding of the bell above him and the incessant chatter of a crowded bar on a Friday night. They’ve made it, and now Spencer has to put on an Academy Award worthy performance so he doesn’t get lectured by his coworkers. Damn profilers.

“Now, you kids have fun,” Derek says, the glint in his eyes suggesting he’s already spotted a lady across the bar, “I will be over there, working my magic,” he swiftly points to the direction of the bar, the girl perched on a stool with a friend, “unless you wanna come with, Pretty Boy,” he adds with a knowing smiley.

He claps Spencer on the back again as he shakes his head no, “here, have this to loosen yourself up a bit, then come find me in 20 minutes,” he hands him a beer and moves toward his target.

Spencer fiddles with the glass bottle, feeling the eyes of Emily and Penelope burning holes right through him. He raises his brows, eyes glancing up for the briefest moment, and he knows it was a mistake the second he catches their accusatory glares. There will be no getting out of this one, he’s afraid, especially with Morgan gone.

“So, do you wanna tell me what happened with Pretty Library Girl? Or do you want to continue to avoid the entire team every chance you get?” Spencer’s head snaps to Emily, his stomach dropping at the mere mention of her, eyes wide and wild.

“Pretty Library Girl?!” Penelope squeals, and Spencers takes a big swig of beer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputters, a tiny drop of beer spilling over his lip.

“Who is she and why haven’t you told me anything about her?” Penelope sounds offended, like he’s done her wrong by not engaging with her in every detail of his life. It is Penelope afterall, though, so maybe he has.

“It’s nothing, it’s not important! Emily’s just being mean,” he feels himself going red as he takes another sip. The cold of the glass bottle against his lips makes him long for three months prior, when he had you in his arms and his mouth pressed against your temple. The alcohol infiltrating his brain encourages further thought of how sweet your lips would taste, how warm and soft they’d be compared to the icy feeling of the glass rim.

“I am not being mean, you baby!” Emily teases, and he shoves an onion ring in his mouth, “remember that one case we worked on about a few months ago? With that one east coast diplomat who was kidnapped?” Penelope nods so Emily continues, and Spencer feels the warmth in his cheeks spread to his ears.

“Well, Spencer here really hit it off with the librarian who called in that he was missing. We were sent to spend the day at the library to keep her safe, he was nearly starstruck at the mere sight of her,” Penelope’s jaw hit the floor at this information, as did Spencer’s, but Emily kept going before either of them could react.

“To be honest, though,” Emily added, “I think she was starstruck at the sight of you, too, if her reaction to your handshake was anything to go off of.”

Penelope immediately burst into happy squeals and claps at this revelation, and Spencer put his face in his hands.

“So that’s why you’ve been such a sourpuss? A girl? Oh Spencer, this is so exciting!” Penelope squeals as she shakes his bicep back and forth, her nails lightly digging in the skin there.

“No, it’s not!” he finally exclaims, “I didn’t get her number. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in three months and I feel like I’m going crazy!”

A weight was lifted off his chest at the confession, but it only made more room for the longing piercing through his heart. He took another sip of beer.

“Ahhh…” Penelope drawls, “so that’s why we’re grumpy. You know, you could just tell me her name and I’ll find her for you in two seconds flat,” she punctuates her remark with the snap of a finger.

“No…no, I don’t want you to do that. I screwed up by not going for it. If I’m going to contact her, I should at least be honest about it,” he rests his forehead in his large palm, another sip.

“Well, it’s never too late, you know,” Emily remarks, “I thought she was good for you.”

“Yeah, me too,” he mutters, chin in his palm.

Spencer’s on his fifth beer when Derek comes back to the table, this time with a woman on each arm.

“Spencer…” he drags out, introducing him to the one on the left, closest to him, “meet Callie. I was chatting with her and her friend over at the bar and I think you’d really hit it off.”

His tone is light, but his eyes are saying if you fumble one more time, I’m gonna kill you. Looks like he’s a dead man, because he’s quick to tell the girl he’s not interested. He’s never disrespectful, always straightforward. He doesn’t have time for games, unless, apparently, it’s his own heart he’s interested in playing with.

“Excuse us just one second, ladies,” Derek escorts Spencer out the doors of the bar, out to where it’s more quiet.

“What the hell is goin’ on, man?” Derek nearly interrogates, “that’s the fifth girl in the past month I’ve introduced you to that you’ve rejected. Something has been up for a while and I want answers, kid. I’m just trying to help,” his eyes soften with that last bit, but Spencer is now too tipsy to respond similarly.

“That’s just it, Morgan. I don’t need your help, I’m fine. Nothing is going on, all these outings are pointless, and you should’ve just let me go home,” Spencer turns to leave, the alcohol flooding his senses, dizzying him as he whips around. He stops for a moment to regain his balance, and he hears Derek chuckle behind him, which only makes him even more annoyed with himself.

“Come on, what’s going on, man?” Derek asks gently as he turns Spencer around by his shoulders, steadying once he’s faced him again.

He sighs, accepting defeat. Every single emotion he’s held in over the past three months is released with that sigh, and he nearly crumbles when he croaks out, “I miss her.”

“Who, man?” confusion laces through Derek’s tone, and Spencer folds himself in half before he can answer.

“The-ugh! Pretty Library Girl!” he exclaims finally, words slurring together ever so slightly, “and she’s not just pretty, either. She’s the most beautifullest girl I’ve ever met, Derek,” his voice comes out in a whisper, and he felt the gravity of saying those words out loud, there was no going back now, “didn’t get her phone number, it was the biggest mistake of my life, Derek! I don’t care about any of these other girls you’ve introduced me to because none of them are her! And now I’ll never see her again!” he buries his face in his hands at the end of his rant.

He's only vaguely aware of how dramatic he is in his drunkenness, holding in emotions for so long will do that to you. He’s thanking his lucky stars that Penelope and Emily exit the building the moment he says it. They can fill Derek in on the blanks on the walk home. He won’t be able to without bursting into tears.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A wine glass balances delicately between your fingertips as you decide which clothes you want to take with you on the move, and which clothes you’ll be donating to your local GoodWill.

“So, Hot FBI Guy will be living close by, right?” the crackled voice of your best friend, Mary, echoes from your computer, and you take another sip of wine at the mere mention of him.

“All I know is that he works in Quantico. I have no idea where he lives,” you try and keep the conversation about Spencer as neutral as possible, the ache of his departure still stinging like it happened yesterday.

“Well, I’m just saying that if he works near D.C. then he’s local. Just. Saying.” she drags out, innocently holding her hands up like she’s being interrogated. Ironic.

“What does that have to even do with anything?” you know you’re being dense, but you haven’t yet been able to confront what you’ve lost quite yet. That connection, albeit in its infancy, was a million times more powerful than anything you’ve felt with your past relationships. You long so desperately to know what you and Spencer could have been, and it gnaws at your stomach like a parasite.

“You know what it has to do with! If he was as into you as you told me he was, then I can guarantee you he’d jump at the chance to reconnect,” you wish you feel as confident as your best friend sounds.

Still, excitement sparks in your belly at the thought of being so close to him. When Mary came to you a few weeks ago with a job opportunity at the National Museum of American History Library in D.C., you lept at the opportunity. Mr. Anderson had decided to retire shortly after the incident that brought Spencer to you. You can’t necessarily blame him, and you’re elated about the new prospect.

Whether your enthusiasm had to do with the job itself or the brunette agent that would be nearby is anybody’s guess. In the months since you’ve seen him, your memories with him have morphed into something dream-like, something you’ve disconnected from your reality. It’s the only way you’ve been able to continue without him. Reality is becoming harder to ignore, though, the more you put items in boxes and clothing in suitcases. You’re flying to D.C. in a few days to begin the move-in process, and that’s what this video call was supposed to be about. Key word: supposed.

“I don’t know,” you take another big gulp, the acidity tickling your throat, “what if this silence is an answer? If he wanted to, he would, y’know?”

“Ugh! Fine! I guess that’s fair, if you want to be stubborn,” your best friend groans, and you smile at her theatrics, “so, how about I set you up with someone when you get over here? There’s a really cute guy that works at the local university, his name is Brad. He comes and works with us every now and then. Maybe when you get here I can introduce you guys.”

“Ugh, Brad?” you spit out. The name tastes acrid on your tongue, like you can feel notes of the red flags already forming on your palette.

“Don’t be so quick to judge!” Mary sputters, “you are the one who refuses to find Hot FBI Guy, so as your best friend, I’ve appointed myself to solve this problem for you.”

“Y’know, I never asked you to do that,” you joke as you finish the last drop in your glass, a pleasant buzz overtaking your senses.

“I know, that’s why you love me!” she chirps, finishing her own wine, “I’ll text you his number, okay? I gotta get going, we both have a busy next few days. I’ll come get you from the airport when you land here, though, okay? Fly safe!”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Spencer’s long, deft fingers pad against the spines of books, some dating all the way back to the 1600s, some that must have been published within a year. He can tell by the condition of the spine itself. He hums to himself quietly, until the dull thud of books hitting against carpet takes him away from himself, his mind. He has to blink twice when he turns around, to make sure he’s not seeing things. It’s you. It’s you, and you’re flustered. You saw him first, he can tell by the way you scramble to pick up the books, avoiding eye contact while you shove them haphazardly back onto the metal cart you’re pushing. Melvil Dewey would turn over in his grave at the sight.

“Let me help you,” Spencer starts gently, so ask not to spook you even more. He kneels slightly, his large hands picking up twice as many books as you were able to. His chest puffs just slightly at the way your eyes linger on them, your gaze following the way the veins in his hands stretch to accommodate the thick text in his hands. He folds back into himself, though, when your eyes meet. Those eyes. Those eyes he’s dreamed about night after night for four months, now inches away from him, staring right into his soul.

“Hi,” is the only thing he can say. It comes out breathy, like a secret.

“Hi,” your voice is shaky, so is your breath as you stand to adjust the books, now lying disorganized across the top of the cart.

“Stop-” your hand shoots out to cover his, and you both make immediate eye contacts at the action. Yours are wide and big, brows furrowed in regret. It makes his stomach drop and he tears his eyes away from yours, stepping back from the cart.

“Spencer-” you start again, but he can take a hint.

“No-no, don’t bother,” he smiles sheepishly as he backs away, “I get it, I’m sorry if I overstepped. It’s good to see you again, you look good,” he can’t help but dote, even if it’s obvious you don’t want to see him.

He supposes he’s ruined things by not taking initiative the first time, has already accepted that life doesn’t hand out second chances. That’s why it’s not too difficult for him to start to walk away, even though his brain screeches at him to turn around with each step.

“Spencer-wait!” he hears you call after him, and he believes in a god for the briefest moment.

“I’m sorry,” you gush, “I just-I wasn’t expecting to see you, which I guess is silly considering that we’re both here now, an-and you surprised me and then I dropped all of this…” you trail off, gesturing down to the mess you both created, but before you could continue, Spencer registered your words.

“Wait-” his head snaps up, eyes locking with yours, brows furrowed in confusion, “what do you mean ‘that we’re both here now’? How long have you been here?”

Your face goes white, and his heart falls into his stomach.

“About a month,” you mutter quietly, and Spencer positively aches. One month of you being within 50 miles of him, and he didn’t even know. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” you nearly plead with him, and he wants to take your hands in his and kiss all over them so you know you don’t ever have to plead, not when it comes to him.

“I just didn’t know how to go about this, it’s not like we were really dating or anything…” you trail off, both of you seemingly struck by the verbal acknowledgement of a relationship, or whatever was going on between you two in Massachusetts. It hangs heavily between the two of you, absorbing all his brain power until an idyllic, domestic life with you is the only thought his big brain can create.

“Maybe we can start slow. Friendly,” he suggests. You’re reserved, not telling him something, so even though it physically aches to stay still, to not pull you in his arms and kiss every bit of skin he can find, he’d rather take this slow. He'd rather have you as only a friend than not at all. He did that already, and he never wants to again.

“Yeah,” your eyes sparkle, and he can see the rest of his life in them, “friends.” Your smile at this moment is worth any heartache he’d ever have to go through.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You know, that’s the fourth book you’ve checked out on American sewing patterns in the 1940s this week,” you smile when you hear your coworker’s voice float over from the checkout desk.

Spencer’s here.

“I got him,” you say once you’ve jogged into the front room, “don’t even worry about it,” you shoo your coworker who rolls her eyes, knowing full well you’re not alleviating her from a customer.

“Neither of you are slick, you know,” your coworker jokes in a quiet tone that only you can hear, and you blush furiously at her insinuation.

“Doing some light reading over the weekend, Doc?” you smirk as the scanner beeps, a red light flashing over the barcode of his book. He smiles and looks down, a slight pink tint dusting his cheeks at the title.

“Not really, actually. We’re working on a case with an unsub who’s very well versed in sewing patterns,” he chews around the words, a cinnamon sugar donut resting in his left hand.

“I see,” you respond, bagging his book, “and you’ve been assigned to do all the research on the symbolism of sewing patterns?” you raise your brows teasingly, and it earns you a million dollar Spencer Reid smile.

“You know it,” he chuckles a little as his cheeks redden, you’ll never get tired of seeing him blush.

“Well…maybe I can help you?” you offer shyly, “y’know, my mom was a professional seamstress back in the day. Taught me everything she knows. I’m no FBI profiler, but I might be able to help,” you shrug, and now it’s your turn for your cheeks to heat up. With the intensity with which he was looking at you, you were surprised you didn’t burst into flames on the spot.

“Realy? You never told me that,” Spencer whines accusatively.

“Well, we’ve only been friends again for three weeks. Sorry we haven’t yet gotten into our parents’ lore yet,” you joke, and you can just barely make out a shift in his eyes, like the acknowledgement of your current predicament pains him, “my shift’s done in about 15 minutes,” you soldier on, “let me finish up everything I need to do and I’ll meet you over there,” you nod towards one of the comfortable study couches in your library, complete with tables, cupholders, and outlets.

When you found him there a mere 20 minutes later, you could have melted. Glasses you’ve never seen before perch on his nose. Your heart swells, a symphony of angels could come down and sing at any moment at the mere sight of the wiry frames resting on his nose. There’s an extra pep in your step as you approach him, and his eyes light up once he sees you’ve arrived.

“Hey!” he chimes, happy as a clam, “you ready to study up on the importance of sewing during the second World War?” he punctuates his question with the slam of a thick textbook on the table, and you lean back slightly so as to avoid the dust emanating from it.

“Oof! Sorry!” he coughs, waving his hand in a weak attempt to dissipate the dust. It just makes you giggle, which in turn earns you yet another smile. You two stay like that for a moment, lost in time, lost in each other. Your head and ears become fuzzy, the pounding of your heart soon becoming the only thing you can hear. You rest your chin in your palm, and you won’t be surprised if cartoon hearts start beating out of your eyes while you listen to him spew out sewing information.

You pretend to listen as your eyes trail down his face, from his hairline, down to the slope of his nose, to his full, pink lips. There’s remnants of sugar dusting his lips from the donut he had earlier, and you allow yourself one brief moment to wonder what it’d taste like. If he’d let you run your tongue over his bottom lip and find out. The mere thought makes you shudder, and you adjust in your seat. You throw your right leg over your left in a way that allows the sundress you wore today to cling to every curve and dip of your body, something Spencer notices. You see him adjust, moving the arm closest to you to rest on the table. He feels it too. He wouldn’t be shielding himself if he didn’t.

“Sooo…” he trails off, cheeks reddening once more. You’ll never get tired of it. “How much do you know about sewing? Or was this all a ruse to spend some one on one time with me?” he raises his eyebrows accusatively at you, and it loosens the tension in your shoulders, a laugh bursting from your throat.

“There it is,” he mutters softly, seemingly to himself.

His chin is also resting in his palm now, and it’s brought you closer together. His nose is just inches from yours, your legs entangling with each other under the table. You see his eyes go down, down. You feel them scan over your body, studying the flowing linen of your floral print clad frame. You see his eyes linger on your chest for a brief moment, his own breath picking up at the slightest peek of your cleavage heaving up and down. The way it cinches your waist, the way it allows the rest of your curves to flow freely below it, he drinks it all in. It’s completely silent, save for your heavy breathing. All you can do is watch.

“There what is?” you ask, adjusting once more in your seat so you can face him directly.

You’re open to him, now. Chest fully open and facing him, one arm on the table and the other on the back of your chair. You’re showing him you’re open, you’re ready. You would push him onto this table and kiss him silly right now if you could, you’d give him a really good reason to love this sundress.

“Could tell something was keeping you tense. I wanted to make you laugh so you’d loosen up,” he smiles, “and because I love your laugh.”

You smile and inch impossibly closer, until you’re yanked out of your dream world and slammed onto the cold, hard ground in seconds.

“Hey, babe! You ready? We got reservations in like a half hour,” you feel a hand on your shoulder from behind and a kiss to your cheek. Your stomach plummets, eyes wide like you’re in a horror film and the killer is behind you.

You can see the instant disappointment creeping onto Spencer’s face. He doesn’t want to show it, but it’s there.

“Brad!” you chirp in the fakest possible voice you can muster.

You look up over your shoulder at the man Mary set you up with. He’s taking you on your third date tonight. You completely and totally forgot. A fire of guilt ignites in your lower belly, burning hot until you’re nearly sick with it. Your head snaps back to Spencer, where you see him collect his materials. Your heart sinks into your stomach, charring itself to bits with the rest of your guts down there.

“Spencer-” you reach an arm out to stop him, but he yanks it away. An internal skewer prods your fire, makes it hotter, bigger.

“I checked this out, actually. I’ll look it over at the station, it’ll probably take me not even 10 minutes to read it by myself anyway,” he rambles sheepishly, his face now turning red for the worst possible reason.

“Hey, man!” Brad chuckles obliviously, and you wish you could crawl into a hole right then and there, “you must be her genius FBI friend, yeah she talks about you,” he puts his hands on his hips as his head turns from him, back to you. Realization dawns on his face as Brad reaches out his hand, Spencer shakes it professionally and you want to die.

“Talks a lot about you, actually. It’s funny, I never really understood what a guy with such a high IQ would be doing in the FBI, but that’s just me,” he’s the only one that chuckles at his statement, his gaze now turned towards his phone, “plus, don’t you need to be more fit to be in the FBI? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who chases down killers.”

“Yeah, well, my unit actually profiles the behavior of serial killers in order to catch them. That’s where my IQ of 187 comes in, as well as my three PhDs,” you can tell he's word vomiting, and he sends a fake smile at Brad, who gives not one signal that he listened to any of that at all. You can hear the shake in Spencer’s voice. He’s trying to make it through this conversation without blowing a gasket. You’re doing the same.

“Yeah, man, that’s sweet,” he flips his gum around in his mouth, chewing as he scrolls on his phone, “listen, can we go now, babe? I’m starving,” he tries slinking his arm over your shoulders, eyes still glued to his phone.

This isn’t unusual for him, he’s been guilty of this the past few dates he took you on. Whether it was when you were ordering the food, or walking home, a time would come on the date where his eyes wouldn’t leave his phone. It piqued your curiosity, but truthfully, you never liked him enough to care. This position allows you a quick glance at his screen, opened in the messages of someone named Emma, who he’s also calling ‘babe’.

Spencer takes this as his cue to leave, though. You know you don’t deserve it, but not getting a goodbye from him is like a kick to the shins.

“Yeah-yeah, I’ll be ready in just one second,” you say breathlessly, “gonna just go walk him out,” you give him a weak smile before breaking into a jog to catch up with him.

“Spencer!” you call as you jog out to the patio, where you saw him for the first time that March morning.

“When were you going to tell me you have a boyfriend?” he turns, not letting you get a word in edgewise.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” you exclaim, grasping at straws to save face, “he’s just someone that Mary set me up with. We’ve only gone out on a few dates, it’s not a serious thing!” the wind whips desperately between the two of you, an earthly manifestation of four months of swirling emotions, repressed and ready to bubble over the surface. It’s true that you’ve only been on a few dates with the guy, but you know what honesty means to Spencer. You know that lying by omission is still a lie. You were so desperate to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, you just wanted to let someone else do it for you. You never expected Spencer to come back, never expected a friendship like this to blossom, never expected to be in love with him while dating someone else. You didn’t know what to do. Clearly, ignoring it was not the best way to handle that.

“Serious enough to call you ‘babe’,” he mutters to the ground, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” you spit, now defensive, “you were the one who wanted to just be ‘friends’,” you throw up air quotes, “you don’t get to be mad now!”

“‘m not mad,” Spencer insists, grumbly. His gaze is kept on the ground, the toe of his Converse kicking a rock, “I get it. You’re beautiful, he’s beautiful. No wonder Mary thought you’d be a great couple. I see it, I really do. I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me, ‘s all,” his voice is high pitched and whiny, an aggravated tone that gives away his true feelings whether he means to or not.

You roll your eyes and fold your arms across your chest, “because, Spencer, I didn’t realize I had to run every single relationship choice by a man I’ve only really known for three weeks! A man who took off without leaving any way for me to contact him! So yeah, don’t be too surprised that I’ve moved on,” you huff, eyebrows drawn downwards in an angry pout.

“Moved on?” Spencer whines, turning to face you, “we spent one day together! I’m an FBI agent, I can’t just hand out my number to random strangers I meet on cases!” “You and I both know I wasn’t just a random stranger on a case!” you shout, and a heavy silence falls between you.

The rain splatters harshly against the ground, moving so fast you can barely see each individual raindrop. Your mind is a similar storm, clouded, dark, and so desperate for sun. The sun in your case is the man standing before you, chest heaving as he stares back at you.

“I don’t know, Spencer, I don’t know,” you chuckle, breaking the silence with a venomous huff, “we spent one day together, yes, but I felt a connection with you that I’ve never felt with anyone else. I know you felt it too. Do you go around telling everybody you meet on a case about how amazing your mentor was and how much you miss him?”

He flinches, and you know you got him.

“Leave him out of this,” is all he can mutter.

“You brought him into it in the first place,” you jab back. You know you’re being petty, you know you’re in the wrong, but you can’t accept it. Not with Spencer standing right in front of you, looking at you like he’s Caesar and you’re Brutus holding a bloodied knife in your hand. Maybe that’s exactly who you are, but the humiliation of your mistakes creeps into every bone in your body, sitting most prominently in your throat. It’s strangling you, holding you back from any logic, your emotions running rampant throughout this conversation.

“Have fun on your date, I have a killer to catch,” Spencer doesn’t spare you one last look before leaving you stranded in the rain.

You return to your desk completely soaked through, and Brad’s eyes widen in a condescending way that makes your skin crawl.

“Whew,” he whistles, nearly scared at the sight of you, “well, it seems like you two have some stuff you need to work out. You’re hot, but I’m not interested in being a part of some weird ass love triangle you have going on with that loser. See ya around,” he raps his knuckles on the desk and leaves without second thought.

Your skin crawls at his third grade insult, your eyes trained on his retreating figure. You’re frozen in place, unbelieving that this all just unfolded in front of you, because of you. Your pruney fingers come up to hide your soaked face. You can only imagine how much of a disaster you looked like right now, dripping and wilted, like the dewey trees hanging outside. You stare at one in front of the window by your desk, and can’t help but feel envious of the sopping bark and dripping leaves. Their storm is about growth, renewal, yours was brought on by your own selfishness and humiliation. Your head falls back into your hands. You need to make things right with Spencer. You’ve already lost him once, you know you won’t be able to go through it again.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hey!” Spencer whines, snapped out of his stewing by a crumpled piece of paper flying from Emily’s direction hitting him square on the nose.

“What’d you do that for!?” he whines, nose scrunching as he throws the paper back at the perpetrator.

“You need to focus, Genius!” her voice rings sarcastically, “were you able to get any help from your girly friend at the library or no?”

Spencer’s insides twist at her teasing, the sheer mention of you makes him want to crawl in a hole and never come out. He feels like such an idiot. In what world would someone so beautiful actually like someone like him? The humiliation regresses his emotions to the sinking feeling in his gut he felt when he was 12, watching the jock ask the girl from his AP calculus class that he’d fantasized about for months to prom. He knew it was a pipe dream then, but he should’ve known now, too. As angry as he is at you, he’s almost more angry with himself for letting his guard down. Your beauty destines you to someone like Brad, with his sculpted jaw and perfect hair. It’s a tale as old as time, one where there are two beauties and one beast left behind to study sewing patterns from World War II.

“Oof, sore subject?” Emily asks after a moment of bitter silence, “I thought things were going well. I was thinking we could even have her come in to help us with some of this if you want,” she pats the multiple books they have to help with the case.

If it were any other circumstances, Spencer would feel grateful for his friend doing him a solid, even though they both know he could read everything on the conference room table in an hour. Now, though, the thought feels like a boiling pitchfork slicing through his gut.

“Well, she’s on a date with someone named Brad right now, if you were curious,” Spencer snapped before walking out to read his books in peace.

“What?” he hears a high pitched shout from behind him, and he fights an eye roll when he hears the clicking of Emily’s heels hot on his tail. “I thought things were going well? You were over there all the time, I mean you practically spent all of your free time there, everyone else thought you were just going into hermit mode, but I knew-” “Well, things change, Emily. I won’t be going there so much anymore,” Spencer cuts off her rambling dryly, trying to sound as neutral as possible about the situation. The shakiness in his voice tattletales on him, though. He knows he’s been figured out by the way Emily’s eyes narrow down at him, her tongue poking at her cheek. He accepts defeat, his forehead falling to the crook of his arms resting on his desk.

“Alright…” Emily sighs, moving to sit adjacent to her distressed coworker, “lay it on me, kid.”

Spencer can’t help himself. Everything, every thought that’s been keeping him up late at night, every feeling that’s eaten through his stomach til it’s raw comes spilling out. He tells her about the last three weeks, about how it’s allowed him to actually establish a connection with you, and how it was better than he ever thought it could be. He tells her about Brad, about the patronizing way the beefcake eyed him up and down.

“I just feel so stupid,” he vents, unable to make eye contact with Emily, “I really thought she could actually like me, but it makes so much sense that she’s with someone like him instead,” he shakes his head, gaze turning towards his lap, “she’s so pretty, Emily, I just blew it too many times.”

He’s ready to give up, ready to wallow in his sorrows with Derek, maybe finally take him up on all the offers to set him up. That’s what you did, anyway.

“Well,” Emily scoffs, kicking her feet up on his desk. He frowns at the sight. “Your first problem is that you’re comparing yourself to this Brad loser-”

“You didn’t see him, though,” Spencer jumps in, defensive, “he’s perfect for her-”

“On the outside, maybe,” Emily cut him off, regaining power of the conversation. Spencer slumps back in his chair as she eyes him, “and honestly Spencer, that means nothing. I know you know that,” she says, and Spencer retreats into himself as her pointed gaze pierces through that rawness in his stomach.

“Honestly, Spencer, I’m shocked you’re so intimidated by some meathead,” she sits back, more relaxed now, it allows Spencer to loosen up too. “You’re Doctor Spencer Reid. Three times over, actually!” she makes sure to enunciate his full name, title and all, and it makes his chest lightly puff up once more, “just because you may not be some adonis with a six pack doesn’t make you undesirable, Spencer. I wish you knew that,” she utters that last bit quietly, softer, it makes his heart churn with vulnerability.

“Sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to be like Derek,” Spencer remarks, “to not be scared to go out and find a connection, to be able to act on it once you find it. It’s one of the very few things I’m not an expert at,” he jokes lightly, and Emily smiles at him sadly.

“Nobody is, Spencer,” Emily sighs, “love is messy, and it’s complicated, but it’s worth fighting for. If you really think going cold turkey on your library visits is the best way for you to handle this, then so be it. But I don’t want you forgetting who you are, what you bring to the table, because if someone is lucky enough to capture the attention of the Spencer Reid, she better be able to keep up,” she smiles at him, standing to ruffle his hair like a big sister. It still makes his cheeks go red.

“Thanks Emily,” he mutters, “I’ll think about it.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your hands are visibly shaking as the elevator lifts you to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They grip the visitor’s badge dangling from your neck in a desperate attempt to find something to do. You’re here on business, though you’re not sure Spencer knows that. You’re not in the mood to find out. After two weeks of staring at the door from your desk, waiting so desperately to see your favorite person walk through the doors, only to go home disappointed everyday, you have no clue how he will react to seeing you, let alone working with you.

Your eyes drop down to your phone, open to the email you received from Emily Prentiss earlier in the week, requesting a meeting with you for some advice on a case. Your eyes scan over one particular sentence, over, and over, and over again. ‘Spencer told me about how you helped him on cases, and I’d love to hear your expertise…’ You honestly stopped reading after ‘Spencer told me’. He talked about you. He told Emily about you, how you’d help him. It feels you with a mix of joy and fear at the same time. Did he tell her good things about you? Does she know the reason why he stopped coming by the library?

You don’t have much time to ponder, as the doors of the elevator slide open with a ding. You take one step off the elevator, and that’s all you can muster. Your eyes frantically scan the hustle and bustle of the bureau, and you can’t help but feel even more intimidated than you already were. Panic slithers its way from your stomach and wraps itself around your throat like a cobra. You wonder if this was all a big mistake, if you should have just ignored it and stayed out of Spencer’s way. He didn’t fight for you, so why are you fighting for him? You turn around, the only movement you’ve made since stepping off the elevator, and desperately press the button multiple times.

“What are you doing here?” you freeze when you hear the unmistakable voice coming from behind you. The shake in his voice, the slight grievance in his tone makes you freeze again, and now you know you’ve made a mistake. Anything that has to do with Spencer paralyzes you, why would you think you could pull this off?

“Leaving,” you respond curtly, pressing the elevator button a few more times.

“That won’t work, just makes it move slower,” his tone is playful, but biting. He’s mad, you know he is, and bile rises in your throat at the thought. You fold your arms across your chest and do your best to ignore him, but you feel him. You always do, only this time, he’s closer to you than he’s been in weeks. It’s infiltrating your brain, your senses betraying all logic as the heat radiates from his chest, nearly pressed against your back, the smell of his woodsy aftershave floods your nostrils, the spice of his cologne lingering on his sweater a close runner up. You don’t spend much time thinking about your next actions, if you had you wouldn’t have grabbed the collar of Spencer’s shirt and dragged him into the elevator with you.

“I’m sorry, Spencer, okay? I’m so, so sorry. I made a huge mistake not telling you about Brad, it was a mistake to even go out with him to begin with,” you say that last part mostly to yourself as the doors shut. You and Spencer breathe heavily in the newfound silence, unsure where to go next.

“What does that mean?” Spencer asks.

“What?” you huff.

“You said it was a mistake to go out with him to begin with. What does that mean?” he presses, like he’s in an interrogation. You don’t expect the sternness from him, but you can’t deny the way it sets your stomach aflame, burning embers warming your heart.

“It means that I never wanted to just be friends with you, Spencer. I thought you were going to ask me for my number when we met for the first time in Massachusetts,” you brush fallen strands of hair out of your face, still out of breath from the intensity of the conversation, of having Spencer so vulnerable, so close to you. “You didn’t, though, and to be honest? I was crushed.”

His eyebrow quirks, “you were crushed?”

“You’re trying to tell me you didn’t feel a connection, even from our first meeting?” you challenge him, and when he ponders silently for a moment too long, you know you have him. “Me too,” you breathe, “I was so upset, my friend thought it would be a good idea to set me up with Brad, try and help me move on, y’know? It didn’t work, obviously, because now I’m here, at the first beck and call of anyone who’s anywhere close in proximity to you,” you chuckle condescendingly towards yourself, eyes filling with hot tears as humiliation seeps through your veins.

“I mean…Spencer,” you scoff, breathing heavier now as tears spill over your lash line, “my entire life changed the day I met you,” his big brown eyes nearly turn you to applesauce in that moment, the way they gaze lovingly at you, a light shine reflecting off the LED light of the elevator.

“Mine too,” he mutters, voice raspy and cracked with emotion. “I’m sorry, too. I was just so hurt by that run-in with Brad that I didn’t think I could face you, was too humiliated,” his gaze falls towards the floor.

“I’m so sorry for doing that to you, Spencer, I should have told you,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion as tears slowly keep spilling.

“Yeah, well, I should have asked for your number that day in March,” he smiles sheepishly at you, and you want nothing more than to just put him in your pocket and take him home with you.

Your conversation is cut short by the ding of the elevator. You wipe at your cheeks before instinctively reaching for his hand, pulling him with you out into the parking structure.

“Hey-” he lightly protests, although he goes along with you anyway, “you know I have to work still, right?”

“Well, you can tell Emily to take the fall for you,” you quip, “because she was the one who told me I needed to meet with her,” you turn to face Spencer, whose eyebrow quirks in the cutest way, “mmhm, told me it was a big case and everything.”

“We’re in between cases right now, what does she-” Spencer stops himself, the lightbulb flicking on over his head, “...oh.”

“You just now figured that out, Spence?” you gently tease, “you didn’t see her and Derek spying on us by the elevator?” you stop by your car, and the tension from the elevator follows the two of you, settling like dust.

“No,” he chuckles bashfully, his arms lifting to lay lightly at your waist, testing the waters, “no, I didn’t. You ever considered a future in profiling?”

You can’t help but laugh further into his hold, you feel so naturally safe there that you can’t help but just step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. This time, tears of relief, tears of overwhelming joy flood your eyes again. You know things aren’t perfect between you and Spencer, but the fact that there is finally a relationship to build floods your body with relief like a dam breaking. Your bones no longer ache for his touch, your heart slowly stitching itself back together, just from the healing powers of his magical arms. You feel his warm, calloused hand come to rest against your cheek, brushing a tear out of the way.

“Y’know,” he mutters, “the reason I stopped coming by after meeting Brad was because I felt stupid,” he continues when you quirk your brow, eyes full of confusion, “I felt stupid thinking you would like someone like me over someone like that,” he pumps his muscle in a weak attempt to mock Brad, but it earns him a chuckle from you, so his eyes shine.

“Oh, Spencer,” you dote, your eyes shining into his with the brightest confession of love, “he could never hold a candle to you, I mean it,” you punctuate when he avoids eye contact, “not only are you the smartest, kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever met, you’re also incredibly sexy. Your hair works wonders you’ve never even heard of.” He looks at you like you’re crazy, “sexy?!” he exclaims, nearly forgetting he’s in the parking lot at his work, “I don’t think anyone’s ever actually called me sexy, and meant it,” he adds, quieter this time, and you have no choice.

You place both your palms against his scruffy cheeks, clenching your thighs together at the thought of him not shaving for a few days, and press your lips to his. It’s not a picture perfect first kiss, either. It’s messy, it’s desperate, it conveys everything the two of you have been too scared to say over the past four months. You nearly swoon when he places a hand at the small of your back, tugging you closer and deepening the kiss. His scruff moves against your supple skin and reddens your chin in a way you’ll have to explain to your coworker later, but you don’t care. Right now, all you can care about is the feeling of his lips on yours, moving to your cheek, down your neck, nibbling at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you gasp, regretfully lifting his head up, “you’re at work.” His eyes close, like he’s trying to retain some composure. He rests his forehead against yours, and your eyes fall closed, too. Your hand grips his wrist as both of his hands rest against your cheeks, your breathing syncs, you lock eyes. You know from the second his blown out irises catch yours, there’s no way he’s going back in that office. He places the softest kiss to your lips, adding one more before he moves to bury his face in your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses your back to your car.

“We can blame it on Emily, like you said,” he presses a kiss to your neck, “I’ve been thinking about the way your body would feel in my arms for four months, baby,” he rasps, and you want to hear him call you baby until the day you die. “I’m not giving it up now, if it’s an emergency, Hotch will call me,” he provides some reassurance before giving you one last kiss and heading around to the passenger side of your car.

“For now, though?” he poses, “we’re finishing this at your place.”

Your heart skips a beat as you hop in the driver’s seat.

562 notes · View notes

reveluving · 6 months

Note

SHY WIFE AND PRICE....ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME!!!!!Imagine this Adonis of a man spoiling her from the first date and even her being shy, the 141(plus Kate) KNOW who's the boss( he ALWAYS have a photo and a story about Mrs.Price and it's just the cutest thing how his eyes light up that they also love her)

CUUUUUUTE AAAAAA!! GNAWING ON MY BARS RN!! And thank you for specifying the Adonis of a man bit! Can't forget about that!! ☝🏼😌💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

In any case of our beloved shy!wife fics, especially with his line of work, just expect your husband to have a polaroid or five of you ready.

And John is no different.

You must be a special one if you managed to catch the eyes of the captain, and to clarify, you are!

John knew there was no going back to his mundane yet chaotic lifestyle the second he asked you out. It took everything in him not to chuckle at your look of disbelief, your lips parting just a tad bit. He didn’t want you to think he was making fun of you, you were genuinely adorable with your expressiveness. And though had told him you were open to anything, even specifying that you wouldn’t mind anything small and simple, he didn’t let you.

He took you out to dinner on your first date, nothing too fancy, though that couldn’t be said the same on the later dates, gifted you a small but beautiful bouquet and the rest was history.

And amazingly, he gets even better at spoiling you after he puts a ring on your finger. As if he wasn't already good since your first date!

Kisses or cakes, hugs or huge bouquets, he'll always find a way to spoil you. Because you—your smiles, giggles and laughs, your time and your love for him means so much.

More than you can imagine.

A sweetheart, a gentleman. You couldn’t ask for a better man to fall for you, though, like him, you were mind-blown to even think a man, no, a hunk like him showed interest in you. Made you feel wanted, special—someone he wanted to be with with zero hesitation.

He wouldn’t be able to forget your shy smile, how you’d mindlessly trail your fingers across the table or your lap out of embarrassment, how your fingers curled around his hand, despite averting your gaze from his cheeky smile many dates later.

And though the wedding was small, to him, it felt like a sweet fairytale.

To finally be able to call you Mrs Price.

Laswell had the privilege to meet you first before everyone else. She enjoys the sisterly moments you’d have, a breath of fresh air from the craziness, to say the least, that she has to witness in her lifetime. Always appreciates you checking in on her via messages or if she’s lucky, a quick call. And it becomes a tradition of hers to jokingly remind John to take care of you and not to drive you crazy.

And then, there were the boys.

Johnny was the one who asked about you, catching the man looking at one of the polaroids of you with nothing but love in his eyes. Longing to get it over with and come home to you. Johnny didn’t think he’d be willing to talk about you at all, let alone more than a few sentences, i.e. privacy reasons or he just prefers to be on his own. Take in the quiet moment before any hell breaks loose later on.

Understandable, so imagine not only his surprise but also the rest of the 141 when he talks about you. First, with pure endearment in his tone, then the story gets romantic, cheesier even, but all three of them listened to his stories like no other (read: a father telling his kids how he met their mother), even if they acted like they were just casually fixing their weapons or thinking to themselves.

C’mon, he knows them!

Like John, you treat the boys like your very own. If Johnny, Kyle or Simon wanted to be doted over—to be cared for, something they haven’t felt in a while even if some of them wouldn’t want to admit it, then you’d give them millions! Even something as little as a handwritten message or passing them a few words i.e. take care and good luck via John.

Visiting the Price’s house now feels like a family thing. Again, it’s cheesy, it’s corny, and maybe even childish to some, for a bunch of men to be looking forward to these visits like a child being away from their parents at a dorm during college, none of you cared. Not you. Not John. And most importantly, not his boys.

None of them could have imagined your words to stick in their minds in dire times. A little motivation to return safely. Back to the base, for John, and back the Price’s home, for you.

“Johnny, I’m out of a few things in the kitchen. Could you drop by the store and get these for me, please?” “Can do!”

“Simon, have you seen John’s car keys? I can’t find them anywhere.” “I can help look for it w’you.”

“Kyle, I told you I can handle the fireplace.” “S’not that hard. Don’t worry!”

Home.

Bonus: A lil’ story I’m still working on with the COD men + dogs includes John with an American Akita. Similar to Phillip and Kai, John’s gigantic pupper tends to prefer listening to you to him.

His intolerance for certain people or animals drops in an instant the second he sees you, turning into a baby (your baby, might John add) but he also knows when duty calls. Ears tilting back and growling at a stranger who doesn’t know, or worse; ignores that you're taken.

And in John’s words: good boy.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

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jellyfishsthings · 3 months

Text

Nerves and Stolen Kisses

I have been toying with the idea of writing a fic about him for quite sometime and after last weekend I just had to. Estelle ( Ollie's rumoured gf is mentioned here but it is a fake relationship for PR reasons.) Also Paul Aron has a gf... friends to lovers trope.

Shoutout to @httpiastri for the inspiration

The Saudi Arabian Grand Prix was fast approaching. And Ollie was a jumble of nerves and excitement as usual. Since the early hour of the day, he opened the curtains letting the sun into the room and you groaned into the pillow.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead. Come on, we have a whole day ahead of us.”

“No, you do. I don't know why I came.”

“Because I am your bestest friend and I paid for your ticket and let you stay with me.”

“Both of which are for your benefit.”

“Come on….”

“Fine.” You say with a dejected sigh as you get up and you both get ready for the day. David, Ollie's dad was already waiting for you and you headed towards the paddock.

Everything was a frenzy and was passing by so quickly. As Ollie got into the garage and got ready for the quali you headed towards the stands trying to find Cassie, Paul's long-term girlfriend. Throughout the years you have formed a unique friendship. She was the only one who knew about your crush on Ollie and she teased you endlessly about it. Ollie and you had been best friends for the better part of your life, joint to the hip, having endless sleepovers, even if Dad didn't approve.

It was an endless nightmare being close enough to get a taste of all the what ifs, but never experiencing them.

“Do you and your lover boy share a room, huh?”

“It's not like that and you know it, Cassandra.”

“Yeah, it hurts, doesn't it?”

“So much. You have no idea. Yesterday I couldn't sleep and as the hours passed, he came closer and closer. He ended up holding me in his sleep. And I felt so bad because of Estelle. I know that they aren't really together and it's for PR, but still, I feel awful because technically I am the other woman… and she is just so nice and sweet. Never overstepping, I think she knows.”

We both stay quiet after that as the session continues.

“You know… whatever the case. You both love each other, platonically or not.”

“Yeah, I know.” I say as I watch the times set by all the drivers, Ollie having the fastest one yet.

“Looks like your man is on pole.”

We both make our way through the paddock, trying to pass the roaring sea of fans and we hand out already-signed autographs to anyone who asks for them. When we finally arrive, we part ways, before making promises about having dinner together at a restaurant Cassie wanted to try. And I head towards the Prema garage finding two beaming Bearmans, hugging.

“Hey Bear. Did you drive fast enough?” You call at him. And he grins like an idiot before swooping you into a tight hug spinning you. His laughter echoes in your ears as he sets you down.

“Yeah I drove fast enough, you minx.”

“Good. Now let's go. We are having dinner with Paul and Cassie in four hours and I want to see the city.”

“Give me five minutes to change and we are good to go.”

The afternoon is spent visiting local stores, trying to communicate in scrappy English and making terrible puns with products or street names. When they finally head to the restaurant their sides hurt from laughing. Dinner passed by as quickly as it came. As everyone says, time flies by when you are with the people you love.

Just as they open the door for their hotel room, Ollie flops in the bed as you head towards your computer and open it as hoards of emails and messages appear on the screen. Great more deadlines and essays to write until the end of the week.

“Leave it. We can pretend that we have nothing to do and watch a movie or local TV and try to understand what the hell is going on.”

“Thanks Bear. But I can't, as tempting as your offer is. Go to sleep, I will join you soon.”

And so you sit in front of your computer, ending essay after essay, sending them on time, until your eyes hurt from the pale blue light. The bed seems more welcoming than ever before as Ollie starfishes the entire length of it and his soft snores fill the empty space. Yeah, maybe it's time to call it a day.

An awful sound echoes in the room and eventually wakes you.

“I swear if it's one more ad I will jump from the window.” You grumble into your pillow as you steal the blankets and turn yourself into a burrito.

Ollie hisses as he opens his phone only to find a ton of messages and many missed calls from Ferrari. He dials Fred back as he moves towards the bathroom, trying to let you steal a few more minutes of much needed sleep.

When he emerges back in the room he sits down in front of you, his back supported on the bed.

“Ols, what's going on?”

“Carlos has an appendix”

“Oh no. Is he having surgery?”

“Yeah.” He says softly. “They want me to replace him.”

“What?” At that you are fully awake. Your hair is a netted nest and you look at him in shock. He looks at you, you his best friend who would look like a mess to anyone else but to him you look like the most beautiful and amazing creature in the world. Your mere presence has a more calming effect on him than anything else. If it weren't for you, he would have already lost his mind. “How? When? I…”

“We need to get to the paddock, if I don't want to miss FP3. I will wake up Dad and break the news to him.”

Soon after you enter the paddock and thousands of reporters try to get a better look at Ollie, flashing their cameras at you and bombarding you with questions as you make your way to the Ferrari garage and mechanics steal Ollie from you and David as they set to work quickly. David looks pale and sick as he paces into the garage trying to control his nerves through the FP3 and the Quali. When Ollie finally got off the car when he scored the 11th place, missing Q2 only by 3 hundreds of a second, you knew that this was it. He was finally shining like the bright star he was. He had done more than enough, his raw talent showing with barely one hour to get used to the car. And as mechanics and reporters closed around him. You couldn't help but feel like you didn't belong here. Where did you fit in? The reality hit you and it hit you hard. You hid in the back corners of the garage, eyes glued to the screen as everyone passed by without acknowledging you. You would happily hide in the shadows where he shined but this world wasn't meant for you. The anxiety was picking up at you, eating you alive from the inside.

And when Ollie got too close to the wall, your heart stopped beating. He was driving a car that was twice as fast and twice as dangerous than his normal F2 car. It was too much. The sound, the danger, everything really. Breathing suddenly seemed so hard and you needed a way out. As you hide behind the garage you call the one person who could understand. Terri picks up in the second ring her soft voice already calming you.

“Hey love. Is everything alright?”

“How do you do it? How can you stand back and do nothing?”

“You love him, don't you sweetheart?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Well … no I always hoped but… whatever the case, to answer your question you simply do it, you just have to. A driver needs his support system and you are it for him. You are his forever person, whether that is romantically or not. He needs to be near you and as much nervous as you are, so is he. Without you he would be lost, believe me I know my son. And I can bet you that as much as your heart breaks right now, you are also immensely proud.”

“Of course I am. But where do I fit in, in this world.”

“Right beside him, love.”

“Thanks Terri. Please call David. I think he is losing his mind and he is sick with worry.” You say chuckling before saying your goodbyes and head back towards the garage. The session is already over and Ollie is nowhere in sight.

Ollie plays with the power button of his phone trying to calm down but to no avail. The lock screen is a photo of the two of you. It was last summer both your skins flushed and hair slightly wet and tangled. You both smile at the camera and your eyes look bright with happiness. He feels slightly lighter but he knows that there is an impending panic attack and so he turns to the one person who could help him in this situation.

"I got your text," you say, tiptoeing inside and shutting the door behind you, careful to not make any loud sounds to scare him. "How are you doing?”

Ollie is sitting on a massaging table, elbows on top of his legs and head resting in his hands. His eyes are stuck on the floor, his silence is defeaning. When he still doesn't answer, your heart rate picks up. Is something really wrong?

You make your way over to him, hands finding his cheeks and softly tilting him up to look at you – and you swear you've never seen him look this wrecked before. Not after his worst crashes, not when he lost the rookie championship last year, not when he was cheated out from the Formula 3 championship. Once again, you've entered completely new territory, and your heart breaks at the sight.

"Ollie, talk to me," you plead, holding back the tears that starts to form on your eyes and threatento spill. It's so painful to look into his eyes, but you can't back down. Not now, not when he needs you this much.

"I'm-" his voice cracks but he shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I'm so nervous, I don't know what to do."

It's like he's oozing anxiety, and his heavy sigh is like a stab in your chest. Ollie, your usually so calm and collected best friend is probably going crazy over this – you know him well enough by now to understand that he's definitely freaking out even more on the inside than what he shows or tells. He is a messy jumble of nerves.

"I get that. One hundred per cent. But.." your thumbs begin to stroke over the skin of his cheeks, along his jaw, and then finally across his eyebrows, to which his eyes flutter closed. "This is your dream. It's been your dream since forever, and now you finally have the chance.”

"And it's not just any car, it's a Ferrari. Do you realize how cool that is? Do you realize how many people would kill for an opportunity like this?" You smile at the sight of him with his eyes still shut, eyelashes resting atop his cheeks, messy fringe covering his forehead. Even like this, at his most stressed state, he's completely gorgeous, not that you would ever tell him that. "You would've killed for an opportunity like this just 24 hours ago."

"But what if I ruin it?" His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, shoulders slumping forward. "What if I go out there and I'm shit, and then they realize what a big mistake they've made by even putting me in the academy? What if-"

"It won't happen." His eyelids slowly open and he looks up at you, seemingly not even the slightest upset that you cut him off. "You're too good to do that. You'll get in that car and it will feel like your second home, just like it always does."

Finally, a small smile makes its way onto his lips. It's only been a few minutes since you came in, but he seems much more relaxed now, leaning into your touch completely. "I'll try my best to make you proud."

“I'm always proud of you, you mufflehead.”

A laugh bubbles from his chest and he stands up from the table, opening his arms wide and pulling you in for a tight hug. His heart is still beating louder than a drum in his chest when your ear is pressed up against it, and you're almost worried it will jump out any second now. But his breaths are much more controlled now, and his mind seems much lighter. And soon enough his heartbeat slows to normal.

“I bet that in twenty four hours not only will you finish the race, you will score points and beat Max Verstappen.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves” he says chuckling. “God, my neck is killing me.”

“Sit down. I've got you.” And so you start massaging his neck. It's stiff and hard under your hands and he lets a small groan as you untangle one of the knots that were quite painful. After a few minutes he is putty in your hands, his eyes closed, trusting you completely and feeling at ease for the first time in the past two days.

True to your world, Ollie crosses the finish line in seventh place, having gained points in his debut. But the one thing that kept him calm through the process was the thought that she was waiting for him in the cool down room. When the race finishes and drives the car back home he jumps from his seat and he can't get fast enough to her. People around him are praising him and congratulating him but they all fall to deaf eyes.

When he finally gets into the room to change into new fireproofs, she is patiently waiting for him. Her eyes are a little misty and her face flushed.

“I told you.”

“I didn't beat Max.”

“Still.”

She closes in on him and her hands are thrown around his neck, he reciprocates the hug immediately as his heart beat finally slows down. They doth draw away after a while only for him to dive back into her and kiss her firmly on the lips. Shock petrifies her and when he stops, he places his forehead on top of hers. He is a flustered mess and he is mumbling apologies, before she reconnects their lips.

For the following hours Ollie sports a shit-eating grin on his face. Everyone thinks that it is because of his amazing performance and not for kissing the girl that held his heart captive since they were five years old.

#ollie bearman #ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman x female reader #oliver bearman #oliver bearman x reader #oliver bearman imagine #formula 1 #formula 2

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