#and feel pressured to get sets made as quickly as humanly possible

[justafriend-ql]

reminder to all gifmakers that your work is always a unique, valuable contribution to the community. even if someone has already giffed that scene. even if you're not 100% happy with the coloring. even if it doesn't get many notes because sometimes people only look at the 'top' posts in the tags (which are usually just the first posts on the scene after an episode drops).

frankly, the culture of expecting gifs to be made within 15 minutes of an episode airing and only reblogging posts made within that timeframe is stressful and unsustainable for creators, and it prevents people from discovering and appreciating the wonderful diversity and abundance of work that can be found here.

follow your favorite gifmakers, reblog generously, and have some compassion for people that devote their time to making beautiful things <3

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Chapter III (part 2/2)

“Mr. Samsa!”, shouted the middle gentleman to Gregor’s father, pointing, without wasting any more words, with his forefinger at Gregor as he slowly moved forward. The violin went silent, the middle of the three gentlemen first smiled at his two friends, shaking his head, and then looked back at Gregor. His father seemed to think it more important to calm the three gentlemen before driving Gregor out, even though they were not at all upset and seemed to think Gregor was more entertaining than the violin playing had been. He rushed up to them with his arms spread out and attempted to drive them back into their room at the same time as trying to block their view of Gregor with his body.

Now they did become a little annoyed, and it was not clear whether it was his father’s behaviour that annoyed them or the dawning realisation that they had had a neighbour like Gregor in the next room without knowing it. They asked Gregor’s father for explanations, raised their arms like he had, tugged excitedly at their beards and moved back towards their room only very slowly. Meanwhile Gregor’s sister had overcome the despair she had fallen into when her playing was suddenly interrupted. She had let her hands drop and let violin and bow hang limply for a while but continued to look at the music as if still playing, but then she suddenly pulled herself together, lay the instrument on her mother’s lap who still sat laboriously struggling for breath where she was, and ran into the next room which, under pressure from her father, the three gentlemen were more quickly moving toward. Under his sister’s experienced hand, the pillows and covers on the beds flew up and were put into order and she had already finished making the beds and slipped out again before the three gentlemen had reached the room. Gregor’s father seemed so obsessed with what he was doing that he forgot all the respect he owed to his tenants. He urged them and pressed them until, when he was already at the door of the room, the middle of the three gentlemen shouted like thunder and stamped his foot and thereby brought Gregor’s father to a halt. “I declare here and now”, he said, raising his hand and glancing at Gregor’s mother and sister to gain their attention too, “that with regard to the repugnant conditions that prevail in this flat and with this family”—here he looked briefly but decisively at the floor—“I give immediate notice on my room. For the days that I have been living here I will, of course, pay nothing at all, on the contrary I will consider whether to proceed with some kind of action for damages from you, and believe me it would be very easy to set out the grounds for such an action.” He was silent and looked straight ahead as if waiting for something. And indeed, his two friends joined in with the words: “And we also give immediate notice.” With that, he took hold of the door handle and slammed the door.

Gregor’s father staggered back to his seat, feeling his way with his hands, and fell into it; it looked as if he was stretching himself out for his usual evening nap but from the uncontrolled way his head kept nodding it could be seen that he was not sleeping at all. Throughout all this, Gregor had lain still where the three gentlemen had first seen him. His disappointment at the failure of his plan, and perhaps also because he was weak from hunger, made it impossible for him to move. He was sure that everyone would turn on him any moment, and he waited. He was not even startled out of this state when the violin on his mother’s lap fell from her trembling fingers and landed loudly on the floor.

“Father, Mother”, said his sister, hitting the table with her hand as introduction, “we can’t carry on like this. Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. I don’t want to call this monster my brother, all I can say is: we have to try and get rid of it. We’ve done all that’s humanly possible to look after it and be patient, I don’t think anyone could accuse us of doing anything wrong.”

“She’s absolutely right”, said Gregor’s father to himself. His mother, who still had not had time to catch her breath, began to cough dully, her hand held out in front of her and a deranged expression in her eyes.

Gregor’s sister rushed to his mother and put her hand on her forehead. Her words seemed to give Gregor’s father some more definite ideas. He sat upright, played with his uniform cap between the plates left by the three gentlemen after their meal, and occasionally looked down at Gregor as he lay there immobile.

“We have to try and get rid of it”, said Gregor’s sister, now speaking only to her father, as her mother was too occupied with coughing to listen, “it’ll be the death of both of you, I can see it coming. We can’t all work as hard as we have to and then come home to be tortured like this, we can’t endure it. I can’t endure it any more.” And she broke out so heavily in tears that they flowed down the face of her mother, and she wiped them away with mechanical hand movements.

“My child”, said her father with sympathy and obvious understanding, “what are we to do?”

His sister just shrugged her shoulders as a sign of the helplessness and tears that had taken hold of her, displacing her earlier certainty.

“If he could just understand us”, said his father almost as a question; his sister shook her hand vigorously through her tears as a sign that of that there was no question.

“If he could just understand us”, repeated Gregor’s father, closing his eyes in acceptance of his sister’s certainty that that was quite impossible, “then perhaps we could come to some kind of arrangement with him. But as it is ...”

“It’s got to go”, shouted his sister, “that’s the only way, Father. You’ve got to get rid of the idea that that’s Gregor. We’ve only harmed ourselves by believing it for so long. How can that be Gregor? If it were Gregor he would have seen long ago that it’s not possible for human beings to live with an animal like that and he would have gone of his own free will. We wouldn’t have a brother any more, then, but we could carry on with our lives and remember him with respect. As it is this animal is persecuting us, it’s driven out our tenants, it obviously wants to take over the whole flat and force us to sleep on the streets. Father, look, just look”, she suddenly screamed, “he’s starting again!” In her alarm, which was totally beyond Gregor’s comprehension, his sister even abandoned his mother as she pushed herself vigorously out of her chair as if more willing to sacrifice her own mother than stay anywhere near Gregor. She rushed over to behind her father, who had become excited merely because she was and stood up half raising his hands in front of Gregor’s sister as if to protect her.

But Gregor had had no intention of frightening anyone, least of all his sister. All he had done was begin to turn round so that he could go back into his room, although that was in itself quite startling as his pain-wracked condition meant that turning round required a great deal of effort and he was using his head to help himself do it, repeatedly raising it and striking it against the floor. He stopped and looked round. They seemed to have realised his good intention and had only been alarmed briefly. Now they all looked at him in unhappy silence. His mother lay in her chair with her legs stretched out and pressed against each other, her eyes nearly closed with exhaustion; his sister sat next to his father with her arms around his neck.

“Maybe now they’ll let me turn round”, thought Gregor and went back to work. He could not help panting loudly with the effort and had sometimes to stop and take a rest. No-one was making him rush any more, everything was left up to him. As soon as he had finally finished turning round he began to move straight ahead. He was amazed at the great distance that separated him from his room, and could not understand how he had covered that distance in his weak state a little while before and almost without noticing it. He concentrated on crawling as fast as he could and hardly noticed that there was not a word, not any cry, from his family to distract him. He did not turn his head until he had reached the doorway. He did not turn it all the way round as he felt his neck becoming stiff, but it was nonetheless enough to see that nothing behind him had changed, only his sister had stood up. With his last glance he saw that his mother had now fallen completely asleep.

He was hardly inside his room before the door was hurriedly shut, bolted and locked. The sudden noise behind Gregor so startled him that his little legs collapsed under him. It was his sister who had been in so much of a rush. She had been standing there waiting and sprung forward lightly, Gregor had not heard her coming at all, and as she turned the key in the lock she said loudly to her parents “At last!”.

“What now, then?”, Gregor asked himself as he looked round in the darkness. He soon made the discovery that he could no longer move at all. This was no surprise to him, it seemed rather that being able to actually move around on those spindly little legs until then was unnatural. He also felt relatively comfortable. It is true that his entire body was aching, but the pain seemed to be slowly getting weaker and weaker and would finally disappear altogether. He could already hardly feel the decayed apple in his back or the inflamed area around it, which was entirely covered in white dust. He thought back of his family with emotion and love. If it was possible, he felt that he must go away even more strongly than his sister. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful rumination until he heard the clock tower strike three in the morning. He watched as it slowly began to get light everywhere outside the window too. Then, without his willing it, his head sank down completely, and his last breath flowed weakly from his nostrils.

When the cleaner came in early in the morning—they’d often asked her not to keep slamming the doors but with her strength and in her hurry she still did, so that everyone in the flat knew when she’d arrived and from then on it was impossible to sleep in peace—she made her usual brief look in on Gregor and at first found nothing special. She thought he was laying there so still on purpose, playing the martyr; she attributed all possible understanding to him. She happened to be holding the long broom in her hand, so she tried to tickle Gregor with it from the doorway. When she had no success with that she tried to make a nuisance of herself and poked at him a little, and only when she found she could shove him across the floor with no resistance at all did she start to pay attention. She soon realised what had really happened, opened her eyes wide, whistled to herself, but did not waste time to yank open the bedroom doors and shout loudly into the darkness of the bedrooms: “Come and ’ave a look at this, it’s dead, just lying there, stone dead!”

Mr. and Mrs. Samsa sat upright there in their marriage bed and had to make an effort to get over the shock caused by the cleaner before they could grasp what she was saying. But then, each from his own side, they hurried out of bed. Mr. Samsa threw the blanket over his shoulders, Mrs. Samsa just came out in her nightdress; and that is how they went into Gregor’s room. On the way they opened the door to the living room where Grete had been sleeping since the three gentlemen had moved in; she was fully dressed as if she had never been asleep, and the paleness of her face seemed to confirm this. “Dead?”, asked Mrs. Samsa, looking at the charwoman enquiringly, even though she could have checked for herself and could have known it even without checking. “That’s what I said”, replied the cleaner, and to prove it she gave Gregor’s body another shove with the broom, sending it sideways across the floor. Mrs. Samsa made a movement as if she wanted to hold back the broom, but did not complete it. “Now then”, said Mr. Samsa, “let’s give thanks to God for that”. He crossed himself, and the three women followed his example. Grete, who had not taken her eyes from the corpse, said: “Just look how thin he was. He didn’t eat anything for so long. The food came out again just the same as when it went in”. Gregor’s body was indeed completely dried up and flat, they had not seen it until then, but now he was not lifted up on his little legs, nor did he do anything to make them look away.

“Grete, come with us in here for a little while”, said Mrs. Samsa with a pained smile, and Grete followed her parents into the bedroom but not without looking back at the body. The cleaner shut the door and opened the window wide. Although it was still early in the morning the fresh air had something of warmth mixed in with it. It was already the end of March, after all.

The three gentlemen stepped out of their room and looked round in amazement for their breakfasts; they had been forgotten about. “Where is our breakfast?”, the middle gentleman asked the cleaner irritably. She just put her finger on her lips and made a quick and silent sign to the men that they might like to come into Gregor’s room. They did so, and stood around Gregor’s corpse with their hands in the pockets of their well-worn coats. It was now quite light in the room.

Then the door of the bedroom opened and Mr. Samsa appeared in his uniform with his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other. All of them had been crying a little; Grete now and then pressed her face against her father’s arm.

“Leave my home. Now!”, said Mr. Samsa, indicating the door and without letting the women from him. “What do you mean?”, asked the middle of the three gentlemen somewhat disconcerted, and he smiled sweetly. The other two held their hands behind their backs and continually rubbed them together in gleeful anticipation of a loud quarrel which could only end in their favour. “I mean just what I said”, answered Mr. Samsa, and, with his two companions, went in a straight line towards the man. At first, he stood there still, looking at the ground as if the contents of his head were rearranging themselves into new positions. “Alright, we’ll go then”, he said, and looked up at Mr. Samsa as if he had been suddenly overcome with humility and wanted permission again from Mr. Samsa for his decision. Mr. Samsa merely opened his eyes wide and briefly nodded to him several times. At that, and without delay, the man actually did take long strides into the front hallway; his two friends had stopped rubbing their hands some time before and had been listening to what was being said. Now they jumped off after their friend as if taken with a sudden fear that Mr. Samsa might go into the hallway in front of them and break the connection with their leader. Once there, all three took their hats from the stand, took their sticks from the holder, bowed without a word and left the premises. Mr. Samsa and the two women followed them out onto the landing; but they had had no reason to mistrust the men’s intentions and as they leaned over the landing they saw how the three gentlemen made slow but steady progress down the many steps. As they turned the corner on each floor they disappeared and would reappear a few moments later; the further down they went, the more that the Samsa family lost interest in them; when a butcher’s boy, proud of posture with his tray on his head, passed them on his way up and came nearer than they were, Mr. Samsa and the women came away from the landing and went, as if relieved, back into the flat.

They decided the best way to make use of that day was for relaxation and to go for a walk; not only had they earned a break from work but they were in serious need of it. So they sat at the table and wrote three letters of excusal, Mr. Samsa to his employers, Mrs. Samsa to her contractor and Grete to her principal. The cleaner came in while they were writing to tell them she was going, she’d finished her work for that morning. The three of them at first just nodded without looking up from what they were writing, and it was only when the cleaner still did not seem to want to leave that they looked up in irritation. “Well?”, asked Mr. Samsa. The charwoman stood in the doorway with a smile on her face as if she had some tremendous good news to report, but would only do it if she was clearly asked to. The almost vertical little ostrich feather on her hat, which had been a source of irritation to Mr. Samsa all the time she had been working for them, swayed gently in all directions. “What is it you want then?”, asked Mrs. Samsa, whom the cleaner had the most respect for. “Yes”, she answered, and broke into a friendly laugh that made her unable to speak straight away, “well then, that thing in there, you needn’t worry about how you’re going to get rid of it. That’s all been sorted out.” Mrs. Samsa and Grete bent down over their letters as if intent on continuing with what they were writing; Mr. Samsa saw that the cleaner wanted to start describing everything in detail but, with outstretched hand, he made it quite clear that she was not to. So, as she was prevented from telling them all about it, she suddenly remembered what a hurry she was in and, clearly peeved, called out “Cheerio then, everyone”, turned round sharply and left, slamming the door terribly as she went.

“Tonight she gets sacked”, said Mr. Samsa, but he received no reply from either his wife or his daughter as the charwoman seemed to have destroyed the peace they had only just gained. They got up and went over to the window where they remained with their arms around each other. Mr. Samsa twisted round in his chair to look at them and sat there watching for a while. Then he called out: “Come here, then. Let’s forget about all that old stuff, shall we. Come and give me a bit of attention”. The two women immediately did as he said, hurrying over to him where they kissed him and hugged him and then they quickly finished their letters.

After that, the three of them left the flat together, which was something they had not done for months, and took the tram out to the open country outside the town. They had the tram, filled with warm sunshine, all to themselves. Leant back comfortably on their seats, they discussed their prospects and found that on closer examination they were not at all bad—until then they had never asked each other about their work but all three had jobs which were very good and held particularly good promise for the future. The greatest improvement for the time being, of course, would be achieved quite easily by moving house; what they needed now was a flat that was smaller and cheaper than the current one which had been chosen by Gregor, one that was in a better location and, most of all, more practical. All the time, Grete was becoming livelier. With all the worry they had been having of late her cheeks had become pale, but, while they were talking, Mr. and Mrs. Samsa were struck, almost simultaneously, with the thought of how their daughter was blossoming into a well built and beautiful young lady. They became quieter. Just from each other’s glance and almost without knowing it they agreed that it would soon be time to find a good man for her. And, as if in confirmation of their new dreams and good intentions, as soon as they reached their destination Grete was the first to get up and stretch out her young body.

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 1

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren't a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner's 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

A/N: if you couldn’t already tell, I have planned this as a series/full story. I was torn between writing it on here or on Wattpad or something, but ultimately decided on Tumblr . . . but let me know if you would prefer it on another platform as well! Also, this series will eventually include smut/NSFW content but that will be tagged appropriately when the time comes. As always, I hope you enjoy. 

Next →Part 2

Slamming the front door behind yourself on your way out that morning, you quickly stuffed your earbuds into your ears and cranked your music as loud as you could to drown out the sounds of your parents yelling after you and, consequently, at one another after you had dropped the bomb about your new job on them seconds before you had left, giving them as little time as possible to shame you for it.

After graduating high school and turning 18, you had decided it was time to take your life into your hands, which wasn’t too easy while you were still living under your parents’ roof, but you had to start somewhere and that somewhere was getting a job at the local corner store, Sakanoshita Market. 

You knew that your parents wanted you to go to university and ‘make something of yourself’, but you also knew that you could never truly be happy under their dictatorship-like ruling, so you decided to get a job, no matter how shitty, save your money, move out as soon as possible, and go from there. 

It was definitely going to be a process, and not an easy one, but all you had to do was take it one step at a time.

Rounding the corner and seeing the market in the distance, you felt your nerves begin to bubble inside of you a little. Sure, you had gotten some part-time jobs here and there during summer vacation before, but you had never gotten a full-time job before and had never needed the money from a job like you did now. Before, the cash you made was for extra spending money during the summer and school year, but now the money you would be making would be funding your future. It seemed like a lot of pressure to put on a job that entailed stocking shelves, checking out customers, and cleaning. 

The lady who had hired you had basically explained that since she was getting older and her son, who had been maintaining the place previously, had gotten a new job, the store needed someone to learn the ropes and take care of the place on a daily basis; and since you were young, a fast learner, and didn’t have anything else in your life besides work, you were a perfect fit. 

As the shop doors slid open smoothly to welcome you into the store you had been inside countless times in the past, you suddenly felt completely out of place in the familiar market. Now that you were an employee instead of a customer, the atmosphere had completely shifted. Instead of heading right for the fridges to grab a drink like you usually did, your eyes shifted immediately to the front counter where a figure with its feet up hid behind an open newspaper.

Just like every other time you had visited while the store owner’s son was working, he did everything humanly possible to avoid interaction. Usually, you would have appreciated not being bothered while trying to scan the shelves, but since this time was different, the lack of acknowledgement was slightly unnerving. 

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, hoping it was enough to catch his attention. It was not. Instead, he flipped the page of the newspaper and you watched as a hand emerged from behind the paper barrier to flick the ashes from his cigarette into an ashtray sitting beside the register. 

Eyebrows furrowed, you really wished that the shop owner herself had been there to greet you for your first day instead of her seemingly useless son. “Hello.” You stepped up to the counter, the feeling of not belonging sinking deeper into your bones. 

Slowly, the newspaper separating you from the man behind the counter lowered and the shop owner’s son glared back at you, eyes half-lidded as if he were seconds away from falling asleep and the cigarette from before hanging from his bottom lip. This was far from the first time you had interacted with him, but you would be surprised if he remembered you as a customer even a little. Whenever he checked customers out, you could tell he was running on autopilot. 

The man’s eyes drifted down to your hands, which were resting on top of the counter now. Noticing you didn’t have anything to purchase, he cocked a brow. “Need help finding somethin’?” 

“Ugh, no,” you answered. “I’m the new employee. I’m supposed to start today.”

His eyes scanned you once more, this time more thoroughly, and you swallowed hard. Feeling as if you were being observed under a microscope, you slid your hands off of the counter and stuffed them into your pockets self-consciously. 

As he inspected you inch by inch, you took the time to take a closer look at him as well. With dyed blonde hair, two earrings in his left ear, an apparent nicotine addiction, and a noticeably flippant attitude toward his job, he was the definition of the type of man your parents would kill you for bringing home. Somehow, this only made him more intriguing. You wondered if he really was as disinterested in everything as he seemed or if it was just this job he thoroughly hated and became someone a lot more interesting when he wasn’t behind a counter.

“How old are you?” he asked out of the blue, catching you off guard a little. While he waited for you to answer, he set the newspaper to the side, dragged his feet from the counter top, and patted out some of the wrinkles from the white apron he had tied around his bright orange sweatshirt. 

“I’m 18,” you responded, not sure why it mattered but also not seeing any harm in answering honestly. 

Seconds later, the door to the back of the shop and storage room opened and the familiar face of the woman who had hired you stepped into view. “Oh, Y/N!” she greeted happily; much more enthusiastically and welcoming than her son. “Sorry about that, I was just getting some last minute things together.” She eyed her son out of the corner of her eye and noted the fresh embers in the ashtray. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“No, I just got here,” you told her. 

“Good.” She smiled sweetly before turning to her son. “Well, you can head out now, Keishin. Thank you for watching the counter.”

“Yeah,” the man, Keishin, grunted as he untied the apron from around his waist, slipped it over his head, and hung it up on a hook behind the counter. “See ya.”

With that, Keishin left, leaving you and his mother alone. Wasting no time, Mrs. Sakanoshita, whom the store was named after, got right to work on teaching you the basics and gifting you with a white apron of your own to wear while on the job. Since it was the middle of the day and the customer flow was relatively slow, she introduced you to how the register and scanner at the counter worked before moving on to unpacking boxes.

Just like you had promised on your resume and during the interview, you were a quick learner and Mrs. Sakanoshita was more than pleased to see you picking up the job quickly and efficiently. 

By the time the after work/school rush of patrons picking up items on their way home had begun, you were feeling confident in your abilities and, with your boss by your side to answer any questions you may have, you checked out customer after customer, building up muscle memory for scanning items, collecting cash, opening the register, handing out receipts, and sending customers on their merry way. 

All in all, the job was quickly growing on you. You liked the fact that, for the most part, you were the only employee on duty, so when there weren’t any customers in the store, you could work silently on unpacking boxes without having to worry about making small talk or being friendly with any coworkers. In fact, as far as you knew, the only people who worked at the store at all were you, Mrs. Sakanoshita, and her son, Keishin. 

It seemed as though you had really landed a sweet gig. 

After showing you how to lock up, Mrs. Sakanoshita headed home for the night, leaving you to finish stocking the shelves and cleaning the shop before you would head home as well.

Now that you were truly the only person left, you walked over to the old radio you had spotted on the counter during training that day and fiddled with the dials, trying to get some music playing to accompany you during your evening chores. After some careful handiwork and enduring some horrendous static and high-pitched screeching while searching for a station, you settled on what sounded like some old instrumental music and got to work on stocking the remaining shelves.

Throughout your shift, you quickly learned that the store got quite warm during the day and you had needed to tie your hair up to keep the back of your neck from dripping with sweat. The night wasn’t much better either, especially since the lack of customers so late meant that the doors rarely opened, keeping the cold night air outside and the warm store air inside. 

After finishing the last box of supplies, you exhaled and wiped your brow. You were exhausted, that was for sure, but you still had to sweep. 

Deciding to take a quick break, you turned toward the floor-to-ceiling fridges at the back of the shop and pulled open the door, sighing happily when the cool air hit your skin. Exhaling slowly, you snickered when you saw your breath fog up in front of you face. 

“You’re letting all the cold air out.”

You shrieked when you heard a voice in your right ear and slammed the fridge door shut, jumping back in the process. Thanks to the music from the radio and the loud hum of the generator that kept the fridges cold, you hadn’t heard the front doors slide open or the footsteps of Keishin approaching you.

“Jesus!” You clamped your hand over your chest. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorry?”

“What are you doing here?”

Keishin glared at you. “You work here one day and suddenly act like you own the place?”

Realizing how rude your question had come across, you composed yourself and rephrased. “What I meant was, your mom didn’t say you were coming back.”

Pointing upward, Keishin sighed, disinterested. “I live in the apartment above the shop.”

“Oh.” Things started making much more sense and you suddenly felt pretty embarrassed for how you had reacted. 

“Yeah . . . oh.” He rolled his eyes, but it didn’t come across necessarily rude but more like he was exhausted and you were adding to said exhaustion. “Why were you standing with the door open anyway?”

As he spoke, he stepped toward you. At first, your feet felt cemented to the floor and you didn’t move. But when he persisted closer, you eventually stumbled back and Keishin opened the fridge door you had been standing in front of to grab a beer from inside. With drink in hand, he eyed you once again, waiting for an answer.

“It’s really hot,” you said, gesturing to his orange sweater. “I don’t know how you wear that thing in here.”

Looking down at his apparel, he just shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.” He turned and started for the counter, presumably to pay for the drink he had just taken. “In the future, stand outside if you’re warm.”

“Okay.” You nodded, mindlessly tailing him. You had to grab the broom from behind the counter anyway, but that was the furthest thing from the front of your mind at that moment. If anything, you were still trying to calm down a little from being startled and now being alone with your boss’s son. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He popped the tab on the beer, settled into the stool behind the counter, and downed at least half of the drink in a few large gulps. 

You watched him, probably a little too closely, and as you did you found yourself reexamining the features you had taken note of earlier that day: the dyed blonde hair held out of his face with a thin black headband, the natural brown hair that peeked out from the roots, the two small silver hoop earrings in his left ear, the scent of cigarette smoke that clung to him like how the smell of rain clung to the air after a heavy storm. 

Noticing your gaze, which would have been nearly impossible to miss, Keishin quirked a brow at you and held out the can of beer toward you. “You want a sip?”

Startled from your thoughts, you shook your head. “I’m only 18.” You reminded him.

“Oh, right.” He withdrew the can and took another sip, this one much smaller than the first few. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Eyes wide, you thought quick to come up with an excuse. “The broom.” You pointed to the item behind him. “Can you pass me the broom?”

After handing you the broom, Keishin pulled a slip of paper and a pen out from his pocket and started writing and scribbling things down, sipping the remainder of his beer occasionally and ignoring you completely. 

Trying to avoid staring at Keishin anymore than you already had, you started sweeping at the far end of the store and left the area around and behind the counter for last. Eventually, though, you had worked your way back over to the the silent man and was forced to clean the floor behind where he was sitting, trying hard not to disturb him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of what he was so focused on; it looked like a crude drawing of a volleyball court. “What’s that?” you asked, the words leaving your mouth before you realized you were being rude again and snooping.

Keishin, however, didn’t seem angry or annoyed in the slightest. “Volleyball positions,” he huffed. It was clear he was growing frustrated.

“You play volleyball?”

He shook his head and looked over his shoulder at you. ���I used to. Now I coach the boy’s team at Karasuno.”

“I went to Karasuno,” you said mindlessly, just trying to make conversation at that point. 

He hummed in response and turned his attention back to the sheet before him. “Did you play volleyball?”

“No. Soccer.”

“Do you still play?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Do you still play volleyball?”

“With a neighbourhood association sometimes . . . but not really.”

“Why?”

The corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk, Keishin looked back to you once more. “I asked you first.”

“It’s not a good answer.” You leaned against the broom handle and sighed. “Don’t have the time.”

“You’re young and just graduated high school. You’ve got nothing but time.”

“Not with this job.”

Keishin scoffed, folded the paper, and shoved it back into his pocket with the pen. “Speaking of which, why would you take such a boring job at a store like this?”

You just shrugged. “I need the money.”

“Don’t you live with your parents?”

“That’s the problem,” you said, noticing the confusion on his face. “I told you it wasn’t a good answer.”

“Do they know you work here?”

“Do they know? Yes,” you answered truthfully. “Do they like it? Absolutely not.”

Keishin grinned at that before finishing his beer and tossing the empty can into the recycling bin beside the front door. “So you’re one of those teens, huh?”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Trust me, kid, pissing off your parents just for the sake of it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You think I’m doing all this just because I can?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Why then?”

“That story’s too long and convoluted for me to recite right now . . . especially to some old dude I just met today.”

Keishin chuckled under his breath, hands stuffed into his pockets as he headed for the door at the back of the shop so he could head upstairs to his apartment. “’Old dude’,” he repeated, clearly amused. “Don’t forget to lock up before you go home.”

As he turned his back to you, your curiosity got the better of you. “How old are you?”

Stopping in his tracks, Keishin pulled out a carton of cigarettes from his pants’ pocket along with a lighter. After placing the smoke between his lips, he lit it and inhaled deeply. “Too old for you, sweetheart,” he spoke while exhaling, smoke spilling from his lips as he smirked at you. 

With that, he disappeared into the back. You wanted to shout after him that you had told him how old you were without hesitation when he had asked, but you stayed silent instead. 

As much as his presence unnerved you and his superiority complex aggravated you, you still found yourself inexplicably drawn to him. Maybe it was because he seemed completely disinterested in you, or maybe it was because he was everything you were always told to stay away from. 

The one thing you did know, however, was that if everyone around you was going to keep trying to convince you they knew how you should live your life better than you did, you were going to prove to them just how they wrong they were one way or another. 

[red-doll-face]

Here is a request for slashers if they're open. My brain does a thing where I am affectionate w a person but if I get nudged away (even if it's just to readjust the position), it goes "oh no. They don't want u to touch them. Do not touch ever again or they will get mad at u. U disgust them." Even tho touch is my love language & it hurts, I just won't touch. If confronted, I will get confused & panicky cuz "u didn't want me to touch? Im respecting ur wishes? Did I miss something?" Its a mess.

Requests are indeed open, I’m sorry I take foreverrr to do these but i hope u enjoy! I don’t know what to call this tho. For simplicity’s sake I’m calling this nervous reader lmao, idk what else to call these.

Slashers x gn nervous Reader

Jason Voorhees:

Jason can very much relate to the feeling. When he first meets you, he’s sure that you’re frightened. He restrains from being too close to avoid coming off as overbearing, doesn't want to touch you because if you flinch he’ll be so hurt. He just assumes he disgusts you. Based on the reaction all of his other victims have when they see him, he’s sure you’ll probably be the same.

Once Jason is sure that you don't feel that way, he’s a cuddle monster. He wants to be close all of the time, holding hands, letting you sit in his lap, you name it. He’s so starved and quickly decides that touch is his love language too. He’s not even sure how he’s lived this long without it.

The only time I can see Jason maybe gently sort of setting you down elsewhere and walking off is when he senses strangers on the property of what once was Crystal Lake. He’s out the door before he can even see your hurt expression, Which is worse because this might lead you to jump to conclusions.

If you distance yourself from Jason, he immediately is thrown off. He can’t directly ask you if he’s done something wrong and when he tries to initiate affection with you and you don’t reciprocate whole heartedly, he’s at a loss.

He’ll get on one knee while you sulk on the couch and give you a silent plea to tell him what's wrong. You can panic and try and avoid it but he is certain there's something going on and he wants so badly to know what he’s done to put you off. You tell him and he immediately is shaking his head no, he could never be mad at you, never be disgusted with you. You’re the most breathtaking person he’s ever had the pleasure of holding, the first, most likely.

Jason nods because he understands how you feel. In the future, he’s persistent about how you feel when he untangles himself from you, making sure you’re ok.

Michael Myers:

In the later stages of your relationship, Michael is insatiable when it comes to being in contact with you. For a long time, towards the start of your relationship, he didn’t like it. It felt weird. All of the touch he's experienced prior was so clinical and sterile that he doesn’t quite know how good touch is supposed to feel. He’s so touch starved that he’s almost positive he doesn't even need it.

Slowly, he builds a tolerance for it, much like one does with alcohol, constantly checking his boundaries and letting him control the situation and he’s all for movie night, huddled up on the couch, or waking up with his head on your chest. His own personal pillow.

There are, however, moments when his need to make someone tremble with fear and then blodgeon them to death with a can opener from their own kitchen becomes too strong, so he tries to keep away from you. In the past, he might have used you to satisfy similar desires of a sexual nature and may have really hurt you but he knows that it’s not always enjoyable to you.

Then, you stop touching him. Much like Jason, he starts to think you’ve become sick of him. Sick of his coldness, his muteness, his withdrawn demeanor. Maybe you’ve moved on and he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care but he doesn't think he can see himself touching anyone but you now.

It gets to the point where he comes home one day and you look heavily troubled, expressions he’s seen on your face before, only in the event that something terrible has happened. You ask to speak to him and he obliges.

You explain that you don’t think this relationship is working, that you’re pretty sure he’s disgusted with you and how difficult this event is because you didn't even want to talk about it but it's been hurting you for too long.

His response is to stand up very slowly, pick you up and lay down with you over him, simply laying there. Hopefully, knowing you’re the one person he would ever allow to participate in this intimacy is enough to show you that you mean more than you think you do to him.

RZ Michael Myers:

This Michael is more perceptive to your touch than his counterpart, your touch sends little shivers down his spine and as soon as he gets pretty used to it, he’s eager for more. This also takes some time but significantly less. He’s enamored with the idea of returning to a somewhat normal life. Your affection grounds him in that fantasy as much as being a murderer might take him out of it.

As he establishes a relationship with you, he may even be the one to start touching you instead of the other way around. He’s read books and always wondered what it might feel like to have someone genuinely touch him without fear in their eyes. Without malice.

An unsuccessful ‘day at work’ might have Michael feeling a little het up though. He can be moody and more rageful. Neither you nor his hobbies can calm him. He seems colder than usual in these states and can come off as very standoffish.

So when you try and touch him and he shrugs your hand off his shoulder, he can’t or isn't in the state of mind to address your frown and worried look. Michael, instead stomps off somewhere to be alone for a while; maybe take his anger out on something else. Some unsuspecting soul or maybe even a poor animal in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After he’s calmed down some, he returns and almost forgot about that sad little gleam in your eye before he left. Michael remembers when he sees you blankly staring at the TV, pointedly avoiding his gaze even as you utter a weak welcome home. It’s not very welcoming. He sits stiffly beside you, watching you from the corner of his eye. You’re closed off from him and he doesn't like it at all.

Migrating towards you slowly, he eases you into a familiar hug, his big bear hugs that are a little tight but inviting all the same. His huge torso and long arms seem to swallow you in his warmth. You hardly reciprocate. You look a little surprised. Though he never addresses it verbally, (which is probably better for you) Michael offers a single glance that communicates everything he needs to say. Don't ever think that again.

Thomas B. Hewitt:

Thomas’ self esteem issues and self image are not good. He honestly doesn’t like to imagine what he looks like to other people unless it can be as a threatening man you don’t fuck with. Meeting you, he realizes that it’s good to protect his family but he’d rather you not see him as someone only capable of harm. Tries his best to get the point across that while Hoyt may be adamant that horrible things happen to you, he’s not going to let them.

Thomas has received affection but always a familial affection. A pat on the back from Monty, proud claps to his shoulders from uncle Charlie, and hugs and kisses from his dear Mother. Nothing so foreign as a strangers touch over his arm or a soft embrace.

Unfortunately, Thomas can get reactive when you attempt to touch him without his mask on. He’s absolutely settled on the false reality that you’ll see his face and immediately decide that you never want to touch him again. Interacting with you with his bare face? That's a no for Thomas.

He puts on his mask that covers the scarred skin over his face and you look dejected. He was preparing for you to pressure him but instead finds himself trying to find out why you won’t touch him now. It’s not his face, is it? You respond with your reasoning. Thomas is so confused. How could you think that you disgust him? That he doesn’t want you to touch him?

He’s quicker than the others and immediately sweeps you up into his arms and holds you as close as humanly possible. Feeling disgusting and like some sort of burden is a feeling he’s so familiar with and if he can take it away from you, he will.

Will aggressively initiate touch with you for the next week or so just to solidify the fact that he cares about you and won't reject you just as you didn’t reject him.

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba is a great cuddle buddy and partner. Hugs are his favorite and he hugs his brother all the time, lifting both Nubbins and Chop Top into the air for some brotherly love. If you’re smaller than them he’s all about picking you up and perhaps a little rough housing with you. He’s careful though or at least there are attempts made to be careful

Bubba, though he could easily spend the whole day doing nothing and everything with you, has work. Chores, butchering. Cooking, and tending livestock. Plenty to do at the sawyer house and he does most of it. Suffice to say there are times when you want to lather attention all over him yet he has to go back to work.

So caught up in work that he doesn't get what's going on til way later, when you’ve had time to stew in your emotions, firmly telling yourself that Bubba is annoyed by you probably. He’s baffled and confused at your silence, your crossed arms. The little furrow in your brow. He can already tell there’s something upsetting you.

Honestly, Bubba is so affectionate I can’t see him being the kind of person even capable of alluding to the fact he might be disgusted by you. How, if all he wants to do is love you? You may bring it up as a joke that you thought he didn’t like you and he almost seems offended. Not like you?

Bubba can squash any feelings you may have about that and then some. He will not let you drown in insecurities, not on his watch. This man will do everything in his power to make you feel beautiful because you really are.

I’m sorry these are super long but thanks for requesting!

[darthkruge]

Bellamy Blake Imagine ~ Reunited

Summary: (request) You were dating Bellamy up in the Ark and haven’t seen each other since you got locked up. Now that you’re back on the ground, you finally reunite.

Words: 1820

Warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, some language

a/n: I absolutely loved writing this. Thank you so much for requesting! I hope this is something like what you had in mind  <3 

~ Italics symbolize flashbacks ~

You sigh as you wake up in your cell. Another fucking day of this torture. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you see the tear-stains on your cheeks and your matted hair. Ever since you got locked up all those months ago, you haven’t been sleeping. It was so fucking stupid. All you wanted was some extra medicine for your mother. She’d been sick for a while and the rations were spread too thin and she works so hard to help you, you thought you’d get away with it. But you tripped the alarm on your way out of med bay and the guards got to you before you even had a chance to say goodbye to her. Or him. Him. 

Bellamy arrived at your door as you sat in the corner, reading one of the mythology stories he lent you. You immediately jumped up and ran into his arms. He chuckled, catching you against him as you wound your arms around each other. 

“How was your shift?” You ask, knowing how hard he works as a guard. 

“It was alright. I’m tired, though. They’ve been riding my ass lately, something about increasing security protocols. I don’t know.” He sighs, frustrated. You frown. You hate the pressure they put on him. You know he’s reliable and takes his job seriously, but that doesn’t mean they need to put all the responsibility on him. 

He sees you upset and his gaze softens. He sighs gently. “I missed you, beautiful.”

Ever since you were locked away, you hoped one day he would show up at your cell. He hadn’t, but not for a lack of trying. You knew that he tried, every day to get to you, just to see you again and make sure you were okay. But the Ark had him on watch, afraid he would do something stupid like try and break you out. So they monitored him constantly. You were glad he at least had the sense to listen. The last thing you could bear is something happening to Bellamy. 

“Holy shit, Y/N” 

You gently bunched your fingers in the dress you were wearing. It was the only one you had and you weren’t used to wearing it. Nice clothing was such a luxury, you were amazed you had saved enough to even buy this semi-clean, hole-ridden one.

You looked down at yourself and fidgeted with your hands anxiously. “That bad?” You ask, cheeks heating up

“Oh, fuck, no! Babe, you look incredible. I mean, you always look incredible. But tonight you look really, really incredible.” Bellany was rambling. He hated that you didn’t see yourself the way he saw you and spent everyday helping you with your confidence. 

You finally look up at him and smile, starting to believe his words. “Thank you, Bell” You whisper softly as he comes up next to you, gently grabbing your hands in his and pressing a gentle kiss to them.

The hoard of guards took you out of your thoughts. Okay, what the fuck is going on? You only saw one guard a day and he brought you food twice, that was it. There were never five guards at once, barreling toward each cell. They break through your door, running toward you and harshly grabbing your arms. You frantically look at them, hoping Bellamy is one of them, but quickly realize he isn’t. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing? Where are you taking me?!” You yell frantically, flailing and kicking as they drag you out of your cell. What if they’re going to float me? They might be overpopulated and need to get rid of the juveniles in the SkyBox. It wouldn’t be too far of a reach. Oh shit, what if something happened to my mom? Is that why they’re taking me out??

Eventually they bring you to a strange-looking ladder, leading up to who knows where. They harshly push you up, as more and more prisoners are filing in behind you. Getting lost in the crowd, you have no choice but to climb up and find yourself on a ship. You are pushed toward an empty seat and sit down, instinctively strapping yourself in. You try and calm your breathing, having no idea what’s about to happen to you. Looking around, you recognize some of your old classmates and others who were in the Sky Box with you. It gives you a small piece of comfort that they all seem as confused as you are. 

You’re jolted from your seat as the ship takes off and realize you’re falling. You hear whispers and realize that holy shit, they’re sending you to the ground.

You hit the ground less-than-graciously and look down at the bracelet those guards must have strapped on you when they pulled you from your cell. Still confused, you move to stand up, your legs still shaky and breathing uneven from the complete stress of the day. You think about your mother and Bellamy, the two most important people in your life who you will probably never see again. You feel the tears rising up and fight to keep them at bay. This is now about survival and you won’t make it if you spend every day living in the past. 

You almost pass out when you hear that voice. “If the air’s toxic we’re all dead anyway,” Someone says. And that voice could only belong to him. It could only ever be Bellamy’s. But how the hell is this even possible? He’s not here, he wasn’t in the skybox. Fuck your brain for playing tricks on you. You know you’ve been thinking about him constantly, but a hallucination is just plain cruel. 

The doors open and everyone runs outside. They yell and scream, breathing in the air as they discover they survived. You walk out, hoping the air will clear your head, but you’re still having trouble. Because it can’t be him. Right?

Regardless, you need to see for yourself. You hastily push through the crowd and your knees almost give out when you see him. Your hand goes up to your mouth, eyes filling with tears as the raw emotion of seeing the love of your life for the first time in months hits you. He catches your eye and his face pales. He blinks, unsure if you’re real. 

You run to him faster than you’ve ever moved before. You don’t care if you’re pushing someone over. You don’t care if you take up all the oxygen in the world. You don’t care if you die in two minutes, so long as you can touch him one more time. You don’t care about anything else but him, him, him. 

You collide with his chest and jump up, legs wrapping around his strong frame. You bury your face in his neck, hot tears sliding down your face. His hands are grabbing your arms, your back, your hair as he feels you and realizes you’re really here. You pull back and so does he, breathless smiles and tears running down both your faces. His arms are now under your thighs, supporting you.

“I thought I would never see you again” You whisper, crying harder.

“Princess, you could never get rid of me that easy” He whispers back, pulling you closer than you previously thought was humanly possible.

He gently sets you down and you collapse into his chest, your head spinning. 

“Fuck, I missed you” You say. 

“I missed you too. God, I missed you. I tried to get to you, I promise I tried. I’m so sorry. They took you away and I didn’t know and I tried. Every day, every night, every second I wasn’t with Octavia or my mother I was looking for you. Even when I was with them, you were always with me. I- I should have been faster, I should have protected you. Y/N, please, I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head quickly, “Bell, don’t blame yourself. Please, don’t do that to yourself. It was my choice to take that medicine, not yours. And I know you tried. Never for a second did I doubt you. And you were with me too. I couldn’t have made it through without keeping the hope alive that I would see you again. But then they took me and I thought I was going to die and I wasn’t going to say goodbye without telling you I loved you one more time.” Your voice breaks, the emotion overtaking you.

Bellamy’s heart shatters. He’s always hated seeing you cry, seeing the pain you’re going through. All he ever wanted to do was make it better. “Hey, hey, hey. Baby, it’s okay now. I’m here and you’re here and we’re okay. Y/N we're on Earth and we’re alive. That’s pretty fucking incredible”

“Leave it to us, huh?” You say, laughing gently.

He smiles and kisses you, deep and strong. Once again, the world fades and it’s just the two of you. You breathe into each other and pour everything into the kiss. All the feelings of doubt, pain, hurt, love, hope, happiness, and relief of the last months are desperately conveyed into this one, single embrace. 

You pull away and look at him, worried. 

He looks at you quizzically. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, God, nothing. I have everything I could possibly want. But it’s just hitting me. Bell, what are we going to do? We’re just a bunch of kids, criminals, on Earth. There’s no society, no rules, no food, no shelter, no water. How are we going to survive?” You say, brain scrambling at about a million thoughts a second.

He places his hands on your shoulders, comforting, but firm. Whenever you started to fall into an overthinking spiral, Bellamy grounded you. 

“Hey, hey. Breathe with me. It will be okay. We’ll figure it out, it’s what we’ve always done. Y/N, you’re brilliant. I’m sure you’ll come up with wonderful ideas to help us. You always do. And we have survival instincts. It may not look like it now, but I believe in this group. We’re going to need each other to survive and I think they’ll realize that.”

You look at him, feeling slightly better. He always knows what to say to put your mind at ease. You smile, realizing that since you found each other you haven’t kept your hands off each other. Literally. Ever since you ran to him that one time, you’ve been touching. You look at his hands which have now traveled to your arms as he gently caresses them. You softly press your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks as you look at him. 

“You are going to be a brilliant leader”

“And I will have the most amazing person in the world right next to me.”

“Obviously. I’m not letting you get all the glory, Blake.”

“I would expect nothing less, L/N.”

--

@sgarrett49​ 

[fandom-puff]

If you wouldn't mind, could I have an Alfie Solomons one-shot? Can it be that the reader is a Shelby and she is married to Alfie, and they are going to have dinner with the Shelby clan. But during dinner, Alfie starts touching her under the table. Also could you use number 41 and 30 from your smut prompt?

Oh I do love a bit of Alfie smut <3 hope you enjoy this ;p

The Dinner Party

warnings: under-table antics, smut, swearing and a really naff title :)

“Right, for the last time, behave yourselves, boys,” Polly warned as Alfie’s car pulled up outside. “We’ll not have a repeat of New Years’ Day, John,” she hissed. 

John raised his hands in surrender. “Anything to avoid YN breaking my nose again,” he mumbled. 

A knock sounded through the house and soon Frances brought you and your husband into the drawing-room. “Tommy! Arthur! Shalom, shalom! John... Ada, I know you. Ms Gray, a pleasure as always, and of course, young Finn,”  

You smiled softly as you hugged your brothers, Arthur mumbling “Yeah, sha-shalom? Shalom and all that, yeah,” 

You wrapped your arms around your oldest brother and he murmured into your ear “He treating you good, YN?” 

“Yes, Arthur... he’s the most loving husband I could ask for, don’t you worry,” you pulled away and he smiled softly, corners of his eyes crinkling slightly at the sight of you so happy. You hugged Tommy and John tight around the neck. “Finn been behaving himself? Been playing in the snow much? Checking his whores?” you asked, making your younger brother blush slightly and shift his feet. “Gotten anyone pregnant, yet, Finny?” you teased. 

“No, he hasn’t, thank god. Told him I’d sever his balls,” Pol grinned and you hugged your auntie. She gave you one of her infamous looks as you greeted your sister. Polly’s eyes flickered between you, your stomach, and Tommy, arching her brows.

“Where’s Karl?” you asked her. “Is he taller than me yet?” 

she smirked. “Playing with Charles and Ruby. and nearly I reckon,” she giggled, pulling you in for a hug. You had always looked up to your sister, her being the only other girl in your family, and the glamourous big sister to boot. 

 You returned to Alfie’s side, and he was chatting business with Tommy. You waited for them to finish, pouring yourself a drink, before saying “Thanks for letting us stay, Tom,”

“YN, love, you’re always welcome here. I suppose he is as well, so long as you behave yourself, eh, Alf,” 

You wrapped your arm around Alfie’s waist, leaning your head against his arm (you couldn’t quite reach his shoulder) and smiled as he laughed heartily. 

Soon, the Shelby clan- plus Alfie- gathered around the long table and ate merrily. You were chatting across the table, teasing John for letting his kids and dog run rings around him when you felt a firm hand pressed to your thigh. You hid your gulp by drinking some wine as Alfie trailed his hand further up, hitching your skirt up over your knee and up your thigh.

 You were glad Tommy was able to afford ridiculously long table cloths. 

You let out a shaky breath, focusing on your meal as your husband teased the inside of your thighs. he leaned down to murmur in your ear. To Finn, who was opposite you, it was an innocent enough gesture, especially when Alfie pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. The Shelby’s were used to your open affection. 

“Alfie... There are people here...” you whispered, stroking his beard gently. 

he smirked and tapped your nose. “If you behave yourself, I think I’ll skip dessert and have you instead,” he muttered and you nodded in agreement. As the dinner wore on, you covered up a lot of moans by swallowing plenty of wine. Arthur teased you about working your way through two and a half glasses throughout dinner but you simply complemented Tommy on his choice of red. 

An agonising hour later you quickly stood up, excusing yourself from the table. “Thank you so much for a lovely dinner Tom,” you said quickly. “But we left London early this morning... and... and I’m... tired...” you said. “Goodnight, everyone,” you hurried away, scurrying to the guest room that the maids had put your stuff in. Alfie left it another few minutes before excusing himself too. 

“They’ve gone to fuck, haven’t they?” Tommy said, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. 

“Oh, most definitely,” Ada said slyly. 

***

“What the fuck took you so long?” you hissed as Alfie shut the door. 

“Didn’t wanna make it obvious, love, did I? and your brother’s house is fucking massive, I got lost three times and-” you shut him up, pressing your lips tight to his,  and pulling him over to the bed. 

“Alfie, please don’t tease, not now, please,” you whined. “Look- feel how wet you made me at the table,” you tugged his hand to feel beneath your dress and he grinned lopsidedly at your arousal seeping through your underwear. 

“If you, right, didn’t like my teasing,” he smirked. “Why were you moaning, eh?” 

You blushed. “Because... because... oh shut up Alfie, and fuck me, please?” you pleaded, licking your lips. 

“tell you what, love,” he smirked, setting his hat and stick aside. “why don’t you strip me down and show me just how much you want my cock, yeah? And then i just might fuck you silly, eh?” 

Extremely happy with this compromise you began undoing his buttons, frantically removing his overcoat, waistcoat, hair shirt and vest, tossing them to the side as he chuckled at your eagerness. you dropped his trousers and he kicked them off his ankles. “Lie on the bed, Alf,” you said gently. 

“forgetting something, love?” he gestured to his underwear. 

“Lie on the bed, Alfie,” you repeated, a little firmer. He smirked and did as he was told, laying back and relaxing into the pillows, arms up and hands behind his head. you hummed softly, pressing your hand over his underwear, feeling his hot length twitch beneath your small hand. He hissed at the friction, licking his lips as you slowly lowered his underwear down over his cock. You moaned lowly, leaning down to flick your tongue over the sensitive, red tip, wrapping your lips around it and suckling like a lollipop, pressing your tongue against the slit. He growled low in his throat and bucked his hips up. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell love,” he grunted, grasping a fistful of your hair. “Sit up before I come down your throat,” he demanded. “And take that pretty dress off as well,” 

You groaned, lapping up the salt of his precum. you shimmied out of your dress as quickly as was humanly possible and took the liberty of getting rid of your underwear too, leaving you naked in front of him. he licked his lips. “Eager, aren’t you?” he smirked, and you nodded. 

“Come ‘ere, darlin’“ he hummed. “come and sit yourself on my cock, eh?” you whimpered at his words and nodded, eagerly straddling him. You licked your lips, slowly settling yourself down on him, whining out loudly at the stretch and at the gravity pulling you down more. Shuddering, you clenched your knees around his broad hips as you started gyrating your hips in a figure-of-8. 

Alfie growled primally, grasping your hips, surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on your flesh. You moaned out, starting to bounce yourself, pushing your breasts out. Seizing his opportunity, Alfie captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the pebbled peak the way he knew you adored, his groans rumbling around your breast and through to your heart as you fucked yourself on his cock. you grasped his hair in your fists, tugging desperately, pulling him up so his magical mouth could envelop yours in a bruising, knee-weakening kiss. You whined into his mouth as you rutted your hips, desperately wanting to reach your completion mounted atop his thick, pulsing cock. “Please, Alf! Please make me come!” he grunted in response and pinched your nipple roughly, tugging it away from your body and twisting teasingly. you gasped, a spasm of delicious, painful pleasure soaring down to your core, the pressure coiling tight in your belly as you reached climax. “Fuck! Fuck! Alfie!” you practically sobbed, falling forwards into his chest, hips still bouncing desperately. With a sloppy thrust upwards, he filled you with his come, groaning a mixture of your name and a hell of a lot of praise in a delightful combination of Yiddish and English. 

Breathless, you slid off his cock, leaning down to kiss him tenderly. “I love you, Alf,” you whispered gently tugging the bedsheets around you both as he turned on his side and pulled you tight to his chest, allowing a blissful sleep to overtake you both. 

Neither of you was aware of your family downstairs snickering and cringing at the sound of sweet YN Shelby making loud and passionate love to a Solomons, in Tommy Shelby’s house. 

[oldsmobile-hotdogs]

Willex + ⛵️💍💫

ohoho bestie i had fun with this (also it’s almost 2k oops lol)

it’s also available on ao3!

may i present to you:

Two Ghosts... Having a Date on a Stolen Boat... They Might Kiss...

Alex had to admit: even for Willie, this act of delinquency was a lot.

When he’d first floated the idea of joyriding a sailboat under cover of night to Alex, albeit somewhat casually and hypothetically as they strolled along the pier during a mild June afternoon, Alex had gone along jokingly in that way you do when a friend asks who’d be eaten first if the whole group were trapped on a desert island.

But then Willie had brought it up again on their next- Date? Outing? Meeting?

(Alex was vehemently avoiding putting labels on their spending time together, just in case Willie were to put a different one on it to the one he ascribed it.)

And then on their next, next… hanging-out session… Willie had mooted a date for the grand theft boat and didn’t phrase it much like a question. And then he’d gently pointed out when the sailing class stopped for the night on said date: a Sunday, no less, so it closed before the sun even got close to setting, meaning anyone inside the little shed where they stored the paperwork and lifejackets would certainly be gone by the evening.

This wasn’t accounting for how objectively shocked Alex had been to learn that Willie knew how to sail, of all things. He knew Willie knew how to skate, though that was hard to miss, and he knew Willie had mentioned he used to surf a little when he was alive, but as far as Alex was aware, and he was sorting through all of their conversations just to be sure that he was sure, Willie had never mentioned he could sail.

-

In retrospect, that could have largely been because he couldn’t, strictly speaking. Alex had watched on in a strange mix of awe and terror as Willie had untied a small sailboat that lent itself easily to being pitied, if he was honest- all chipping paint and scuffs on the body and sunbleached sails- from its docking, and then suddenly he'd been yanked onto the vessel by his arm and made to crouch just behind Willie, close enough for the wind kicking up to whip his hair occasionally in Alex's face, and then Willie had knelt behind the sails and done something, Alex couldn't be sure what, that meant they were off. It was pleasant at first, which had surprised him immensely. Initially they were travelling relatively slowly, but still smoothly, not too far out from the shore, and the longer the joyride had lasted at this pace, the closer Alex had been to letting himself relax.

But then it had very quickly become apparent that Willie was somewhat out of his element: not majorly- he'd probably taken a few classes in a summer, maybe- but enough that he had psyched himself out. And whenever Willie felt psyched out, he turned reckless. Well, more reckless.

Despite the fact that he was a ghost, which meant that even if they had capsized they would have both been able to breathe, and that even if they had crashed no one would have been hurt and it would be physically impossible for the crime to come back to them, Alex had found himself with a white-knuckled grip on either side of the boat as it had picked up speed almost exponentially and began coasting erratically from side to side, the sail changing direction so obviously and violently that even an absolute novice, which Alex was, could have seen that something was wrong.

'You alright up there?' Alex had asked, even though "up there" was about four inches from his face.

'Yeah, I'm just- hold on-' And then Willie had let go of the tiller, which had filled Alex with the fear of God for a good six seconds, before rolling his shoulders back, shaking out his hands, exhaling a quick breath through his mouth and grasping it again. Willie must have gotten himself out of his Beserker state in that time because the boat had then begun moving in a relatively straight line again and, after a little while, had eased itself back down to a manageable speed. Alex would have to ask about that coping mechanism when he got the chance.

After what felt like maybe ten more minutes of sailing lightly around, but may have been quite a bit more, spent mostly in comfortable silence, Willie had pulled clumsily back into where the boat had previously been docked and Alex had clambered out from the little space he had been guided to originally and had remained in the entire joyride, tying the rope back around the little wooden pole that tethered it to the beach. Sailors' knots Alex could do. He'd been so afraid of getting lost in the woods one spring when he was a child, although an opportunity had never presented itself for him to go into the woods, that he'd read a Boy Scouts handbook cover to cover to the point where, even now, if he closed his eyes, he could see the passage on how to sterilise river water laid out in front of him.

'When you're done come back onto the boat. I wanna sit here for a little bit.'

Alex had looked up from his handiwork to meet Willie's gaze. His eyes had been bright, filled with the leftover mischief from their escapade, and a soft smile which had made Alex wonder if Willie had something else up his sleeve had played on his lips.

'Okay, yeah, I'll be back in a second,' he had replied, leaning down one last time to tighten the knot in the right places.

-

Willie had genuinely expected Alex to tell him to stop at some point, but the more Alex had gone along with what was originally at least partially a joke, the more Willie had wanted to see if he could actualise what had previously only ever been a poorly planned pipe dream. When everything started more or less crashing down around them, however, and their outing previously slated as some dangerous, blockbuster-level adventure had fizzled out into the anticlimax of the season, Willie couldn't help but worry that he had done something to threaten what the two had going for them, which would be poor timing, considering.

Now sitting sideways on the boat together, ghost legs phasing into the shallow water below, hands in touching distance if one of them just worked up the courage to splay their pinky finger a little more, Willie was getting nervous. A little giddy, too, at the possibility of this going right, but mostly nervous.

'Alex?' he began, a little embarrassed, though he knew that was needlessly so, at how his voice hiked in pitch from the nerves.

'Yeah?' Alex responded, his eyes suddenly fixed on him. Willie felt his face grow warm at this, and hoped the relative darkness afforded him some ability to hide the blush he knew was developing.

An added problem was that now Willie had no idea what to say next. He was great at listening to people divulge their emotions, sure, but he always struggled a little with expressing his own, preferring to offer solutions to the other people in his life's struggles and pretend like his own feelings weren't always too close to overflowing for comfort. Willie was suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to backtrack as quickly as was humanly possible.

'No, never mind, actually. It's not important.' Willie attempted to sound casual, but was unsure of how successfully it actually came off.

'Well, see, now I definitely wanna hear what you had to say,' Alex retorted jokingly.

‘No, it’s stupid. Really.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Alex was now looking Willie pointedly in the eyes. ‘I don’t think you’ve said a stupid thing ever-’ Willie opened his mouth, ready to counter him- ‘Not when it counts.’

And it’s not like that admission of blind faith in Willie made the next words out of his mouth any easier, but they were now propelled from hiding by an added energy that wasn’t there before.

‘Okay, so I went to Tokyo a few weeks back-’

‘You- ...okay.’ It was obvious that this anecdote would have Alex wanting to throw himself into one of his crises about the afterlife and ghost powers and the limitations of poofing, but he was, so far, very valiantly, in Willie’s opinion, holding back. ‘You’ll have to tell me about that later.’

Willie couldn’t help but giggle at how resigned Alex sounded. ‘Oh, I will, hotdog, don’t worry.’

'Anyway,' Willie began again, more confident now that the conversation had taken on some humour. 'So I went to Tokyo, and I was walking down a street with a bunch of vendor stalls, and I saw this one stall and I, uh.' He paused a little, taking a few gentle breaths to build up the courage necessary to continue. 'I remembered my Mom telling me about these, uh, these rings.' Willie could almost feel Alex's eyes widen as he drew out the small, purple pouch that kept them safe from his hoodie pocket. He rushed to clarify. 'They're not- it's not a big thing in Japan. They're not like promise rings.' Alex audibly exhaled. 'Yeah, don't- I wouldn't... spring that on you.'

'No, yeah, I didn't... think you would.'

A silence came over them, uncharacteristicallly awkward, and Willie felt a little hopeless to save the moment.

Eventually, it was Alex who broke it. 'So, these rings?'

'Yeah,' Willie quickly responded. 'I stole them.' Alex chuckled under his breath. 'They're called couple rings, and people- well, couples- they buy them to mark the fact that they're- well, that they're couples.'

'Seems simple enough,' Alex joked, evidently warming to the idea.

'Oh yeah, very simple.' Willie could feel a smile spreading across his face. 'And there's no implication that you're gonna, like, do anything else later on either, which I like because, I mean, we're ghosts.' He gestured at how their legs became translucent where they dangled into the water. 'And that's probably already enough thinking about "forever" on its own, without the added pressure of any big promises.'

'Yeah, I agree.' Alex let out a sigh.

There was a beat of quiet before Willie continued.

'But obviously actually seeing them and putting them on is the main event, so I'm going to get them out of the pouch now, finally,' he joked, pulling open the hole in the top and lightly shaking two thin, silver bands out onto his hand. He then placed them gently onto the edge of the boat, and turned them so that Alex could see clearly what they looked like, or as clearly as was possible at this time of night.

'They've both got this line engraved in them almost the whole way 'round, and then one has a star stamped into it, and the other has a moon,' Willie explained, the nerves returning now that his gift was out in the open.

'I can see that,' Alex responded breathily, leaning a little closer to the rings. 'Willie, these are- they're beautiful. Thank you.'

'I thought you could be the star,' Willie suggested, the arm of his that was further away from Alex reaching up to rub at his neck, lightly avoiding how to respond to Alex's gratitude.

'Okay.'

Gingerly, Willie closed the gap between their hands and slipped the band onto Alex's ring finger, and then donned his own. Neither of them spoke for a little while, both stunned into silence and afraid to break this air of closeness they'd achieved. Once again, Alex was the first to move.

'So, this definitely means we're dating, right?'

Willie flung himself backwards into the hull of the ship, his hair somewhat cushioning his head as he landed, his legs sticking up over the top, now opaque. 'Ugh. Yes, hotdog, we're dating,' he called back up in fake annoyance.

'Cool, just checking,' Alex called back.

[confusedinfj]

Cognitive Functions and What They Look Like Explained with Objects

I’m going to attempt explain the cognitive functions better than I have before, and hopefully in a lot more depth. The risk with this is that it could be wrong, but at least an attempt was made. I’m not an academic or anything, I’m just writing from observation/experience stuff that I find helpful to understand. Hopefully this can help you type yourself more accurately too!  All functions are described as they are in the first 2. 

I hope this helps you see how EVERY FUNCTION IS IMPORTANT!

And no. None of these objects really make sense. 

Fe: The Thermostat

A thermostat can’t feel whether it’s hot or cold itself, but it can feel if you are! And depending on how fancy your thermostat is, it will cool you or heat you until you’re just the temperature you want to be. That is its single goal in life: to keep you comfortable. If you’re sad, it will try to fix it. 

Basically, Fe is about everyone being genuinely happy and comfortable. It wants to be in touch with other people and respond to their needs accordingly. It’s not necessarily good at showing or expressing this, but that’s its aim. 

Well developed Fe is the function that encourages open discussion of problematic feelings that it KNOWS are right there - remember, it can FEEL them, cos it’s a thermostat. Poorly developed Fe ignores unspoken problems and pretends it’s a good little thermostat anyway. 

If you’re upset with a Fe user, just tell them calmly. If you need space, just tell them calmly. If you’re angry, tell them why. READJUST THE THERMOSTAT. Don’t be surprised when the Fe user does the same - that’s their way of trying to keep everyone happy in the long run. Good Fe believes arguments are necessary. Bad Fe is passive aggressive and let things build up until they’re too big to handle. If you sense your Fe user is doing this, approach them about it and get it out while you still can. Fe users don’t talk about issues with emotions most of the time - they speak about feelings clinically. It helps if you explain to a Fe user how the problem makes you feel, but also that you still love them.

High Fe - is a natural thermostat. It doesn’t even realise that’s how it operates, it just DOES. High Fe users can struggle to even FEEL that they have their own problems, and can easily be ignored as a result (sheeple). As their Ti develops, they should become a little more self aware, and better at turning their natural thermostat off every now and again so they get a break. A key feature of high Fe users is that they’re just ALWAYS THERE. You might hate them, get sick of them, find them annoying, or feel like they don’t understand you... but they’re always there. Always trying. Immature high Fe is very sensitive to extreme temperatures, but with Ti development comes a bit more separation and ability to help you through, even if you’re not responding to their attempts at cooling/heating you. Because constantly living as a thermostat requires you to learn that SOMETIMES you just can’t change the weather. So at the end of the day, even though they’re not a T type, well developed high Fe users can actually be less sensitive and more useful in a rough patch than their low Fe counterparts. 

Low Fe - is a thermostat with emergency settings. It kicks in at unusually high or low temperatures and gets it back into humanly-survivable temperatures. As Fe develops, low Fe users become more sensitive to other people’s temperatures and can regulate the environment a little better. While low Fe users aren’t naturally very sensitive to your extreme temperatures, they can become suddenly overwhelmed and deeply upset if things go too far and they’re the reason you’re not doing so well. With good character development, which is totally SEPARATE from MBTI, a low Fe user can become just as good at maintaining the perfect temperature as a high Fe user. It will just take a little more effort and skill. BUT, since they’re not always used to being a thermostat, they’re not always aware of what’s the weather and what’s their fault. So at the end of the day, even though they’re not an F type, well developed low Fe users actually seem to be more sensitive and fragile than their high Fe counterparts.

Fi: The Thermometer

The thermometer can’t really do anything about the weather - it can just tell you what’s going on. Fi users are very sensitive to what’s going on around them, and feel the need to regulate the climate they’re in as much as possible. That is: going against their own feelings can actually be painful for them. They feel a very strong NEED to be who they are. Fi is about being in touch with yourself and your own emotions/beliefs/you name it. Bad Fi can easily be selfish, but good Fi has the capacity to help where Fe stands... clueless. 

Good Fi values you feeling good too! Fi users CAN apply their thermometer to others and get a reading on how hot/cold their climate is. They can’t feel your emotions like the Fe thermostats, but if you express emotion they can essentially measure it. Good Fi users try to help you in any way they would feel would be helpful if they were in your shoes. This means Fi users are much better at showing sympathy than Fe users.

If you’re upset with a Fi user, you have to tread carefully. They can be easily hurt, and will definitely take things the wrong way if you don’t articulate it correctly. The clinical approach of Fe users is often not appreciate, because it’s interpreted as cold, uncaring, or worse - nasty. You’ll have to express a lot more emotion when talking to a Fi user. From what I’ve found, you have to approach Fi with Fi, so I’ve never managed to do this successfully. It always becomes a fight for like an hour until finally the Fi user understands what I was trying to say. So, from what I’ve found, Fi finds the Fe approach hostile, but responds better to genuine displays of emotional vulnerability.

High Fi - is a natural thermometer. It knows what it’s feeling, what it believes in... all that jazz. It finds it hard to compromise its feelings and beliefs for ANYTHING or ANYONE. It can be kind and sensitive as a result, but also very fragile and easily overwhelmed. Well developed Fi users learn to work through the emotional instability of thermometer life, but immature Fi can be unstable and selfish. Te development helps high Fi users get on with things and move through whatever they might be feeling. They can apply that same resilience to others who are suffering, and inspire people to get through their emotional lows. So at the end of the day, even though they’re not a T type, high Fi users can function better under emotional pressure and inspire action better than their low Fi counterparts. 

Low Fi - is a thermometer that is usually ignored in favour of getting things done. This means high Te users can be confident and headstrong most of the time, but occasionally have dramatic shut-downs into low Fi. And since they usually ignore their thermometer, they don’t really know what to do about it. HOWEVER, well developed low Fi users can learn to apply their thermometers to others with some skill. And they can be more overwhelmed by others’ emotions because their Fi is so low. So, at the end of the day, even though they’re not an F type, well developed low Fi users can be more sensitive and sympathetic than their high Fi counterparts. 

Te: The Car

The car is designed to get you from point A to B without death or injury. It’s complex, but not too much can go wrong at any given moment. The process itself is fairly simple: engine sparks, wheels go round - drive. Te wants to get to point B quickly, and is focused on action and outcomes. And if you stand in its way, you might get run over. It isn’t necessarily focused on the steps required to get from point A to B, it just sees the end and drives.  

Well developed Te values doing things effectively as well - not just getting them done in the first place. This means Te users can be persuaded to change their approaches and routes providing you can argue that it’s worth it. Te is good at seeing potential in other people, but can make the mistake of seeing the end point and missing the starting point or steps required to develop. 

If you’re upset with a Te user, you’ll have to appeal to Fi. No one likes criticism, not matter how high a T function is! However, high Te users can tolerate and even appreciate the Fe approach to relationships and conflicts, providing they’re not having a low Fi moment. 

High Te - This is life in the car, on the road. Always heading towards a new goal. However, contrary to popular opinion, Te users can actually be very kind and considerate! Providing they’re well developed, Te aims to take care of the people it loves. High Te users can fall into the Te trap of seeing the person’s potential without recognizing they’re not quite there yet. They can be very idealistic and romantic in relationships because their Fi is so low. They can also be angry little cars who run people over if they’re poorly developed or just mean. This is why Te users have a reputation for being cold and controlling. I’ve found Te users only really act like this when they’re succumbing to low Fi. 

Low Te - This is the car that mainly sits in the garage, but occasionally comes out for a Sunday drive. Although, poorly developed low Te looks like saying mean things just to hurt people when you’re upset, or provoking people for a reaction.High Te users definitely go through phases like this when they’re young, but low Te users are more open to these problems when they’re older. Well developed, low Te helps high Fi users overcome their overwhelming feelings and get through things. It may even help them compromise if they absolutely must. 

Ti: The Aeroplane

The aeroplane is designed to take you over long distances very quickly, and as safely as possible. There are back up systems, back up systems for back up systems, and multiple things can go wrong if you forget to do even one simple thing. It’s a much more dangerous process than driving, but it’s also much faster if you’re trying to go far. 

Ti is about understanding things so that you can run your life well. Poorly developed Ti is dysfunctional, but well developed Ti can get you pretty far with very little effort! But unlike Te, Ti isn’t as focused on the end destination so much as it is on the steps required to get there. Every little detail matters, just like on an aeroplane. And if even one small detail has been misunderstood, the Ti users’ entire understanding of something can go crashing down like an aeroplane. They MUST understand the parts to understand the whole. 

If you’re upset with a Ti user, you can refer to the Fe section. Ti users prefer a clinical approach to emotions simply because they want to UNDERSTAND rather than be overwhelmed by negative feelings their thermostat will detect once you start crying in front of them. Ti will then engage thermostat measures to ensure relationship contentment. 

High Ti - Life in the sky as a pilot. The Fe thermostat doesn’t matter so much when you’re trying to make sure you don’t fall out of the sky. High Ti users aim to understand every small thing in life. Poor high Ti users have a faulty misunderstanding and drive everyone insane arguing they’re right. Well developed Ti users have a good understanding, but often enjoy arguing anyway, just to make sure they don’t have any flaws in their understanding. When you’re arguing against yourself, you have to know your stuff pretty well! While they’re not given enough credit for it, high Ti users can be very considerate in relationships, and aim to understand their loved ones just as well as everything else. Ti isn’t satisfied with a functional understanding, so it may provoke and tease to better understand people. And when it goes too far and upsets people, the emergency thermostat kicks in to fix the problem. 

Low Ti - life in the sky as a co-pilot. Low Ti users prefer to take their cues from someone ELSE - preferably the pilot (high Ti user). Low Ti users can be overwhelmed if they have to take on too much responsibility or have to understand too many small details. Then they can feel like a co-pilot taking control of a plane after the pilot has died and the plane is spiraling down. They’d rather do what they’re told and keep the pilot happy! But they also take comfort in knowing that - if it really comes down to it - they can fly the plane and land safely. They like knowing they have back up systems, back up systems for back up systems, and are capable of making it out alive. 

Ne: Google Search Auto-predict

You’re not even finished typing, and Google already has 10 ideas about what you might be asking. That’s the Ne brain - branching out, and out, and out... sometimes a bit TOO out. 

High Ne - Google search auto-predict is always on. It all happens at once, just like how Google suggestions change with every letter you add. And when you finish your question, it’s kind of disappointed you didn’t ask one of the 10 other more interesting ones. Easily bored, always sees a better option... but also very good at picking which option is most realistic. May or may not care.

Low Ne - random auto-predict. Because sometimes Google doesn’t predict anything as you type? That’s a weird phenomenon. But then it’ll just suddenly appear halfway through a sentence? Yeah... like that. Poorly developed low Ne can mistake every new idea as a great idea, but well developed low Ne knows which ones are worth listening to :)

Ni: Google Search Results

Did you mean...? Not only shows you every single possible thing on what you Googled, but also shows you what could be immediately connected to it. 

High Ni - Figures out what you’re looking for based on a few key words that may or may not have made sense - understands your typos. Does it all in seconds, doesn’t really understand the algorithm. Just does it. Can take you down a rabbit hole for hours. Forgets about time as a concept. Sometimes connects strange things, but somehow makes sense anyway. Usually isn’t wrong about what you were Googling. Bad Ni thinks it knows everything though, and forgets it needs to add things to its database. Good Ni is always learning MORE

Low Ni - Like the 20th page of Google Search Results. Doing the same thing as high Ni, but not as effectively. Might have a few conspiracy theories in there. Might’ve misunderstood your question or taken the typos literally. Occasionally gets it right, but the best results are usually on the first page anyway. 

Se: The Camera

Takes a picture of the moment, every detail rendered exactly as it was. 

High Se - High focus camera, good colour, good lighting - the kind of pictures you want to keep forever and frame. Se knows what’s right in front of it. It doesn’t miss anything it can see. Might not understand what’s about to happen, but knows what IS happening. 

Low Se - Like a polaroid camera, and the pictures might not be worth keeping. Awkward shots that are accurate but not great quality. Might be blurry, not really able to see faces... just a LITTLE bit out of focus, so that you miss something that was pretty obvious. Has a kind of artsy vibe though. 

Si: The Diary

Recorded everything, but from a very subjective point of view that may or may not be accurate. Is structured so that it can be read again and again. 

High Si - A very detailed diary. Concerned about detailing every aspect of life. Some pages have been ripped out. Sometimes pages are inserted to add in additional information that may or may not alter the entire memory. A nice little organised diary that’s written very neatly. 

Low Si - A diary that gets an entry once every 6 months or so. Still valued and personal, but a lot is missing. Since it’s less tended to, pages are less likely to be missing or replaced - so what’s written is probably more accurate. There’s just not that much of it. A very badly written diary that’s got coffee stains and might not be entirely legible. 

[qawsslate]

newbies

another nct drabble, short story, one shot, scenario? 

genre: fluff probs

tw: none

pairing: Renjun & reader

a/n: idk bro read at ur own risk, i used google translate for a thing but im hoping it makes sense in the context, feel free to interact :)) 

____

"Renjun-ah it’s fine. You, of all people, know how forgiving she is.”

“Ya! Haechan, don’t say it like that. Renjun-ah it looks really nice she’ll love it.”

Haechan and Jeno were gathered in Renjun and Jisung’s shared bedroom attempting to calm the nerves of the older Dream member. He had just finished a painting he had been working on for the last month in prepation for Valentine’s Day. He knew you weren’t expecting anything as in Korea, the traditional practice was for the girl in the relationship to give the guy chocolates, but neither of you were big on the specifics of things like that. You both shared the sentiment of holidays but were also practical in the ways you gave gifts to each other. Last Christmas, Renjun had given you a new winter coat since the one you’ve been using since your teenager years had begun to literally tear at the seam. You often brushed off his nagging of buying a new coat with protests of the coat still doing its job. 

“Renjun, the coat is fine. I’m still perfectly warm” 

“Y/n, I can see the thread that’s keeping the arm sleeve attached to the rest of it hanging off. I bet if I pull it the whole thing would fall apart. Here let me show you.” 

He reached down and pretended to yank the thread which prompted you to gasp in amused disbelief.

“Ya! Don’t you dare! Did you really pull it off?”

You looked down at your arm trying to assess if in fact the fabric on your body was still a piece of wearable clothing.  

He laughed and just embraced you in a hug.

He had followed up the new winter coat with a flower plushie you had commented that was cute a week ago in a shop, his favorite scented candle so you could be reminded of him when he was away on a schedule, a neck massager because he thought you spent too much time at your desk, an insulated bottle so you would drink more water and not coffee, a polaroid camera for the memories and random Chinese snacks you really liked. He was very practical yet considerate, and it made your heart swell. You almost cried thinking all of it was too much and he had to hold your face in is hands and make you look at him so he could tell you that you were worth it. 

What you didn’t know that he also wanted to gift you with a necklace but second guessed himself too much to the point where he took the small box out of the pile of gifts only minutes before he gave you the heap of presents. Mark was the only member he told about the necklace beforehand but Renjun unfortunately had forgotten to inform his loveable hyung of his inaction, a problem that presented itself the morning after Christmas.

“Y/n! Merry-day-after-Christmas! How was Christmas with Renjunnie? Did you like the necklace?”

You, Mark, and Renjun had been sitting at the Dream dorm kitchen table eating leftovers from the small dinner Jaemin had made at 3am. Thankfully the rest of the boys were still asleep so the damage could still be contained. Renjun choked on the green tea he had been drinking but quickly recoverd.

“Neck massager hyung. The Korean word for neck massager is 목 마사지기. Ahhh, it’s because he’s a foreigner.”

Renjun laughed a little too forcibly and tried to signal to Mark as much as humanly possible without bursting a vein that the necklace gift was aborted. By some Christmas miracle, Mark had somehow picked up on the hint and quickly corrected himself. He even added a white lie to support the neck massager fib, quickly sputtering that he had helped Renjun pick out a neck massager with the recommnedations from his mom, his aunt, his grandmother, and his cousin who was some sort of professional massager. You answered honestly that you had yet to put it to use as you forgot to charge it last night. You weren’t sure if it was the happiness hangover or lack of sleep after Christmas Day that made you think Mark and Renjun were acting strange, but you became distracted from dwelling on their behavior as Haechan and Jisung came into the kitchen. The mood quickly shifted and Renjun felt like he could breathe for the first time in what felt like an hour. You had become preoccupied in helping Jisung follow a recipe on how to make American style pancakes and scolding Haechan for handing the gullible maknae wrong ingredients. After a few minutes Renjun had excused himself to check on Jaemin and Jeno, and Mark announced he had to use the bathroom. Once out of earshot from the mess in the kitchen Mark turned to Renjun,

“You didn’t give it to her?”

“No, hyung, honestly I got too scared. What if she didn’t want it? What if she thinks I’m going too far? What if it’s too serious all of a sudden?”

“Well, don’t you want to be serious with y/n?”

“Of course. More than anything. I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Renjunnie,” Mark placed his hands on his shoulders, “you are doing great. Do whatever feels right to you. But if you’re only doubting yourself I think it’s still a good idea to give her the necklace.” 

Renjun still looked conflicted and mindlessly opened the door to Jaemin room then Jeno’s. 

The four proceeded back to the suspiciously quiet kitchen to find Jisung sat at the table and Haechan and you making the rest of the pancakes. When Jaemin asked what happened, Haechan responded,

“We wanted to make sure you guys still had a place to live.”

The necklace matter had been dropped and about a month later all those repressed emotions Renjun had came back. It was two nights before Valentine’s Day and both just wanted a quiet evening. Renjun planned to cook a dinner at your apartment and the whole thing felt innocent until he thought about how you guys hadn’t even been officially together for more than a year. He suddenly felt the pressure, the implications, the underlying tone of something like giving you a piece of jewelry. His plan was to just give you a painting. He had carefully recreated the scene of the park where he first saw you. You had been pushing children on the swings. He had thought you were a babysitter of some sort until you waved to the kids goodbye and saw the nearby adults scoop them in their arms and walk away. Then he saw you swinging by yourself. He never revealed this to you during your first official encounter as he didn’t think it would be smooth to open up with, “I’ve been watching you swing by yourself at the children’s park.” He also hadn’t been initially sure if you were the same girl he had wistfully observed, but you had once planned a park date at your favorite spot.

“It’s actually quite near your dorm, we could walk there if you’re up to it? Sometimes I play with the kids. It’s gotten to the point where some of the mothers have recognized me.”

Renjun immediately knew you had been that girl he had observed in what felt like a lifetime ago. He knew that one day he would really have to treat Chenle to a meal for introducing you both. Renjun also knew if he had admitted this to Chenle now he would never let it go and it would somehow inflate the size of that kid’s head even more, but he added it to the list of things he loved about his younger member. 

Renjun had carefully recreated the details from his memories of those days, paying particular attention to that coat you refused to give up on and he had just finished the painting when Haechan decided to burst into his room.

“Renjunnie! Have you ate? Let’s eat.” 

Renjun had been so absorbed with his doubts that the sudden interruption almost made him fall off his chair. Renjun almost gets as easily startled as Jisung, but the magnitude of his reaction made Haechan take a step back and immediately set off his signature mischief.

“Ya, is the innocent and pure boy doing something naughty? You know you should really lock your doors Renjun-ah”

Renjun scrammbled to find something to cover the painting. His tidy desk space provided no aid and his next move was to flip the whole thing over deciding to deal with the consquences of the still wet paint later, but Haechan moved quickly and pulled Renjun’s arms up away from the canvas.

“Ya, what’s this?”

“Nothing. Heachan, please.”

Renjun sighed. He had no problem in any other situation to fight the boy who always tested his limits, but with the awkward sitting position he was in, Renjun knew that there was no logistically sound way to physically fight Haechan at the moment. 

“Oh, it’s just another painting. Why were you so freaked out- YA! Is that y/n?!”

Haechan dropped Renjun’s arms, his first mistake, as Renjun took the opportunity to lunge towards the painting. Haechan proceeded to yank the back of the wooden chair -- his second mistake -- and he called out for reinforcements.

“JENO-AH!”

Jeno was not surprised that the bickering quickly took place, but was also concerned with the intensity of Haechan’s scream. Jeno regretfully entered the space of what would ultimately disrupt the otherwise peaceful morning and listened to the chorus of Renjun’s mild curses and death threats and Haechan’s shameless happy teasing although he was the one in the headlock.

“Ya, you two. Can we just go eat?”

“Jeno-ah, grab that. QUICKLY.”

Curiosity took over and Jeno obeyed. Renjun knew that although Jeno lacked in the desire of fighting members, he made up for with his physcial strengh. Renjun was quite aware that Jeno could quite literally pick him and Haechan up to stop the sqaubble. Renjun gave a frustrated sigh of defeat and sat back down at his desk while Jeno and Haechan sat on the nearby bed to fully observe the art piece.

“Is this y/n? It’s really good.”

“Our Renjunnie is growing up so fast. It’s cute to see you in love.”

The casualness of Haechan’s sentiment in dropping the L word set off alarms in Renjun’s brain but curiously not his heart. He quickly pushed off whatever deer in headlights reaction he showed and calmy took the painting back from Jeno. He decided to just tell the two that it was for Valentine’s Day and mumbled that he wasn’t sure if you were gonna like it. 

"Renjun-ah it’s fine. You, of all people, know how forgiving she is.”

“Ya! Haechan, don’t say it like that. Renjun-ah it looks really nice she’ll love it.”

Haechan sensed it was the right time to get serious. 

“Renjun-ah. Honestly. It’s a really good painting. She’ll love it. That girl loves everything you do.”

Jeno hummed in agreement.

“Injunnie, it will be okayyy.”

Jeno’s speciality in dorm-only aegyo gave Renjun comfort. It almost brought back a sense of normalcy in Renjun’s emotions. He was also grateful to Haechan although no matter how much the boy made it a sport to annoy him, he could still be mature when it counted. He thanked God that the necklace had been safely hidden in a drawer and considered the many ways the situation could have escalated if the two boys saw that the painting gift was not the main source of his anxiety.

Renjun thought it would be best to change the subject from his insecurities about his love life. Love, he thought, there was that word again. 

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

hi i have a tendency to not end my fics well, lemme know what yall think

[for-fucks-sake-h]

As You Held Onto Me - Four

a/n: Hello! I don’t have much to say, other than a HUGE thank you to my sweet friends @oh-honey-styles​ and @andwhenshesays​ for inspiring me to finish this story and being genuinely beautiful people that I feel lucky to know. I hope you all like it. Enjoy! x  

CATCH UP ON PREVIOUS PARTS HERE 

Rated: M, mature // Word Count: 5.7k 

Sometimes, love can feel like it’s everything. And sometimes, we hope it can be.

***

- Wednesday, December 24, 2017 -

“Goodnight, loves! See you in the morning,” Anne called with a kind smile from across the room as you and Harry made your way up the stairs of his childhood home.  

After a night of delicious food, games and wonderful company, Harry called it a night, whispering in your ear that he was ready to spend time with just you.  So you bid your goodnights to his family, taking your empty hot chocolate mugs to the dishwasher before ascending the stairs with smiles on your faces.    

His old bedroom looked the same; posters on the walls of his favorite bands, a dark oak desk in one corner with knick-knacks and books and a small reading lamp, an old striped chair tucked beside it, and his bed in the center below a large window with a soft duvet and blankets neatly placed on top.  It smelled like cinnamon from the candle he had lit earlier in the day and the room was dimly lit from the brightly shining moon.  

“I love your family,” you whispered with a smile as you bent down to fish one of his old tee shirts from your shared luggage.  

He sat on the end of the bed, slipping his socks off and tossing them next to the chair in what would be deemed your ‘dirty pile’.  You watched him reach behind his neck to tug his hoodie over his head, his hair sticking up from the static.  He was quiet for a moment, simply watching you shimmy out of your clothes and bra, shrugging the shirt on and pulling it down over your underwear.  He leaned up to slip his sweatpants off, kicking them over to the pile before his fingers encased yours, tugging you to stand between his legs.      

Your hands rested on his shoulders, his worn tee shirt feeling exceedingly soft beneath your palms as he trailed his fingers up and down your bare legs.  

“I love you,” he whispered with his face tilted up to yours as his fingers drew designs on your thighs.  

You ran your hand up his neck to cup his face, your thumb brushing the soft, warm skin of his cheek. His eyes were heavy; fluttering softly at your touch before you leaned in to press your lips to his.  You could feel his sigh rather than hear it, only a soft exhale as you gently sucked his top lip.  

Your other hand lifted to scratch the back of his head as your mouths slowly parted, savoring his taste until the very last second.  You rested your forehead against his, breathing in the faint smell of his cologne and fresh linen scent of the detergent he loved.  It wasn’t the first Christmas you spent together, or even the first spent at his family's home, but it felt special in its own way.  

“Come on,” you nudged your noses together, “you know they’re gonna be up early.”

He breathed a soft laugh, pulling himself to slide up the bed and pull the covers down for you.  You crawled up the bed, tucking yourself beneath the cold sheets to snuggle in next to him.  He pulled you closer immediately, situating yourselves until you were laying on your sides, sharing his pillow, legs tangled. His hand rested on your hip as yours squeezed his shirt in the center of his chest.  

You could feel his breath tickle across your lips, your noses nearly touching. Circles were drawn into your skin again, just above your underwear. His warmth encompassed you beneath the sheets the same way his soul did.  You could have ten thousand of those moments and it still wouldn’t feel like enough.  

He kissed you sweetly, his lips slow and drawn out as they teased and sucked yours. His hand squeezed your hip, pulling you even closer.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, tangling yourself with him as much as you coud, always wanting to be closer.  Even when he was inside you, as close to you as humanly possible, you wanted more.  

“Marry me,” he breathed against your mouth. You pulled your head back enough to find his eyes still closed, admiring the way they opened slowly to peer into yours. “Was gonna ask during presents,” he murmured before chuckling slightly, “had a whole plan.”  

Your brows creased, endeared, before smiling. “What changed?”

His hand lifted to cup your cheek, his fingers tightly gripping the back of your neck.  “Just decided I only wanna share this with you.”  

Your lips pouted slightly as warmth burst from your heart to travel throughout your entire body.  You kissed him fully, his tongue smoothing over yours as he hummed.  

He giggled against your lips. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you repeated as you moved to smother your lips across his cheek and jaw.

He tucked his face into your neck, hugging you so tight you could feel the patter of his heart against his ribs.  His lips sucked soft kisses into your skin, his hands rubbing soothingly up and down your back.  He kissed his way back to your mouth, pressing one last deep kiss to your lips, drinking you in slowly before peeling his body away from yours.  

You wiped the corners of your teary eyes as he leaned over the edge of the bed to rummage through a discreetly tucked away duffle bag that he had apparently been hiding.  Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, your cheeks warm and your skin prickling as he turned back towards you with a closed fist.  

You sat up with him, both of you crossing your legs, sitting face to face in the center of his childhood bed.  

He fixed the ring between his first finger and thumb before extending his shaky hand out to you.  It sparkled against the moonlight and the only thing you could think was how much you loved him.  How often you thought about this moment, how often you both had talked about it, how happy you were that him becoming your forever was a reality.

You extended your hand as you sniffled, giggling with him as he slid the ring on, taking approximately five seconds to admire it on your finger before launching yourself into him.  

“I promise I’ll love you forever,” he whispered into your hair, emotion thick in his throat as he pulled you closer.  

“I love you so much,” you giggled as you fell back onto the bed with your arms tightly wrapped around one another.  

Kisses were peppered against warm skin. Clothes were eagerly pulled off.  He pushed into you slowly, promising that he could be quiet.  Every movement was drawn out, until you were tensing around him with your mouths pathetically attempting to stifle your moans. And he was following right behind you, his hips stuttering into yours as murmurs of I love you fell into your mouth to slip down your throat and find their way to your heart.  

***

- Friday, June 30, 2020 -

You entered your empty home, holding onto the door frame to slip your shoes off as your exhaustion set in. All you were looking forward to was a long, hot shower after a day from hell at the hospital. You knew these days were part of the job description but it never made it any easier.  

The house was eerily quiet as you made your way through the dark, dodging kitchen counters and furniture from memory before making your way upstairs.  The sensored hallway night light came on as you turned the corner into your bedroom, stripping off your scrubs quickly and tossing them into the hamper.  You turned the ensuite’s dimmer light switch to half way, the anticipation of the water pressure on your shoulders already easing your low mood.    

After adjusting the shower temperature, you lit the lavender candle you kept on the counter, turned on the bluetooth speaker and pressed play for The Neighbourhood’s ‘I Love You.’ album.

Eagerly stepping into the steam, you tipped your head back as you let the warm water encase you, sending chills across your skin. You took your time, washing with a strawberry body wash and mint shampoo until your skin was raw and your head felt squeaky clean.  

You lathered yourself in lotion and dressed in your coziest, oversized sweatshirt before turning your night stand lamp on and slipping into bed.  It was only eight o'clock yet you felt like it was the middle of the night with how tired you were.  You settled in, ready to read a few chapters of your book, but then suddenly lips softly grazing your temple stirred you awake.  

“Shh, don’t have to get up.”  The husky sentiment was whispered into the back of your neck as a warm palm ran down the sleeve of your sweatshirt.    

He pulled you closer, his front curving against your back, his hand sliding down to rest on your belly.  The hair of his bare legs tickled yours as he breathed you in, inhaling where his face was tucked into your hair.  

You reached down to hold to the back of his hand as you arched your back in a stretch before whispering, “What time is it?”

“Half nine,” he spoke against the back of your head, his lips leaving a soft kiss to your hair.  

You hummed, pushing yourself back against him more. “Long shoot,” you stated simply.      

“Unbearably long,” he chuckled in agreement, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “How was your day?”

“Unbearably long,” you repeated.  

“You okay? Feel okay?” His tone was soft, his voice low and deep with a tinge of concern.  

“Yeah, just tired. Took a long shower,” you assured him as you intertwined your ankles.  

“And used my shampoo,” he teased as he sniffed your hair again with a deep inhale.  

“It’s growing on me,” you laughed softly, “and doesn’t make me wanna throw up anymore.”  

“That’s good,” he hummed, stroking his palm over your round belly.  “Ah, there she is.”  You could hear his smile as he pressed his face into your neck more. “Was wondering if she was awake.”  

“Always wakes up when she hears your voice,” you spoke softly.  

Another soft kick had him stilling his hand against you to feel your baby greet him.  It wasn’t a lie, every time she heard the deep timber of his voice she moved in search of the warm palm that typically rested on your growing belly.  

“Only three more months,” he whispered after a while, fingers gently pressing into your skin.  

“Can’t wait,” you smiled as you tried to absorb every fiber of love his palm on your belly filled you with.

***  

You blinked your eyes a few times, the morning sun slowly pulling you from sleep the only way it should on a Saturday morning.  

You were in the same exact position from the night before, Harry tucked up behind you with his arm draped over your waist.  You slept like a rock, thankful that you were still peacefully sleeping through the night. From what you’d read, the third trimester only got more and more uncomfortable.  

All in all, your pregnancy had been smooth thus far. Your hematologist got you on an injection blood thinner as soon as you conceived, and by the end of the first week you were a pro at giving yourself the shot every night, six o’clock on the dot.  Granted, the bottom of your belly and hips were tender and bruised and oftentimes you had to sneak into the bathroom wherever you were to do it, but it was a price you decided was worth having to pay for a baby at the end of nine months.    

Aside from that, you had pretty standard side effects. The thought of chicken made you gag for a while, you’d never wanted gushers and fruit roll ups more often in your life, and you had a bad case of nausea that seemed to linger longer than the typical first trimester mark, only easing up in the last week or so.  Your nails and hair were growing like crazy, you were tired a lot of the time and randomly became out of breath if you walked too fast, but you and your baby were healthy, and that was all you could ask for.  

Harry was supportive in every way he could be, and you couldn’t say you were surprised.  He held your hand when you needed it, rubbed your aching feet, talked you down when your anxiety of having another miscarriage became too much, and loved you unconditionally throughout.  

When you were young, you used to wonder what your life would be like; what your future spouse would be like. You hoped he was kind and sweet, had a good sense of humor, maybe could cook. You didn’t realize everything that entailed being a good partner and how easily Harry exceeded any and all expectations.  After everything you’d been through together, you felt overwhelmingly lucky to have him by your side.  

His thigh twitching where it rested between your legs pulled you from your thoughts. He was most likely going to stir from his sleep soon, as if his body could sense when you were awake, pulling him from his dreams to check on you. And just as the thought crossed your mind, his hand flexed against your belly as he pulled in a deep breath from where his face was tucked against your shoulder blade.  

“Morning,” he rasped against your back.

The deep tone of his voice seeped into your sweatshirt to send a chill directly down your spine. He pulled you in, always seemingly wanting you closer, pushing his leg between yours more.  It was like electricity blew through you at the simple gesture, as if he hadn’t done it a million times before in your time together. You couldn’t explain it if you tried, but heat pooled in your stomach, fluttering up into your belly as you arched against him more.  

“Oop,” he breathed as your ass pressed into his groin.  

You could feel where his length rested on his thigh, twitching eagerly at the small contact. But it was enough to have him squeezing your hip and pulling you against him more, hips flexing into you.  

Everything was slow; his hand pulling the shoulder of your sweatshirt down to press his lips to your skin, his hips rolling against you longingly, his hands gripping you feverently.  His breath came in small puffs, increasing as his cock throbbed. He pressed his thigh against your core, moaning softly at the dampness of your slit. Your skin felt like it was on fire, need burning deep in your belly.  

He was sucking marks into the skin of your neck, gripping your hip harshly as his length tucked perfectly between your ass cheeks, pressing his thigh against you even more.  He breathed your name softly, his hand trailing down your thigh just to travel back up to grip your waist under your sweatshirt.  

“I’m so hot,” you breathed.  

“Fuck, me too,” he moaned softly before sucking the spot where your shoulder met your neck.  

“No really,” you chuckled, “I need to take this off.”  You motioned to your sweatshirt, tugging on the bottom as an endearing oh fell from Harry’s lips.  

He helped pull it over your head, the cool air of the bedroom tickling your skin as he tossed it over your bed.  

“Better?” He questioned, his hand coming up to hold your waist, his fingers gripping just below your breast as his warm chest pressed against your back.  

“Mhm,” you nodded as he tucked his other arm back under your neck, immediately pulling your fingers with his to intertwine them and extend your arms across your mattress.  

Your other hand reached behind you, fingers gripping his soft hip as he flexed against you again.  His mouth was hot and heavy on your neck, eagerly nipping and licking your tingling skin. His breathing was ragged and shaky as he pressed his hard length against you, effectively pulling a sigh from your lips.  

His hot palm slipped down your side until it rested over the center of your belly, pausing for a beat before traveling down to your core.  He cupped you softly, his touch almost ticklish in the way his fingers grazed your lips.  

“Want you,” he breathed as he tucked his middle finger into your slit.  

Your head tipped back at the contact, his open mouth grazing your neck. Circles were pressed into your clit, three slow passes before he was dipping inside to his first knuckle.  He groaned softly at the feeling of your arousal pooling at your entrance.  

“You should fuck me,” you murmured.  

“Should I?”  You could hear the faint smirk pulling at his lips as he brought your wetness to your clit, his circles torturously slow.  

“Mhm,” you smiled as you arched your hips into his.  

His mouth sucked a spot on the back of your shoulder, the fingers intertwined with yours squeezing slightly as his other hand moved up your mound, his wet fingers leaving a trail on your skin.  You could feel him tugging his boxers down, your stomach twisting with desire. It came over you so quickly, your need to be close to him.  Maybe it wasn’t as often as it was in the past, especially as of late. But when it hit you, it was still so strong.  

“Want me?”  He spoke into your shoulder blade, his warm breath erupting goosebumps across your skin.  

You moaned softly when he grazed the tip of his cock between your legs, hard and ready and waiting for you.  

“So bad,” you spread your legs for him, your top knee bending further away to allow him access to your core.  

You both moaned as he eased into you slowly. Your mouth fell open in pleasure as your core spasmed around his head.  It wasn’t one full push, but small teasing thrusts as he slowly gave you inch after inch.  He was panting behind you, soft little mewls of breath as his hand dug into the skin of your hip until his pelvis met your ass, his length pressing deep inside you.  

He was completely still aside from his lips pressing kiss after kiss to your skin.  Your back, your shoulder, your neck, over and over again.  

“H,” you breathed when his hips withdrew before pressing back into you slowly. Fire licked up your spine, your hand flexing in his as your other gripped the sheets in a fist.

He moaned softly before murmuring into your neck, “It’s good, yeah?”    

His pace was steady, but slow in the best kind of way. The kind that set fire under your skin and would pull an orgasm from you gradually, the build up just as delicious as the explosion. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge and pulse of his cock as he rolled his hips into yours.  It was the way morning sex was supposed to be, deep and reaching, with hushed moans and sluggish limbs, warm skin and gripping hands.  

“Oh my god...” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper, his thrusts reaching the deepest parts of you.    

He moaned before sinking his teeth into the top of your shoulder. His hand left your hip to reach for your wrist and push your hand between your legs. “Touch yourself,” he instructed softly as he pressed his hand over top of yours, effectively pushing your fingers against your clit. “Want you to come.”  

“Fuck,” you breathed as your fingers matched his pace, slow circles against your clit that only intestified his thrusts.  

His hand smoothed up your side until he could wrap his arm around your waist, his arm perfectly draped over the top of your belly.  His fingers tucked between your side and the mattress, gripping your soft skin as his mouth found your neck once more. For how slow and lazy his thrusts were, his lips were harsh in comparison, no doubt leaving marks on the skin of your shoulder and back for days to come.  For every bite, he soothed his tongue over the spot, and every strong suck received an even softer kiss.  And he did it as often as he could — as often as his body would allow — when he wasn’t moaning low in his throat from the pleasure swirling in his stomach.  

“Mhm, yeah,” he spurred you on when your core tightened around him.  It felt like you were vibrating with pleasure, like every fiber of your being was electrified and blazing under your skin.  

“You feel so good,” you whined into the pillow, your fingers picking up pace against your sensitive clit.  You were so close, you could feel your orgasm swimming in the pit of your stomach just waiting to burst.  

His hand slid across your belly to grip harshly to your hip, pulling you back on his cock the tiniest bit. But it was enough to have you choking back a moan as his length reached even deeper inside you. It still surprised you after so much time just how full he could make you feel.  

“Come on,” he groaned as his hips slapped into yours with a little more power, his fingers turning white against your skin.

There was a part of you that hoped he left bruises. You couldn’t help but feel like your body looked prettier with remnants of his love sprinkled across it.    

“Oh god, shit,” you gasped as your orgasm rolled throughout your entire body.  It spilled out of you slowly, erupting under your skin to crawl throughout your limbs.  It was so slow, every wave taking its time to crash over your head and pull you under.  

“Yes, yes, yes,” Harry groaned roughly, his lips catching on your skin with each desperate plea as he came, pumping his hips into you as long as he could handle.  Until he was so sensitive that tears burned his eyes and he had no choice but to still inside you. “God, you’re fucking made for me.”  His admission was so breathy it made your core clench around him tighter, his passion fluttering directly from his heart to yours.        

You were panting wildly, your mouth finding the inside of his bicep to place a sucking kiss to his hot skin.  Your legs felt like they were vibrating as he pulled out of you so slowly, making a chill roll down your spine at the emptiness.      

You leaned back against him more but shifted to your back when he disconnected your hands and moved out from behind you. He was kneeling above you, spreading your legs open to slot himself between them.  

“Har,” you breathed as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the bottom of your belly.  

“Need one more,” he murmured against your belly before quickly moving down to swipe a strong pass of his tongue from your dripping core up to your clit.  

You released a low, heady moan from the back of your throat at the contact, your legs immediately snapping closed around his head.  He was quick to open them again, his palms burning hot against the soft skin of your inner thighs as he spread you open for him, lapping at your sensitive clit like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do.  

Your hands carded through his hair, gripping tightly as he sucked and licked between your folds.  The thought of him tasting both of you had your mind reeling. His moans were thick and deep as his tongue plunged inside you, fucking into you with fever as he squeezed your thighs while pressing them into the mattress.  

When he licked back up to your clit, catching it lightly with his teeth before trilling his tongue against it, you couldn’t help your head from flinging back into the pillows with a low moan of his name. Your moans and pants only egged him on; made him swirl his tongue over you before suctioning his mouth on your clit.  And all it took was a rough roll of his tongue before you were whimpering through your release and coating his chin in your juices.  

His moans only intensified your pleasure, both from the vibrations from his mouth and how much he was enjoying himself.  You knew he loved it, yet it always made your skin crawl with arousal seeing just how much he seemed to get out of making you feel good.  It was like he was addicted to it, always making sure you were completely spent before he could feel satisfied.

You tugged on his hair, closing your knees around his head once more.  To say you were sensitive would be the greatest understatement.  Sparks were still bouncing off your skin as you started to come down, your chest rising and falling harshly as you caught your breath.  

Harry eased up, leaning up to press a kiss to your mound, and then the inside of your thigh, before he crawled up your body to lay beside you.  His hand rested on your belly as his mouth found yours, both your taste and his invading your heightened senses when his tongue passed yours in a smooth glide.      

“Loved every second of that,” he murmured once he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers drawing odd shapes across the skin of your stomach.  

You turned onto your side, keeping your face close to his as you tucked some of his hair behind his ear.  “I missed this,” you admitted softly as you lightly scratched down his neck.  

“What, love?”  

“Just waking up like this. Feeling like everything is easy,” you shrugged slightly.  

He was quiet for a moment, his hand stroking up and down your side before settling on your waist.  “Where’s this coming from?”  

You hesitated because you really weren’t sure.  Maybe it was the orgasms, maybe that was just your excuse. But you couldn’t help thinking how much you loved being close to him, and how often you hadn’t felt close to him over the last couple years. And how it had been your own doing.  

“I don’t know,” you brushed your noses together softly. “Just ignore me.”  

“Hm, can’t do that,” he pulled you closer, your belly pressing into his as he wrapped his arm around you.  He danced his fingers up and down your spine soothingly as he continued, “You can always talk to me.”  

“I don’t know why I’m even thinking about this,” you shook your head against his as you kept your eyes closed.  

He was quiet as he waited for you to open up, letting you get there on your own.  He was good at that; letting you gather yourself and your thoughts for as long as you needed without pressing you.  He was always so patient and accepting and encouraging and you loved him so much for it.  

“You’re gonna be a really good dad H,” you chose to say.  

“And you’re gonna be a great mom,” he replied without missing a beat.    

His fingers continuously stroked against your skin, easing you in a way you probably couldn't even describe.  It was like he always knew what you needed, and gave it freely without question.  

You nodded against his forehead slightly before pulling your head back to look at him.  His hair was a mess above him, stretching out wildly across the pillow.  His cheek had the slightest indent from his pillow still with the prettiest rosy tinge. His eyes were sleepy and his lips were puffy, everything about him, from his face to his soul, was inviting.  

“Are you scared?” You asked quietly as you pet the back of his neck.  

His eyes fluttered, maybe at your touch or maybe at your question.  “Of course,” he exhaled, “think that’s normal.”  

“I’m scared,” you admitted, almost ashamed.  

“What are you afraid of?”  

“Everything,” you breathed, “I’m still afraid something bad could happen.” You shook your head, knowing full well that Harry knew what you meant just by the sad look on his face. “I’m afraid there’ll be a complication in delivery because of all these blood thinners.”  Your eyes danced across his features, noticing the way his brows furrowed the tiniest bit.  You searched his eyes for a moment, the pale green accentuated by the morning light. “I’m afraid... I’m afraid I won’t be any good at it,” you sighed, your own eyebrows crinkling with emotion.  

“Baby,” he exhaled as his hand came up to cup the side of your neck.  

Your eyes flicked over his face for a moment, concern etched into every line.  “I haven’t been thinking about it a lot,” you added quickly, knowing how important it was to him for you to be honest about how you were feeling. “But I can’t help it sometimes, you know? I don’t know,” you continued after a beat, “we’re getting closer and I guess I’m just getting nervous,” you rushed, guilt plaguing your confession. “I don’t wanna worry you.”  

“Love,” he started slowly, drawing the word out like a violins final note. “You gotta stop worrying about worrying me.  That’s not how this works. Let me comfort you. Let me try to at least help ease your mind.”  

You looked back at this man, with his pleading eyes and warm heart, and could physically feel your anxiety easing, and he hadn’t even said anything yet.  It was just him.  There was no other way to describe the way he made you feel just with a look, just with his eyes on yours.  

His thumb brushed across your cheek tenderly as he spoke, “Sobel knows what he’s doing, he’ll make sure everything goes smoothly in delivery.  And I’ll be holding your hand the entire time. Please try not to worry about that.”  His eyes flicked up as he smoothed the hair at the top of your head, his gaze following his movements as he brought his palm back to your cheek before finding your eyes once more. “And you’re going to be an amazing mom. I wouldn’t want to share this with anyone else.  You have to know that.”  

You smiled slightly as your eyes brimmed, amazed at how you really could feel better just by listening to him talk.  Harry quickly swept away the single tear that slipped down your cheek.  

“You’re biased,” you mumble before kissing him softly.  

His fingers tightened on the back of your neck as his mouth moved over yours, lips sucking your bottom lip in a savory kiss.  “A little,” he smiled against your mouth, “But I’m right too.”  

You breathed a laugh as you threaded your fingers through his soft hair, already feeling more at ease. He always knew how to make you feel better. It was almost masochistic, the way you tended to keep things to yourself when you knew if you just talked it out, you’d feel better.  

And you did feel better.  Harry always had a way of not dragging things out.  He was the perfect oxymoron of support and relief.  

“We’re gonna figure everything out together,” he added before pressing a kiss to your forehead.  

You tucked your face into his neck, inhaling against his heated skin as he wrapped his arms around you.  “I love you,” you murmured into his neck.  

A firm kick ricocheted against your skin so suddenly it had Harry chuckling. “There she is,” he giggled excitedly. “Nice of you to join us love,” he spoke down to your belly, slipping down the mattress to press his lips right above your belly button.  “Knew we were talking about you, huh?”  

You laughed softly as he peppered kisses to your belly, receiving pleased little kicks in return.  

“She must be a narcissist like her dad,” you said as you scratched his head fondly.  

“Your mom’s just mad that you like me more,” he spoke directly against the skin of your stomach, receiving another soft kick right against his lips. His hand smoothed over your hip, fingers rubbing into your lower back. “It’s crazy,�� he looked up at you with bright eyes and a sweet smile, “it’s like she knows exactly where I am.”  

You grinned down at him, watching as he went back to kissing and talking to your stomach. It was moments like these that made you even more excited to meet this little human, to hold her in your arms and kiss her little nose, to watch Harry love her.  

You were counting down the days, and even though you weren't out of the woods yet, you were hopeful; choosing to remain positive that everything was going to turn out okay.  

***

- Tuesday, September 28, 2020 -

You kissed Harry goodbye early that morning and headed to work for your only twelve hour shift of the week.

You were due in a couple weeks and decided it would be best if you knocked your hours down to one shift a week. Your last trimester had been good, uneventful in surprises from week to week. It was exhausting though and your body ached daily. But you couldn’t just sit home until you delivered, so one shift a week would have to be enough.

As soon as you opened your eyes that morning, a faint pain throbbed in your lower back. It seemed like a new sore spot popped up every day. But you powered through, knowing any pain you endured would be worth it in the end.

You were nearly an hour into your shift, having just finished your rounds and heading to the nurses station to update charts.

“You okay?” Your coworker Jess asked with a chuckle.

You practically fell into your chair, breathing heavily while your back ached, feeling like it was on fire.  You felt like you couldn’t catch your breath, laying a hand over your chest to feel the frantic beat of your heart.

“YN?”

The pain in your back traveled to your stomach; sharp and pungent, provoking a small whine to fall from your lips.

“Something’s wrong,” you gasped as another sharp pain shot through the lowest part of your belly.

“Okay, deep breaths,” Jess eased as she kneeled next to you, blindly reaching up on your desk to grab your phone. “Are you having a contraction?”

“No, no,” you repeated as you tried to settle your breath and ignore the tears burning your eyes.

Your vision went spotty as you keeled over in pain, your hands gripping your belly. You could hear Jess calling for Dr. Sobel, her calm voice repeating that everything was going to be okay.

“Call Harry,” you breathed.

And then everything went black.

***

To anyone that has suffered from infertility or miscarriage... I’m so sorry.  Please know that you are not alone.  I love you, and I hope you get your rainbow soon.    

Thank you for reading.  As always, I would love to hear your thoughts x 

- PART FIVE - 

[forever-rogue]

Disappear Here - What Could Have Been

A/N: Hi friends! So here is the very much requested alternative ending. I also had a lot of fun writing this, I just love Javi and reader so much!! I hope you enjoy!! Basically, if you didn’t like the way Part 4 ended, replace it with this! As always, feedback and comments are welcome! 

Pairing:  Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warning: none

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

SEQUEL

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You regretted every moment since Javi had left. You worried about something happening to him, or Steve, every moment while they were gone. The way you had parted left much to be desired, and the possibility of what if hung over you constantly. What if your fight just before he left was the last time you ever saw him? How where you supposed to live with that? 

Everyday you arrived at the office and willed for him or Steve to walk through the door triumphantly. But it never came; instead it was just a lot of you sitting around and waiting, practically twiddling your thumbs as you working through the backed up stacks of paperwork. But every moment you weren’t actually working on something, your thoughts drifted back to Javi. How much you missed every part of him. 

But one particularly dull afternoon, as you were sifting through paperwork, drinking your afternoon coffee, you were overwhelmed with a nauseous feeling. Shifting in your uncomfortable desk chair, you waited for the feeling to pass, thinking it must have been you ate for lunch. Perhaps you should have listened to Maria and not used the old salad dressing you found in the fridge. 

When the feeling wasn’t going away and instead increased, you jumped up and dashed towards the bathroom. As soon you entered the bathroom, the smell of cleaner and bleach overwhelmed your senses, and you dived to the floor, emptying the contents of your stomach in the nearest toilet. 

More than you thought had consumed made its way up, and you sat there on the floor for a long time. Only once you were satisfied that nothing was possibly left, you wiped the corners of your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater and stood back up. Sighing, you flushed the toilet before doing to the sink, turning the tap on and sticking your head under the running water to rinse out the acidic taste lingering in your mouth. Strange, you thought to yourself, you never had reactions like that to food. 

Tying your hair up, you left the bathroom and headed back to your office to round out the rest of your day. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen again, but nevertheless, you figured you’d skip dinner just in the case. Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon passed by relatively quickly, and you were back in your own apartment soon enough. You took a steaming shower before slipping into pajamas, and indulging in your ice cream craving. You weren’t really hungry, but that was the one thing that sounded really, really, good to you. That’s when a brilliant idea struck you. 

Setting down your bowl, you grabbed the phone off the receiver and dialed the number you had been given for Steve and Javi. You nervously twisted the cord in your fingers as you listened to the seemingly never ending ring. Maybe it was too late. Maybe they somehow seemed to know it was you calling and decided to ignore it. Maybe they were still and working. Maybe-

“Hello?” before your thoughts could get any darker, Javi’s warm came onto the other life. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you realized he was okay, at the very least alive.

“Javi,” his name rolled off your tongue like a prayer as you leaned against the counter and closed your eyes, “it’s me.”

“Hi baby,” his voice was warm, but he sounded tired, exhausted even, but he seemed to relax when he realized it was you, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you admitted, “I just...I miss you. Missed your voice...”

“I miss you, Y/N,” he agreed, “it’s weird being here without you. It’s been too long.”

“Well you’re the reason I’m not there,” you tried to joke, but stopped yourself from going further when you remembered that that was the sole reason for your fight before he and Steve had left, “sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry about starting a fight before you left.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have went behind your back and prevented you from coming, and I shouldn’t have fought with you. But, if I’m being honest, I’m glad you’re not here. It’s been dangerous, and we haven’t had much luck.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Javi, I’ve been so worried about you and Steve,” you tried your best to keep from crying, already feeling prickling at the back of your eyes. You didn’t think just hearing his voice would have that much of an effect on you, “I-I don’t even know what I’d do with myself if we had ended things like that. I’ve been so worried, Javi.”

“It’s okay,” his voice went soft as he tried to soothe you through the phone. He wanted nothing more than to be next to you and be able to pull you into his arms, and remind that he was there and it was all going to be okay. But this was the best he could do for now, to remind how much he loved you, “it’s all going to be okay. I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be back before you know it. Nothing will happen, please don’t cry, honey.”

“Okay,” you wiped away the tears, closing your eyes and picturing him right next to you, whispering all those sweet words into your ears. How it would feel to have his arms around you again, “do you know when you’ll be back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed heavily and you just knew he was running his hand over his face, both tired and annoyed, not at you, just the situation, “things aren’t panning out as we planned. The leads aren’t coming through and either we’ve got to stick it out or just call it quits for now.”

“Just...be careful,” you felt like you were pleading with him, somehow willing the universe to make sure he came back to you safe and sound, “please.”

“We are,” he promised, and could almost see the smile on his face, “how’ve you been? Is everything okay there?”

“Everything is cherries,” you laughed lightly; of course he’d be concerned about you when he was the one risking everything. You wondered if you should tell him about what happened at lunch, but decided against it. Even if he assured you that he wasn’t worrying, you knew he would be worried, that was just who he was, “nothing too exciting. I’ve got plenty of time to catch up on all that paperwork you and Steve neglect to do. Got everything cleaned up...you two are slobs, and should be punished!”

His warm laugh sounded through the phone and you felt your whole body warm up. How you missed hearing that laugh especially when it came as you were laying in bed with his arms around you, “God, I miss you. Miss hearing that lovely voice boss me around and yell at me.”

“I am not bossy,” you insisted, letting out a small laugh of your own, “I’m just right more often than you think.”

“I know,” you wondered what was going through his mind right now; you’d learned to read his silences well, and there were tons of things that were left unsaid right now. But you weren’t going to push him, you didn’t want to put more pressure on him than necessary, “it’s getting late...I’ll let you go.” 

“Get some rest okay, Y/N?” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you, “stop worrying about me, and take care of yourself. I love you.”

“I love you too, Javi,” you stifled the yawn that bubbled. Sure, you’d be going to sleep, but it wasn’t going to feel the same. Your bed had never felt emptier than it did now, without Javi’s warmth and weight next to you every night, “stay safe...come home soon, yeah?”

“As soon as possible,” he promised, “I’ll be back.”

After another soft goodbye, you hung on the receiver back on the hook and sighed. Even though you had just gotten the opportunity to speak to him, you left lonelier than ever; you missed him more than you’d thought was humanly possible, but here you where, yearning for him from deep within your bones. You had it bad. 

The bowl of ice cream, long forgotten during your conversation with Javi, had completely melted. You picked up the spoon, playing with the now soup-like liquid. Opening the freezer door to stick the bowl back in there, you figured you’d try again tomorrow to eat. it. But the grumble and pang of your stomach convinced you to keep it out and started spooning the sweet cream into your mouth. Normally, you’d rather starve than resort to completely melted ice cream, but it was like something in your had snapped and you just needed it. 

Grabbing the bowl with a sigh, you headed to the couch and flipped on the ancient television that had come with the apartment. Taking a few moments to find something you could follow and understand, you sat back and watched the old movie, slurping up your dessert. It wasn’t long before it was completely gone and you set the bowl on the counter. Eventually you fell asleep on the couch, body too tired to bother and get up to crawl into your bed and stretch out probably. You didn’t remember the last time you had been this tired, but at least you were lost to saccharine dreams of Javi; of you and Javi back together once again. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next few days passed in a monotonous manner; you were completely on autopilot, and you felt someone was just guiding you through the motions. The only thing that was continuing to shake up your day to day grind was the lingering feeling of sickness that seemed to hang around. You possessed a fairly decent immune system, never really one to catch a cold or flu, or anything really, so it struck you as odd that you were still feeling the same way. Surely it couldn’t be old salad dressing affecting you for days? 

Maybe you were catching some weird bug that was going around, some thing in Colombia you’d finally had contact with and now your bod couldn’t deal with it. But no one else was feeling sick, everyone seemed as dandy as ever. Normally, you’d probably leave it and let it run its course through your body, but the fact that nausea and overall sluggishness was still affecting your every day life had you concerned. 

One warm afternoon, when you had started to feel tired despite the copious amounts of wretched office coffee, your curiosity was piqued. Picking up your unusually quiet office phone, you dialed Connie’s work number, hoping she’d be available; luckily it only rang a few times before you heard a very badly accent, “alo?”

“Connie?” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your as you tried to figure out how to begin explained your problem to her, not wanting to cause her to worry or fret over you, “it’s Y/N.”

“Oh thank goodness,” a sigh of relief left her lips at the sound of your voice, “it’s crazy here today and I really needed a break. What a perfect excuse - did you read my mind or something?”

“Unfortunately not,” you could just picture her running around the small hospital, trying to keep up with the demand, “I...actually have a question for you. I need some advice...I think.”

“What’s wrong, honey?” her maternal instincts immediately kicked into overdrive, bringing a small smile to your face. Her warm voice was enough to make you feel comforted, even if it wasn’t able to much else, “did something happen at work?”

“No,” god, were those tears welling up in your eyes already? When you hadn’t even said anything to her? You sucked in a breath, quickly trying to compose yourself, “I just haven’t been feeling well, and I’m starting to get a little worried. I’m never sick, and this has been lingering for days now-”

“You’re current on all your vaccines and everything else, right?”

“Yes. Everything is in order, but I’ve just been feeling sick, like almost every day and it doesn’t seem to be going away,” you explained, noting that the feeling was still overwhelming you, even in that moment. No rest for the wicked, you supposed, “and I’m trying not to panic, but it’s been hard and I’m stressed and I kind of just want to know what’s going on. I hate to burden you, but I don’t know who else to ask.”

“It’s okay, you know you can talk to me about anything,” the soft lilt in her voice was enough to put you at ease, even if it was only for the time being, “do you have some time to come over and I can get you checked out?”

“Sure, yeah, I can be over in a little bit, is that okay?” 

“Of course,” she promised, “just try and relax, sugar pie, everything will be just fine. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Thanks, Connie,” you let out a baited breath you didn’t know you were holding in, thankful to have such a good and kind friend, “I’ll see you shortly.”

Placing the receiver back in the cradle, you organized things on your desk before grabbing your purse and heading out. It was so slow, the phone having not even rang a single time throughout the day, that you didn’t even bother to let anyone you were leaving. If it was something that important, than they would know where to find you. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Later that evening, as you sat on your couch, once again eating ice cream and watching old movies, you wondered if you should have gone to Connie. You were still processing the news, both shocking and disconcerting, tears streaming down your cheeks. She had graciously offered you her company for the night, but you had turned her down. You just needed some alone time. It may not have been the best idea, but right now it was the only thing you desired.

You almost laughed at yourself, finding it ironic that you were in such a pathetic state of existence yet again. But right now it was about all you could mentally handle at the moment. 

You cleaned off the last bit of ice cream from your spoon, and chucked the carton onto the table, pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch and draping it over yourself. 

Soon, the voices on the television began to sound more and more distant and your eyes grew heavier with each passing second. But, of course, just before you could find comfort in slumber, a knock came at your door and jarred you back into the present. You groaned as you wiped your red, puffy eyes, debating on ignoring the door. It was getting later into the evening, much too late for a social call, so you wondered who it was. The knocking didn’t seem to be ceasing any time soon; grabbing the blanket and wearing it as a cape, you trudged to the door, without even knowing to look through the small peephole.

Opening it, you let out a preemptive sigh and looked up, finding yourself looking back into the eyes that you loved and adored so much. Your heart leaped in your chest as the revelation washed over and your body seemed to relax,��“Javi.”

“Baby,” he looked you over, his heart aching slightly as realized, almost immediately, that you had been crying. But you felt better now, your heart finding some peace and solace in the face that despite looking worn out and tired, he was safe and sound and home. You looked him up and down, finding it hard to hold back your smile when you realized he was holding a small bouquet of flowers in his hands, a beautiful combination of all of your favorites, “what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

“You’re back,” you couldn’t stop yourself from you throwing your arms around him and nuzzling your face into his neck. He responded in kind, wrapping you up in your arms, careful to make sure your flowers didn’t get crushed as he pressed soft kisses to the side of your head, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered in your ear, sending some shivers down your spine, “I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything, I wanted to surprise you. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

“It’s never a bad time,” you promised him, taking his hand and leading him inside your apartment. You didn’t even know why you were still being so careful about people seeing you together. Everyone knew, or had strong suspicions by now, that the two of you were together, not that anyone was going to stop you, “when did you get back?”

“About five minutes ago,” he said with a small smile as he followed you into the kitchen where you grabbed a vase for the flowers, watching you intently. He’d missed every part of you; the way you moved, smelled, felt, talked - all of it. Somehow just knowing he was back was enough to make you feel better. Your worries were almost all gone, almost. 

You turned back to him, watching as he effortlessly leaned against the counter, looking even better than ever. Was it really possible for him to have gotten hotter? He held out his arms for you and pulled you against him, his large hands cradling your face as he peppered gentle kisses over every inch of your skin, stopping at your lips. Just before pressing a soft kiss to them, he whispered, “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Javi,” you traced your fingers over his faces, relearning all the highs and lows, the way his warm skin felt under your fingers. You touched his nose before stopping and giving it a kiss, “I’m so glad you’re home. Safe.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours, “I’ll always come back to you.”

Fuck. You had it bad, so bad, for this man.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby. What’s got you so upset?” oh. Of course you should have known better than to expect that he would let it go. You thought about lying to him, but you knew he’s be able to see right through you, just as he always did. He was the only one who knew you better than yourself.

“Nothing,” you insisted, which wasn’t really a total lie, “just tired and missed you.”

“You’re still a horrible liar,” he insisted with a soft chuckle, “you can tell me anything, you know that.”

You did know that. In reality you told him everything, and usually anything, that crossed your mind. But how where you supposed to tell him this when you hadn’t even admitted it out loud to yourself? How was he even going to react? You were scared, so scared, and had no clue to what his response would be. Normally you’d be able to gauge his reaction pretty well, but with this? You had no clue. 

Would he be mad? Excited? Scared? Worried? Upset? 

“Hey,” he put a hand under your chin and tilted your face up towards him, “baby, what’s wrong? Why were you crying?”

“Javi,” you let his name linger between the two of you, the air growing thick with nerves and anticipation. Your mind was racing almost as fast as your heart, and before you could even fully think about what you were going to say, the words came out of your mouth anyway, “I’m pregnant.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you covered, as if it would somehow make a difference now as Javi looked at you, blinking, and seemingly confused by your sudden confession. Your stomach was in absolute knots as you took a step back and felt a few tears running down your cheeks, “I-I hadn’t been feeling well this week and went to see Connie, and found out today. I-I...I’m sorry, Javi, I-”

“You’re pregnant?” he finally said something, his voice cracking as you nodded your head, giving him a ghost of a smile, “wh-why are you sorry about that?”

“I didn’t...we didn’t...this just happened,” before you could form any coherent thoughts or make any sort of statement, he hoisted you onto the kitchen counter and wrapped his arms around you, this time burying his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“You’re pregnant,” he stated as you nodded. He reached up and tenderly wiped away the tears that were running down your cheeks. Unless it was a trick of the light, you were sure that there were some tears in his eyes too, “do you know how far along?”

“They estimate about 9 weeks,” you said quietly, watching as the smile on his face spread across all of his features, “you’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why the hell would I be mad?” he asked as you shrugged, “look, baby, I know this isn’t perfect, our lives are far from perfect, but that doesn’t take away from how wonderful this. Things rarely go according to plan, but that’s okay. We adapt, improvise, and overcome.”

“Yeah?” you asked quietly as he nodded. He was right: this might have been the worst time for you to fall pregnant, but he was still happy. You were going to be okay, all of this would be okay, you knew that now. All because of Javi.

“Yeah,” he promised, trying to process everything in his mind, but the only thing he could see clearly was you; you and the future life and family the two of you would be building, “god, I love you so much. This is...everything. You are everything.”

By now you were a flat out crying mess, in combination to his words and raging hormones, but it didn’t matter. Because this was it, this was everything. Things weren’t perfect, hell, they never would be, but you weren’t going to be alright. You and Javi would make it through anything together. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[lunarnirvana]

Lavender Moon

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Please not read if these subjects upset or trigger you in any way. Heavy themes are present in my writing.

Descriptions of abduction, hospital setting, language, Vomiting, mentions of s*icide, non-consensual drug use, seizure, some descriptions involving gore, blood, injury, reader drugged, mentions of LSD and tripping, anxiety symptoms.

Prompt: Nicole’s Alphabet Angst for 8K - Occult

Summery: Reid and Reader are dating when a case involving the occult dredges up turmoil between the happy couple. The case being difficult enough, the resemblance between the Reader and the victims leaves Reid uneasy… (Full summary at bottom of writing so as not to spoil but if you’re worried about the content I’ll always add the full summary at the bottom! Stay safe)

Category: Angst with some fluff sprinkled here and there (Happy ending)

Word count: 7k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU Female Reader

A/N: I hope saying this doesn’t discourage anyone from reading but this is my first imagine! I guess not that I’ve written, just posted. I’m kind of really nervous about putting this out there but why not? Also for future reference I write very intense and real things and I want this to be a safe place for everyone which is why I will try to be as thorough with my trigger warnings as humanly possible but if there is ever anything written that I did not warn you about before the writing I apologize and PLEASE let me know so I can make it a priority to include that warning in the future. Ty and tpwk <3 enjoy 

“No evil ever came from a woman’s womb that wasn’t placed there first by a man.”

― Charles A. Cornell

Her intuition never betrayed her.

It was lodged deep inside her throat, the swell of hesitation like a globule that obstructed any resourceful observations about the crime scene photos. The innate feeling that the case was destined for calamity. Y/N didn’t let the gravity of her work weigh on her mental state until she was in the comfort of her confides where she could lick her psychological scars in peace.

The entire BAU regarded their unspoken directive was to bottle any reaction to the happenstances of the case with little exception. As they congregated at the round table they’d bind their biases against their eyes with the blindfolds they used to avoid looking at the bodies for too long. If you stared for too long into those gaping gashes, the blackness of the cavernous body would consume you completely. This is what they all knew to be true and so they pursued beasts with scar tissue forming over their minds and volatile hands with stoic accuracy.

This accuracy was entirely derivative of their abilities to detach from the emotional aspects of the case.

Garcia was the exception to this jurisdiction, her back turned against the horrific gore on the screen yet she described the carnage as if she were looking at it. She threw in some embellishments and innuendos for certain aspects that were too nauseating to repeat.

“We’ve got a local case today. Linda Jefferson and Kayla Burnen were the first two victims of what local PD wrote off as a suicide pact at first,” Garcia explained, “After further inspection, though, they discovered an incredibly high, nearly lethal dosage of LSD in their blood.”

Reid spoke up beside her when he noticed something in the tox-analysis results, startling Y/N slightly, “It's not synthesized in the same manner, though. There are certain proteins missing that would make this particular substance would ensure an emergence phenomenon would happen regardless of the environment.”

He let his hand fall into his lap so his girlfriend could trace figure eights in his palm with the tip of her finger in some apologetic gesture for the trivial fright as he chided. They’d been together for a year now so he understood what comforted her and what didn’t.

“So you’re saying they took bad acid? Growing up in my generation I can vouch that I never felt compelled to shoot someone under the influence,” Rossi chuckled at his own shortcomings and garnered amusement from the team.

“Actually, I believe this particular form of LSD was tampered with to cause a bad trip. You’d either have to be an idiot to make LSD this way or…” Reid drifted off, letting someone else conclude what was already obvious to him.

“You’d have to do it on purpose. You can’t mess up that bad and it not be intentional,” Emily agreed, bobbing her head back and forth while the raven locks framing her elongated facade veiled around her expression.

“A few days after those two were found,” She flipped the slide, “Beth Myers and Lola Sanchez were found in the same area with the same exact M.O. No correlations to the first two victims or to each other.”

Reid felt the way Y/N’s finger swirled against his palm and traced the creases in his skin before flipping his hand over so she could run her soft touch across his veins and phalanges. She found his hands fascinating suddenly, more fascinating than the case. When Garcia flipped to the picture of the victims he felt a sudden pressure as Y/N locked her grip around his hand. She squeezed it for reassurance as the smiling women stared at them through the screen.

“The victims had blood-let themselves, were covered in melted wax from candles, were placed in white nightgowns, and were forced to finish one another off by stabbing each other in the chests,” Garcia winced as she recited the details.

Y/H/C, the texture of their hair, and resemblance with her was the aligning factor between the four and it made Y/N’s chest wrench at the thought of being drugged with such petrifying euphoric paranoia. She could tell her boyfriend noticed her reaction but didn’t bother to meet his concerned gaze. He just stared down at her avoidance in yearning for some communication although he rarely gave her that courtesy himself. He could tell she held reservations about the case, especially when they realized the unsub was following ritualistic patterns and protocols, the occultism sprinkled through the murders like decoration.

Reid never took holding her hand for granted but in this instance he swore he heard bones cracking. Y/N was comforted by the gesture but realized she was hurting him when she felt him begin to crumble under the pain beside her. She turned to him quickly and released her vice-grip.

“Sorry, sorry,” She whispered toward him, not wanting to disturb the briefing.

“Its fine, hun, but what’s wrong?” He pressed.

She shrugged and slouched back into her chair, sinking into the seat as if it would express her silence. She told herself it was just anxiety and eventually convinced herself it was her own self doubt causing her to have such a guttural feeling. She watched the clock for the rest of her shift before gathering her personal effects from the surface of her desk, sweeping the items into her bag. Reid watched her maneuver rather quickly to get her things together. Expecting her to wait for him like always, he bent down to grab his satchel but when he arose she was halfway to the elevators, shuffling through interns and her coworkers to leave.

He followed her down to the lobby before bringing it up.

“I can tell when something’s wrong with you, love. What is it?” His hand had fallen to the small of her back as they walked out of the east entrance together.

“It just freaks me out sometimes, you know? The whole occultism thing,” Her voice was suddenly softer than he remembered.

Typically, this disquieted nature was portrayed by him but she remained unnerved the entire walk down. Something churned in her stomach and converted her into a placid arrangement of unease. Y/N despised the corruption of any establishment but this particular subject hit her square in the chest.

He smiled down to her while they approached the rugged vehicle parked on the far end of the lot. “Occult-related homicides are a statistical anomaly. They’re highly uncommon, Y/N/N, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

She nodded as she pulled the keys to her car out and passed them to him, “Can you drive?”

“Of course but only if I can pick the playlist,” He smirked, snatching the jangling keyring from where it swang on her index finger.

“No way in hell,” She giggled, “I am not listening to Bach the whole way home.”

She slipped into her seat and immediately her leg began to bounce with disarm. She tried to steady it herself as she watched Reid bend down to face her before getting in.

“I was gonna put on Brahms for your information,” His slender body folded into the front seat and he turned the key over in the ignition. Noticing her shaking leg, he reached his arm across the center console to rest on her knee as he began pulling out. It soothed under his touch and he smirked knowing exactly how to ease her even with the slightest gestures.

The base of the lamp was a wicker configuration and it flooded the room with brilliant fiery luminescence, the walls suddenly painted a pastel yellow from the warm lighting emitted from their bedside table. Along with that, illuminating the neglected contours of the room were a few white candles that burned on Y/N’s wooden bureau. Wax congregated at the foot of the tall towers of flame and spilled over the sides of the candle holder onto the wood.

The encapsulating smell of Nag Champa incense shrouded the room blending with the wafting smoke streaming from the ember-littered sage Reid’s eclectic bedmate’s hands. Y/N watched the silver scarf dance above the end of the dried bundle as it swirled around the room. Her eyes followed the smoke, eyelashes veiling her sight giving her a dark allure that Reid couldn’t keep his eyes off of.

He didn’t mind that she liked to indulge in the holistic benefits of burning herbs or the countless books she had on witchcraft and the occult. He found it charming. Although he knew when she was upset she’d do these “cleansing rituals” which really did nothing more than make their room smell like a Grateful Dead concert. She never was discomforted by the fact the unsub was utilizing occultist beliefs, she was upset at the perversion of her practice.

Of course, he was sworn to secrecy against telling the team about her hobby. She knew she’d be teased into oblivion for such an unorthodox collection of semi-precious stone, herbs, and essential oils that she claimed assisted trivial offenses. That was the aspect of her avocation Reid disagreed with.

They’d debated about it before but both were keen on their bias and so they agreed to leave the subject as an unspoken rift and move forward. Reid still found the smell of the incense suffocating especially when his migraines trickled in. She’d slip rosemary and peppermint into his tea to help his chronic condition but whenever he would catch the taste he’d beg her not to use her ‘pseudoscience’s instruction’ on him. Each time they’d get into an argument about it but eventually it’d fizzle out in sniffing apologies and fond interactions generally ensued.

“You’re really going to town on the bad juju tonight, huh?” He spoke up from behind his book. It was always strange to hear his shift in nomenclature when he left work, his vocabulary becoming relaxed and casual. He practically bathed in her relaxing aura. He would describe her the same way she describes the effects of lavender when she tried to spray some on his pillow to help him sleep.

He told her he didn’t need it as long as she was sleeping next to him and that was the first night they shared a bed. He hadn’t left her apartment since.

“I have a bad feeling about this case, Spence. I’d like to clear the negative energy from the room,” She said, waving the burning bundle of dried sage around the bed.

“The creepy ass painting you bought from the farmer’s market is still on the wall so I don’t think it’s working,” Reid laughed. She shot him a small warning glare that resulted in the two of them collapsing into hysterics.

She plopped on the bed, clutching her stomach from laughing with him as the tightening delight in her stomach began to burn. Reid was cackling, trying to make out the words, “You looked like a disgruntled care bear.” She felt relief from the laughter when his hand coiled around her waist and tucked her against his chest for safe keeping. She felt his soft lips quiet his dissipating chuckles as they pressed against her forehead.

The sage was smouldering against an abalone shell beside the bed and Reid let Y/N burn the candles throughout the night despite his heedings that it was a fire hazard. It seemed to bring serenity to her and that’s all he was concerned with.

They remained entangled like chains in a jewelry box, Reid soon enveloping her in his grasp completely. He worried that the victims looked too similar to her as he struggled to fall asleep beside her but eventually, the rhythmic movement of her breathing against him brought him enough poise to sleep.

The case dragged out across a couple of weeks stretching resources and mindsets across the vast expanse of interrogation and interviews. They sharpened the victimology down to a finite point to dig into the unsub’s plans and wrench him away from his potential choices. They were delivering the profile to the police department when Y/N noticed Reid’s hand was now tightly gripping hers instead of their usual routine.

He held their hands behind them so the crowd wouldn’t see the unprofessionalism. As each new victim was discovered resembling the woman he woke up to every morning he began feeling that same tension she’d expressed. Now, as he heard the profile, it brought an agitation to his stomach. His grip was tight and unwavering and unlike hers it didn’t shake at all. It was like he was afraid if he let her go, the unsub would be lying in wait behind them to snatch her away.

“We believe he’s a male caucasian driving a blue Ford Crown Victoria which he uses to abduct the women,” Rossi began.

“His victims are aged twenty three to twenty eight and we think he’s in the same age bracket,” Hotch continued as the soft sound of scribbling followed.

“Combining that with the fact he can synthesize LSD into a more aggressive formula suggests we’re dealing with a highly intelligent unsub with an extensive knowledge in chemistry,” Reid said monotonously despite his conflict.

“This isn’t surprising. Psychopaths often have above average intelligence. Coupled that with trauma relating to a religious mother figure who was abusive in some respect. Either his biological mother or a foster parent,” JJ nodded through her portion, her dark ocean eyes striking every gaze in motherly vivacity.

Y/N sat up, “For some reason this unsub will not engage in the killing himself. He watches the two victims kill one another under the influence of drugs and instructs them on how to mutilate one another,” she suddenly felt Reid’s hand leave hers but remained focused on the expectant faces of the precinct, “His M.O. is consistent with occult sacrifices. It's a form of homicidal voyeurism that could represent his own impotency or may be a forensic countermeasure.”

Reid lurched forward, pushing himself off of the edge of the desk and excused himself politely as he walked back toward the bathrooms. Y/N turned over her shoulder to look, her eyebrows wrought with concern but Emily’s modulated voice leashed her back into delivering the profile.

“He’s been consistently choosing his victims to coincide with the seven deadly sins. First greed where the first two victims were taken from a casino then lust. The third and fourth victims were in an online BDSM chatting room when they were lured into a threesome with the unsub where he killed them. Because of this consistency in his signature, we’ve predicted his next choice is going to be Envy,” Emily explained.

“His target location is going to be an underground swingers club. Our team and some members of the force will be undercover as security for the club. You’re looking for anyone who might complain that they’ve been roofied or look for women who seem overly intoxicated,” Morgan informed.

Y/N leaned back into the table behind her while she quickly spoke, trying desperately to rush through the profile to check on her boyfriend, “So far he’s been following the major astrological events happening in the past month. Tomorrow night is a Harvest Moon and a partial solar eclipse which fits his preference. Excuse me.”

As soon as the sentence ended she was following Reid to the bathroom. She turned behind her to see the crowd still mesmerized by the team as they briefed them and took the opportunity to slip inside unnoticed. She knew Hotch and Morgan would pester the two of them about it later but she couldn’t help it. She saw the way his face shifted to a paled green hue and how he gripped his stomach as he pushed the swinging door open.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw his oxfords poking out of the stall and the sound of retching echoed in the bathroom. Y/N ran beside him and rubbed circles into his back, feeling tears well at her waterline and threaten to spill over. She blinked them away quickly to not upset him any more. Guilt wracked her chest.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok,” She soothed and crouched beside him in the stall so that she could rest her head on his shoulder blade. She watched her hand slide across the woven knit of his cardigan, smoothing the fibers down and continued to try and calm him. She could feel him sobbing dryly, his back arching with each heave. Eventually he felt it was safe to lean back against the far wall of the stall and face her.

The skin around his eyes puckered with irritation, shining with the tears that slipped from the corners. He closed them tightly, wrinkling his face in an agonized expression while Y/N leaned forward. She rested her hands on his knees that were awkwardly sprawled in different directions in the small confides of the stall. She sat between them, tucked into herself so as to not take up too much room.

“Talk to me, Spencer,” she pleaded.

He actually decided to, exhausted by the weight of the bodies that piled in the morgue and his quivering stomach. “I’m worried about you being on this case. I don’t want you to get,” he gagged on the rest of the sentence and vomited into the porcelain bowl again.

“Baby, please stop worrying about it so much,” she was begging now as tears began to haphazardly fall onto his back. He sat up at the sensation and resumed his previous position.

His horse voice came forward now as he tried to swallow the mucus that lined his throat now. “Promise me you won’t leave my side until this case is over, okay? Until the unsub is in custody,” He asked her through his darkly adorned eyes.

“I promise,” She assured and it brought a relief to his nausea, “I have mouthwash and ginger gum in my bag. I’m gonna text Morgan to come bring me it—“

“I can walk, honey. If you tell Morgan he’ll call me something like barf boy for a week,” he chuckled and began to sit up. His legs wobbled beneath him slightly but he caught himself on her shoulders. She gripped his elbows tightly.

“You’re dehydrated, come here,” She lead him to the sink where he could wash up and rinse the taste of bile from his tongue.

Pulsating basslines berated Reid’s chest making him feel like he was choking on the loud music. He despised clubs like these dipped in technicolor animosity and relishing in the electronic stimulation the club reverberated. Each member was stationed at certain points of the room such as beside exits, the landings of stairwells, and an agent at each corner. Y/N was beside the bar vehemently watching each drink poured and handed out, ensuring no hands slipped tabs into the liquor.

Hotch’s instruction was patched in through their earpieces.

“Blonde hair, black button up in the west corner of the bar by you, Y/L/N,” Reid heard and immediately his gaze shot toward her.

She was alerted and her sight honed in on the suspect. He was analyzing the body language of the woman before him who held similar semblance to Y/N. He waited patiently for her to let her guard down and look away from her drink and he was charming her into doing it.

The girl threw her head back in laughter and he saw his opportunity presented before him. Y/N watched his meticulous hands slip a small white tablet into the amber liquid of the girl’s glass. It dissolved into a discreet poison, lacing her glass with LSD.

Then he looked at Y/N and she felt his taunting stare desecrate her sanctity. She didn’t express it, though, her stoicism making him come to the conclusion she was a cop. His eyes widened and he grabbed the startled hands of the two women beside him, one seemingly more intoxicated than the other.

“Suspect is on the move with two friendlies, agent in pursuit.” Y/N’s voice was patched through and Reid watched her bolt after the unsub as she unholstered her gun.

“Wait,” he said through the earpiece, “Y/N, wait!”

She proceeded despite his protest and chased the unsub out of the building where he began loading the girls into his car. They obeyed, the trip settling in for at least one of them. He held a gun to the sober one’s back but Y/N in a flurry of indecision charged at the unsub.

“FBI! Stop or I’ll shoot!” She warned.

He drew his gun toward her but she shot his shoulder clean making his gun fly out of his hand. The man cried out, one hand falling on the gushing wound but he closed the door before the sober woman could get in, trapping her counterpart inside. He staggered toward the driver side and ducked into the car as she began to aim her gun at him again, threatening another offense.

Y/N reached out and pulled the girl from the skidding tires as he sped off before she could even process that the other girl was trapped inside. Once she did she began trying to shoot his tires out but to no avail. The girl was sobbing in her arms now, her tears bleeding through Y/N’s shirt that peaked out from above her Kevlar.

“You’re safe now, it’s okay,” she assured, “You’ve been drugged you need to be taken to a hospital,” Y/N said and almost as if on cue, Morgan could be heard behind her calling for a bus.

JJ came and took the sniffling victim from Y/N’s care allowing Reid to grab her shoulders and spin her around to face him. He inspected her facade for any damage but she brushed him off.

“I’m fine, Spence, but the other girl. We have to find her,” She grabbed his arm as he grabbed hers and they interlocked their forearms to reinforce some affection.

“You need to stop chasing after suspects with no backup. You’re being reckless and I’m taking you home, Y/N/N.” His voice was stern and she didn’t bother protesting from the way he looked at her.

Reid was fuming on the car ride home, the whites of his knuckles highlighted even in the darkness as he gripped the steering wheel. Y/N was curled against the passenger side door, wrapped in his sweater that she pulled taught around her frame.

“Can we please not fight when we get home?” He asked suddenly, voice breaking through the silence of the car, “I don’t want you to argue with me to go back into the field. This entire case has been so draining I just need you to understand seeing you do stuff like that— it kills me.”

“I know, Spence. Are you getting a headache?” She noticed him wince as someone passed with their high beams blazing. He groaned at the exposure, pinching the bridge of his nose and nodded.

She decided to make him some tea when they got home. Preparing the mug in the kitchen, she seeped the jasmine leaves and reached inside the cupboard for the mason jars she had filled with various dried herbs. Making the tea kept her mind occupied from the disrupting guilt she reserved for not saving the other girl. It was a guilt that clamped her arteries and made even the simplest tasks seem harrowing.

She put a pinch of dried rosemary and a drop or two of peppermint extract, stirring it in with some sugar. The sound of the metal spoon scraping the bottom of the glass brought her attention back to her task.

Her fingers coiled around the warm ceramic mug and she walked it carefully into the living room where Reid laid on the couch with a pillow pulled over his eyes. She took the hint and dimmed the lights but as she set down his tea he could already smell the additives.

Coupled with the headache, he’d never become genuinely upset over her affinity for the occult until now. He sat up with exasperation and picked it up, sniffing the steam to confirm his suspicions.

“Y/N, seriously?” He asked and looked up to her but his own voice made a piercing impact on his head.

“Seriously what?” She repeated defensively.

“You know what. I honestly can’t believe you. Especially after the case we just had,” he shook his head, laying back down.

“So you’re not even gonna drink it?” She asked, her face falling to an annoyed deadpan although he couldn’t see it.

“Jesus. No. I’m not. Can you just leave me alone for right now?” He asked finally.

A twinge of hurt stabbed her chest at the request and she took the mug as he pulled the pillow back over his face. In the darkness, he could see her pained expression etched into his vision. The shuffling in their bedroom intrigued him as well and he began to realize what he’d said. It blurred the agonizing migraine and caused him to sit up only moments later to apologize.

As he stared at the empty room he was startled by the sudden creek of their door from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he only caught the tail end of her jacket as she walked out. A raucous slam followed making him wince at the sound.

I really screwed up.

Reid pushed through the shroud of pain emanating from the fluorescence of the room, reaching forward for his own coat. A ripping agony followed and he doubled over, burying his face in his palms so he wasn’t staring at the light. A groan tore through the empty apartment as he tried to rub the headache away so he could chase after her.

Following Y/N proved to be farcical in his condition and he leaned against the couch in defeat, praying she’d just step outside for some fresh air.

Y/N stomped down the street with a quivering chin like a small child, sobs tearing through any muscle or fiber holding the sound in. People on the street avoided her state awkwardly, their gazes falling to the concrete when she’d pass. Humiliation was wrought in her mannerisms but she didn’t care. He told her to leave him alone over tea. She knew his migraines were the culprit but she couldn’t stay cooped up inside. There was a girl being tortured somewhere and she was sitting at home making tea with her boyfriend? There was something unfair to her about the situation.

She heard her phone trill a few times but ignored the noise, fleeing toward a local park down the street. She decidedly plopped down in the jagged blades of grass, kicking the shoes she threw on to the side so that she could feel the ground beneath her. She wanted to be as close to the ground as humanly possible to calm herself.

Every time she’d begin to soothe her cries her phone would ring bringing another wave of distraught. Through her tears, the world was a blur of velvet indigos distrusted suddenly by a dark shadow looming over her. She gasped in reaction but that’s all he gave her time to do before she felt his hand grab her head and pull her up by her jaw, his large gloved hands covering her entire face.

His fingers were sprawled apart so she could see herself being dragged away. Something bitter slipped onto her tongue and she tried to spit it out but the unsub locked her jaw shut to force the drug to work through her system. She tried to scream but with each muffled shrill he’d tighten his grip. Her teeth involuntarily grit against each other from the force and she screamed against her lips for help.

Y/N thrashed around as much as she could before she felt a pinprick in her right arm. Then the world shifted to a darker blue until her vision was gone completely.

Waking up in a wooded field sanctioned off from society’s wandering earshot, she felt the zip tie’s digging into her ankles and wrists. The skin had swelled around the bindings, causing excruciating pain whenever she’d move. She could feel her lip bleeding from being split by someone’s fists. Suddenly, a face fell before hers and began to cut the zip ties. Why was he cutting her loose?

“Good morning, sleepy head. You… you really messed my night up, you know that?” The man asked, his hand falling to her cheek.

Instead of skin she felt the smooth sensation of latex against her. The medicinal smell filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes, pretending she was in the hospital with Spencer there instead of him.

“How…” she found it harder to speak than normal, “How did I do that?”

“Clara. I had Clara picked out. She was the perfect one but you were jealous of her. You wanted me all to yourself. Envy is a sin,” his words were venomous.

He couldn’t have been much older than her, sand colored locks that fell in soft tufts around his face. He looked like a renaissance painting with a wicked possession, his blue eyes complimented by the crimson of his bloodshot waterline. When he smirked at her his face shifted from an archangel to that of a demon, waiting to consume her whole.

Then, she noticed the shifting movement beside her. The other victim was tied up beside her and groaned as she awoke. In the darkness even, Y/N could see the girl’s pupils were dilated. She suddenly began screaming and thrashing around violently, kicking at the open air as if there were a second offender in front of her.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, there’s nothing there!” Y/N tried but the girl couldn’t hear her, only the muffled calls of her hallucinations.

“Darcy, I need you to shut the fuck up sweetie,” the unsub grimaced.

She quieted down almost immediately but still shook in fear at whatever she was seeing before her.

Y/N turned back to the man in front of her, “Let her go. You don’t want her, you want me.”

“On the contrary, I want both of you,” he seemed coherent enough but was still clearly suffering a psychotic break. Psychopaths usually hid those breaks well.

“Why?” Y/N’s gaze suddenly shot straight through his, “You’re afraid if you touch us you’ll be infected with our sin?”

She made a move to spit in his face and he jumped back, yelling and wiping his face harshly with his sleeve. “You filthy bitch! My father will love you,” a smile etched across his face.

“Your father? Where’s your father?” She looked around for a partner but no one could be seen.

“The destroyer of souls of men. He bears the torch, the herald of dawn,” He spoke in his cryptic tongue but Y/N remembered Reid reciting certain portions of the Bible and poetry regarding Lucifer.

“Your father is the devil, right? Lucifer?” She asked.

He suddenly slapped her, the latex making the blow sting that much worse. Blood trickled from her teeth down her hanging lip but she sat back up despite the pain.

“My mom used to bathe me in bleach. She cleansed me of my sins. She’d scrub the chemicals into my back and say ‘Your daddy’s the devil.’” He seemed to find some inner turmoil with his logic but continued to quote his mother in a southern accent, “‘Your daddy is satan and you were born into this world as an abomination.’”

The M.O. and signature began to align with his claims, a severe case of germaphobia which rendered him unable to carry out the murders himself. He lets his victims do it for him.

As he spoke she watched his face begin to shift and swirl into a much eviler expression. His lips coiled into a smile, his eyes narrowing into black slits and his nose sunk into his skull. He began taking the form of a horrifying wraith, horns practically splintering out of his forehead. The trees began to sway and dance despite the lack of wind and the stars in the sky melted into glowing stalagmites that threatened her toward the ground.

Everything began to distort and she felt herself descend into horror. The acid was taking effect and as the girl’s blood curdling shrieks erupted beside her she began to put her head between her knees and sob. He rubbed her hair, sighing.

“Even the warriors must crumble. You’ll bow to my god,” he stood and suddenly tangled a fistful of hair into his hands, yanking her up along with Darcy.

Shrieking as the pain visualized before her in petrifying hallucinations she was positioned before the screaming girl. The unsub instructed Darcy to take the dagger from his hand and stab Y/N. She refused, shaking her head.

“It’s ok,” Y/N assured even as the trip progressed, “It’s ok. Just do what he says, I promise it’s ok.”

Darcy bawled as she hesitantly took the dagger. She walked toward Y/N and slowly drove the knife right beside her hip bone. She groaned, her hand falling forward onto Darcy’s shoulder. “Fuck,” she moaned as the squelching sound echoed through her head.

She keeled over the agony, wrapping her arms around herself. It was harrowing to have to pressurize a wound on oneself she found. Even the slightest touch against her cut felt like she was being stabbed repeatedly. She felt the cool tip of the Unsub’s gun push her up by her shoulder. That was when she realized only one of his hands were in use. The other one was still inflicted with the gunshot she fired. If she weren’t so high she would have used that to her advantage.

With the pain came even more disillusionment. She looked down at her palms and suddenly a bloodied dagger was grasped in them. “No, no, no,” she whispered.

Darcy pleaded for Y/N not to stab her and the agent had no intention of carrying out the Unsub’s fantasy.

“Kill me yourself you coward,” she spat, “I’m not hurting her.”

“I didn’t think you’d be persuaded that easily,” suddenly a gunshot cracked through the soundscape. It rang in Y/N’s ears causing her to buckle over in pain. Nothing seemed real. Her chest felt like it would tear open at any second, freeing her palpitating heart from it’s confides.

She watched the girl’s body fall limply before her and screamed out, racing to her side. The more she looked at the corpse the worse the gore progressed. Eventually, she was staring at a demon.

“FBI! Kye Alderwood, put your hands up!” Reid’s booming voice came from across the field. When she turned to look at him, though, he wasn’t himself.

He was taller, probably eight feet tall, and his body was stretched and elongated into a bony configuration. His face twisted and melted into a horrifying facade and he charged at her. His hands were giant daggers waiting to rip into her. She didn’t see the unsub aim his gun toward her but heard another shot fired. Suddenly, another demonic corpse laid beside her.

She couldn’t fathom grabbing the gun from the unsub’s vapid hands but there she was snatching the glock from the grass it was enveloped in. She didn’t comprehend that her boyfriend was in front of her. What she was seeing was a nightmare unfolding before her. The delusions were real. It was all real.

Reid stumbled back when he saw the gun pointed at him. He thought it was a mistake but when he saw her eyes he knew she wasn’t seeing him. Her paranoia was evident as she hyperventilated and her entire frame trembled, barely able to stand. Swaying back and forth and she wept he felt himself grow sick at the sight.

“Y/N! Put the gun down, honey, it’s just me,” he pleaded.

A sob broke through her voice, “Get away from me!”

“It’s Spencer, baby,” Now he was crying, terrified she’d pull the trigger. In any other circumstance this situation would have diffused by now but the LSD in her system turned her completely hysterical.

“Leave me alone!” The words being reflected back to him just wretched his heart further.

He wasn’t even pointing his own weapon at her anymore. He stopped pointing it at her the second he recognized her. Now it was pointed askew, the barrel facing the grass beside him. Neither of them could have aimed a gun at one another in the right mindset where she didn’t reside for the time being.

Seemingly, her psychosis seemed to penetrate any affection they shared. Beads of sweat formed on her skin as she held the gun steadily toward his frame. He knew if she shot him it’d be a kill shot. She had the best aim on the team.

“Please, baby, I love you so much. Just put the gun down I won’t hurt you,” Reid persisted through it as he heard reinforcements file in behind him. He spun around, waving Morgan, Hotch, and Emily away.

“Don’t come any closer! She’s drugged, she can’t help it and I swear to God if you shoot her I’ll resign!” He warned the other agents who heeded his warning despite the alarming display before them. They still kept their guns aimed at their teammate in allegiance to the judicial implications.

Y/N’s trip began to peak, the world around her becoming unrecognizable in the heap of apparitions that surrounded her. She screamed as misshapen, flesh colored bats charged down at her, flying toward her and swatted them away.

Reid watched her pushing and swatting away imaginary attackers and took the opportunity to run toward her. She screamed and thrashed around in his arms, clawing his skin and kicking at his legs behind her.

Everything looked like bloody flesh. Every blade of grass felt like rusty nails driven through her feet. She felt like she was coiled in the death grip of an anaconda.

“Stop! Stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself!” He tightened his grip on her and used one leg to pin both of hers against his other one. She was completely entangled in him again and the familiarity of his cologne instantly calmed her, he thought. As fell completely limp, relief deluged his psyche only to be matched with her sudden convulsions.

She slipped into a violent seizure, shaking and jarring her body as he lowered her onto the ground and to her side. Hotch and Emily fell beside him and he watched blood seep from her nose and mix with the medley of blood on her lips. He was whimpering as he tried to relax her muscles and barking orders to the others surrounding him. Eventually, her shaking form was taken by the EMTS who were already on the scene. He stood in the wake of the scene, bodies strewn about him wondering what she saw him as that terrified her so.

She was treated for an overdose in the hospital and as Reid entered her room he saw her small figure curled up on the hospital bed. He felt his heart shatter for the hundredth time that night as he floated toward her like a ghost. Placing his hand on her arm, she jumped suddenly startling him as well. He didn’t expect her to be awake so soon. if

“Jesus,” he breathed out, clutching his chest.

She flipped over to face him and couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Dork,” she said hoarsely. The way her inflection cracked made him frown in response.

“I don’t even,” he struggled to find the right words, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I tried to kill you, Spencer,” she began to recollect the happenstances, “I could have killed you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know it’s going to be hard for us to get back to normal.”

“You had ten times a normal recreational dose of LSD in your system. That wasn’t you,” he assured.

She nodded softly and scooted back, patting the vacant place beside her on the hospital bed.

“I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you,” as the sentence stumbled out of his mouth he couldn’t help but start crying again.

He was surprised he didn’t bawl himself into dehydration on the way to the hospital. She reached up and grabbed his wrist, leading him down to her where he crawled beside her.

Cupping his face in her hands she felt the sticky coagulation of tears that caked his face. Pulling him toward her, their lips locked and worked against one another before completely enveloping one another in devotion.

Pulling away she caught his glassy irises with hers, “You could never hurt me. Not really,” she replied.

“But I did. I told you to leave me alone and you left and had to go through…” he decided not to bring up the trauma.

She couldn’t remember the trip itself, only what she did during it. He didn’t want to bring it up and trigger an acid flashback.

“I left because I was hurt, yeah, but you didn’t hurt me. I felt so guilty about leaving Clara with the unsub that I thought making you that tea would help me feel better. We should have just stayed in the field, maybe we could have caught him before he killed anyone,” she sighed.

Reid nodded and kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead, then peppered the rest of her face with the same affection.

She ran her fingers over the skin on his arm and felt raised scar tissue in her wake. Looking down, bruises and scars were freckles across the pale vastness of his arm. She choked back, her hand falling to her lips.

“Did I do this to you?” She asked, her eyes glued to the cuts now.

He craved for her relief so he shook his head. “I don’t remember where I got them but it wasn’t because of you,” He lied. Realistically, she’d clawed and cut his arms until she began seizing. The cocktail of drugs in her system left him a stranger to her while she was high.

She nodded, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“There’s no way we could have known. I need you to not blame yourself for this because if you do I won’t be able to live with myself. This wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he snaked his arms around her waist carefully, avoiding her bandages.

“I know, I know,” she sighed and nestled into the crook of his neck, “I promise I won’t make you anymore occultist migraine tea.”

He pulled his chin from resting at the top of her head to look at her. He suddenly cupped her cheeks now and made sure she understood.

“Please, never stop making me migraine tea again,” he said before pulling her into a kiss again.

FULL SUMMARY:

Reid and Reader are dating when a case involving the occult dredges up turmoil between the happy couple. The case being difficult enough, the resemblance between the Reader and the victims leaves Reid uneasy. After Reader disrupts the Unsub’s routine she becomes a target. After Reid fights with the Reader because of a migraine, she is taken hostage by unsub and is drugged with LSD and nearly shoots Spencer while tripping.

[animemangasoul]

Follow Me

Chapter 4/50 -  Worth It

Obanai would be lying if he didn’t say pure relief coursed through his veins at the sight of the mansion. It was as big and as welcoming as he remembered it to be, and the snake pillar found his shoulders unconsciously loosening as him and the kid looked up at the metal gates currently keeping them out.

With a soft creek and a light clicking noise, the metal bars protecting the estate from the outside world fell open; welcoming them in. For just a moment, Iguro almost reached behind him to grip the kid’s haori like he’d been doing the first couple of hellish days in their journey, but thankfully stopped himself in time. The brat was fine. He could move on his own.

He’d been doing it for the past few days, hadn't he.

The snake pillar started walking without looking back, and after a momentary pause in-between, his ears registered the soft patter of familiar footsteps following behind him. A wisp of unrest flickering in his stomach subsided. Obanai didn’t care to try and decipher the reason why.

Silently they made their way through the long trek up to the front doors, and before the pillar even had the chance to lift a hand to knock, a click was heard and both doors slide open. Revealing an old man with slightly crouched over figure, but the most kindest of smiles painting his lips.

Obanai couldn’t help the slight curl of his own mouth to match the man standing in front of him. “Yamaura-san,” he muttered; tone tilting up in warmth. “It’s good to see you again.”

The old man reached out to touch his arm. Iguro let him, and when the old man’s smile widened even further, the snake pillar found himself covering the wrinkled fingers with his own dirty palm.  

“It’s been too long,” Yamuara-san muttered. “Welcome back Iguro-sama.”

Frowning, Iguro pats the old hand twice, before gently scolding his friend. “It’s Obanai,” he huffs. “I thought we agreed to drop the formalities.” Yamaura-san's eyes-only twinkle with mirth and a short nod of his head indicates he’s only agreeing as not to upset him. Obanai just shakes his head in amusement and allows himself to be led into the mansion; the kid following close behind. The brat had yet to say anything after their last training, which was approximately six hours ago. The pillar would have been concerned if he’d cared enough about the kid in the first place. He didn’t, so he wasn’t.

“Who is your little companion?” Yamaura-san asks as he leads them through a series of corridors and down a series of more.

“He’s Kuwajima-san's former student. Sadly Kuwajima-san passed away during a demon attack, so I brought the kid here to be cared for till further arrangements can be made.” He says all this with a straight face and a slight frown shadowing his mouth. For some reason, the decision isn’t bringing him the relief he thought it would.  

No matter, he had accomplished what he’d set out to do and now it was up to Yamaura-san and his wife to take care of the rest.

“I see,” his old friend hums. “Then it is good that you brought him here Iguro-sama. I promise me and my wife will take good care of him.” Here he turns around to look back at them both; eyes focusing on the kid standing slightly behind him. Yamaura-san's smile is gentle. “You have nothing to be scared of anymore child,” he says. “You are safe here.”

From the corner of his eye, Obanai sees the kid nod. A tiny jerky movement of his head, but it was a deliberate action to confirm he was listening and was understanding. That’s more than Iguro had hoped the kid was capable off in his current zoned out condition.

It looked like he hadn’t fallen back into his old catatonic state then.  

Muscles that the pillar didn’t even know were tense, slowly relaxed in his body, and the snake pillar breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Good good,” the old man mumbled, turning around to walk ahead of them again.

Nothing else is said between all parties until they reach a large white room that is from wall to wall decorated with all types of medical equipment.  

Obanai’s eyes grow soft at the sight. Of course, the old man was worried. He always was.  

“I’m fine Yamaura-san,” he says, even as he allows his friend to lead him by the arm over to a lady clad in white; waiting patiently by a hospital bed.  

“Let us determine that for ourselves,” Yamaura-san fires back. Going over to Zenitsu and leading him over to the other bed by the window. “I would feel much better knowing you’re both ok if I hear it from a qualified medical professional, Iguro-sama. Now if you will allow these doctors to take a look at you both, I would be entirely grateful.”

He’d never managed to say no to Yamaura-san or his wife before and Obanai was certain he wasn’t about to manage that feat now, so he keeps his mouth shut and let the lady examine his wounds.

Nodding in satisfaction, the old man gives them both one last warning look before walking out the door. “I’ll make sure to inform Fuyuko to prepare two adjacent rooms for you both”

With those final words, he disappeared around the corner and left his visitors in the hands of his staff.

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

The kid’s examination was done and over with faster than Obanai could get out of his outer clothes. And although that was a relief. Said feeling of finally having something go his way, quickly goes down the drain as the face of his doctor becomes more and more sour with each untended injury she discovers on his body. “Honestly you slayers,” she grumbled; cleaning up the shallow cut under bruised ribs. “It’s a wonder you lot don’t just keel over by yourself without the help of a demon.”

Obanai opted to keep his mouth shut during the whole rant. It wouldn’t do to protest his innocence when this woman was currently holding a needle to his arm; stitching up a deeper and almost festering cut that she’d spent the better part of five minutes cleaning. But nothing compares to the utmost horror carved across her face when her attention is finally directed towards his leg.  

“Dear God,” she whispered, slowly taking in what she later called almost too infected to save. “What are you kids doing to yourself out there.”

The snake pillar had closed his eyes at this point. Relaxing to the best of his abilities as he let his mind drift to the objectives he had to accomplish; while his wounds were currently being treated. He’d refused any sort of pain numbing medications, and even if his skin burned at every prod and piercing of the needle, he was still relieved that his mind was still his to control during the whole procedure.  

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

Eventually he was let out. He was however, not let go until he had suffered through an earful of not putting any unnecessary pressure on his right leg. “You could have lost it,” Hanako-san had said; the barely visible wrinkles by her eyes deepening in worry. “You need to be careful or I won’t be able to do anything next time.”

Obanai nods; a cane supporting most of his weight. “I understand Hanako-san. Thank you.” The gratitude comes out flat, but the doctor doesn’t seem to mind all that much, only giving him a hard stare, before finally nodding and opening the door for him.  

“Well then,” she says. “You’re free to go for now. But please do check in with me tomorrow and try not to aggravate your fractured ribs either.”

He hums in agreement and tilts his head towards the door at the brat, indicating that it was time to go. The kid had barely made any sound the whole time they’d been here. Choosing instead to sit silently by the corner as Obanai’s examination was carefully being conducted. The only time he’d looked up was when the older had hissed loudly in pain when the alcohol had been applied to his infected leg. The utter paleness of the kid’s face had made the pillar make a visible effort to bite back his pain even when he’d wanted to curse out loud and snap at everyone and everything. The brat didn’t need any more trauma added to his current pile of issues. God knew Obanai couldn’t handle another three days of wondering whether the kid would ever recover from the vegetative state he’d been in.  

The demon slayer’s gut twists at the memory of those days. Of those unseeing blank eyes.

As long as he kept the idiot from ever going back to that, Obanai would allow himself the chance to pretend he hadn’t yet let down Kuwajima-san.

“Let’s go kid,” he ordered; hobbling with all the grace of a wounded animal as he slowly made his way towards where he hoped Yamaura-san and Fuyuko were waiting for them.  

Zenitsu hopped down from the bed where he’d been swinging his legs back and forth absentmindedly and; with his head down, trudged of silently after him.

They find Fuyuko by herself in the kitchen. “Iguro-sama,” she exclaims; brightening up nine times more than should be humanly possible, as she shuffles over to him and wraps her frail arms around his waist “Dear boy,” she mutters into his chest. “We have all missed you so much.”

She doesn’t let him reply; quickly letting go to embrace the kid behind him with the same vigor. “Oh, sweet child,” she fuzzes; cupping the surprised Zenitsu by the cheek and looking at him up and down. “I heard about Jigoro-san. I’m so sorry hun.” Each of her words felt as if it broke something lose within the kid, because by the time Fuyuko mentioned the old man, the kid's lips were quivering, and his eyes were glassy.  

“You knew gramps?” he asks; words hitching in his throat and tears finally breaking free behind their barriers to roll down his cheeks in waves of grief.  

“Oh, my dear boy.”  

Fuyuko hugs him again, and it's as if that’s exactly what the kid’s been needing all this time, because Zenitsu sobs loudly and buries his face in the crook of the old lady neck; arms coming up to circle around her waist and shoulders shaking with uncontrollable grief.

It hurts, Obanai realizes then. It hurts for reasons he can’t fully understand to see this kid suffer through so much pain because he hadn’t been able to arrive even a week earlier. Hadn’t been able to keep the kid’s family together. He-

As he watches Fuyuko shush the brat with gentle words of love and kindness, he lets his eyes wander to his own arm resting lifelessly by his side and nods to himself.

He’d done the right thing. Bringing Zenitsu here.  

It was the right thing to do.

Leaving him here.

Fuyuko and Yamaura-san would take care of him, he knew they would.

Turning around, he walks out of the kitchen to find his old friend.  

It wasn’t his place to intrude upon their moment of shared grief. He had business to conduct and messages to send out before he left for his next mission. Before he left Zenitsu behind.

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

He’s in his room, finishing up detailed analysis about the unusual massacre that took place in Zenitsu’s village for Oyakata-sama, when he hears a soft knock coming from his door.  

“Come in,” he calls out; quickly noting down his thoughts about the upper moon demon, what he’d concluded about her and her abnormal behaviour and what that might mean in the grand scheme of things.

A blonde head pops through the gap of the now open door. Obanai can see him from the corner of his eye, and so doesn’t turn around to look at him. The kid fidgets in place for a couple of seconds, before finally deciding to say anything of note.  

“Obanai-senpai?”

Briefly the snake pillar wonders why he’s letting the kid call him by his first name so casually, but he pushes the thought aside for another day, and continues to write; letting out a soft hum to indicate he was listening.

“Um,” the kid mumbles; clearly nervous by the way he’s yet to fully step into the room. “Fuyuko-chan told me to tell you that di... that dinner is ready?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement, and Obanai contemplates calling him out on his indecisiveness, but dismisses it just as quick.

It looked like the kid had somehow managed to break out of his shell for the time being. It wouldn’t do to push him right back in. So-

“I’ll be there in a few,” he says; not taking his eye from the paper in front of him. The kid lingers for just a second longer, before excusing himself quickly and scuttling away. Realizing Obanai wasn’t about to say anything else to him.

Sighing, the snake pillar jots down a couple more words, but not wanting to offend Fuyuko and Yamaura-san, he is putting everything away soon enough and dragging himself back on his feet; careful not to aggravate his injured leg.  

When he finally arrives at the dining hall, all parties are seated and waiting for him. Bowing to them in short apology, he takes his place across Zenitsu and puts his hands in his lap. Fuyuko is already filling up plates for everyone. She’s currently mounting heaps of food on the kid’s plate, and Obanai isn’t paying too much attention to it all, when he spots the light grimace that passes over the kid’s face. Turning around to look at Fuyuko again, he sees her adding seeded rolls onto the kid’s plate. 'Looks like the kid doesn't like it,' he thinks absentmindedly, watching the blonde barely keep the expression of disgust off his face.

Obanai would have been almost amused by the kid's dilemma, if he didn’t sympathize with him when it came to those abominations. He didn’t like them much either and Fuyuko had never figured out that he’d been forcing himself to eat the rolls for weeks while he’d lived with them.  

Now the kid was going to suffer through the same horrifying experience, unless-

When all the plates are served, and all the seeded rolls are distributed to the four occupants around the dining table, Obanai takes a deep breath, steels himself and without allowing himself the chance to back down, reaches across the table with his chop sticks and pilfers three out of the four rolls from the brat’s plate.  

The blonde stares at him in surprise and Fuyuko frowns at him in disapproval; not voicing her opinion despite clearly wanting to. The expression eases of her face, when Obanai takes some of the meat and rice of his own plates and dumps them into the kid’s.  

That should do it.

He doesn't say anything else. Just takes of his bandages; making sure to have them right next to him – fingers resting atop of them to keep any old memories from resurfacing, as he takes his first bite out of the abomination of a roll.  

Chewing with jaw locked, Obanai looks up and sees a sort of happy little smile dancing across the kid’s face as he chews on the extra meat on his plate, and-

Swallowing down the dry thing in his mouth, the pillar licks his lips and takes another bite.  

He could do this. He’d done it before.

So what if he was eating more of these things than all the other times combined? Iguro could handle it, and maybe - maybe seeing the kid look just the tiniest bit happier; sitting there, across the table made it kind of worth it in the end.

Maybe.

[the-witch-and-her-husbands]

In the Bedroom

Once they were in his bedroom with the door shut behind them, Asmodeus gently put her down in the middle of his large bed.

It took up nearly the entire room, a virtually endless expanse of black. Black wooden bed frame, black silk sheets, black furs, black fleece and wool blankets. Jilomena looked even paler against all of that darkness, hair fanning out like a golden waterfall.

He all but fell upon her, kissing her as if their very lives depended upon it. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him as close as humanly possible. She pulled and tugged at his clothing, desperate to feel his skin against hers.

He snapped his fingers and suddenly she was completely naked before him. Before she even had a chance to gasp, he snapped them again and so was he.

Merlin, he was perfect. She was practically drooling with desire as he knelt on the bed in front of her. Her hands roamed restlessly, wanting to touch, to explore every inch of his perfect solid body. He wasn’t a muscle Mary, far from it, but he was sturdy, with even a tiny hint of a paunch. More of him to cuddle. Men who were too thin just weren’t very attractive, in her opinion.

He wasn’t particularly hairy. A few sparse hairs grew from his chest, almost as if they were an afterthought. But he made up for it by having a nicely defined happy trail, leading to the Promised Land.

Her gaze followed the patch of hair downwards. Oh, that cock. It was magnificent, the perfect size. Not too short, not too long, just the right girth. It was as if he’d been made for her. She squirmed, already imagining how it would feel stretching her walls, filling her nice and deep but without any actual discomfort.

She reached for him, eyes shining with excitement. He let her play with and fondle him for a few moments before taking her hands in his. He held them tightly, easing her back onto the bed as he kissed her all the while.

The kisses grew heated, trailing along her jaw and down her neck. She moaned with pleasure, arching against him, body on fire for more. More of his lips, more of his touch, more of him.

He kissed his way down her chest and between her breasts, letting go of her hands so he could fondle them, squeezing them with just the right amount of pressure. He lowered her head to a nipple and began to lick and suck while she writhed underneath him.

‘Asmodeus. Please!’

But he wasn’t to be rushed. He abandoned her nipple with a gentle bite, before turning his attention to the other.

She was nearly insensate with pleasure, only wanting him inside her, needing to be fucked with growing desperation.

‘Asmodeus!’

Finally, he had had his fill. He kissed his way down her stomach, pausing between her legs to look up at her. She could feel his breath on her mound, and was tempted to beg him to eat her out. However, all she could think about was being filled with that glorious cock.

‘Fuck me, Asmodeus. Please!’

He pulled her legs apart a little further. The movement was a little rough, but she wasn’t complaining. He settled between them, reaching a hand to help place himself at her entrance.

He paused for a moment, grinning at her with delight. His eyes seemed to glow red momentarily. A trick of the firelight. Now they were a warm amber, almost the colour of honey as he seemingly looked into her soul.

A slow thrust of his hips and he was inside her. She cried out with delight as she was filled. It felt every bit as good as she had imagined, and then some.

‘Fuck!’ He hissed, throwing his head back. He held relatively still for a moment. Once she’d gotten used to the feel of him he began to move his hips quickly, pulling nearly all the way out to slam back in.

She gripped his shoulders tightly as he thrust inside of her. Initially she tried to match his movements, but he was going fast and hard. She opted to let him set the pace; it felt so GOOD. Both of them seemed to desire this animalistic consummation of their lust. Perhaps there would be time for gentle lovemaking later. At this particular moment in time, she cared for nothing but the feeling of him filling her.

The bed rocked furiously, the wood groaning in protest. So hard, so fast. So intense, like nothing she’d ever felt. She was already getting close. ‘Asmodeus,’ she moaned softly, lightly scratching her nails down his back.

‘Yesss,’ he hissed, the sound almost guttural compared to his normal smooth tones. ‘Come for me!’

Being commanded to let go was all she needed to tip her over the edge. She came hard on his cock with a near scream of pleasure.

‘Good girl.’ His movements got faster, more erratic. She clung to him tightly.

He came with a loud shout. She swore she could feel his come coating her inner walls in hot spurts, and there was a strange smell in her nostrils. It reminded her on some subconscious level of the smell of some of the more sulphuric compounds in the Apothecary, but it was gone as quickly as it came and there was now only his cologne, and the wood from the fire. A second orgasm was overtaking her and she came with him. There was no time to think too hard, only to feel as she lost herself. That was a first, she’d never come so quickly a second time in succession before.

He collapsed on top of her, both of them panting as if they’d just run a marathon. Her senses were in a spin. ‘Wow,’ she managed at last. ‘That was...wow.’ So eloquent, but coherence was beyond her in that moment.

He kissed her almost lazily before rolling off to lay next to her, pulling her into his arms and close to his body. ‘Best I’ve ever had,’ he murmured with a grin. ‘I think I’ll keep you.’

She smiled at this, face lighting up in pure delight. Keep her? Really? But surely that was the afterglow talking.

A yawn escaped her. It had been a long day and she was too tired to think. She’d worry about it later. Right now, she only wanted to sleep.

She snuggled into his chest and closed her eyes. His arms enfolded her and she slept deeply.

[supremehavok]

Keep Yourself Alive |||

(Penelope)

S1 prologue Part 1 Part 2

A/N: I love being complicated so this is KYA part 3 but focused strictly on how the reader tells Garcia that she is pregnant💕

__

For composure (Y/n) went to bed with her phone still on the coffee table. Unable to just lull herself to sleep in that moment (Y/n) turned on her side and as her cheek rested against the cold linen her mind thought of a million things at once. A minute felt like an eternity as she got lost in her thoughts that just didn’t seem like stopping. Marriage? No, not just marriage, a marriage with Spencer. Spencer Reid, boy genius, sweetest man alive, the father of her unborn child. The answer should be right in front of her, but it just wasn’t. It was even more strange that (Y/n) hadn’t even thought of marriage til Spencer brought it up, even as they discussed where to move and how much money they would put aside for the next few months. Marriage was never a focal point. Did (Y/n) even want to marry Spencer, does Spencer even really want to marry (Y/n)?

When it was all said and done a white wedding sounded perfect. It felt like the most sensible thing to do, with her and Spencer back together after a year. The next step after jumping the gun and getting pregnant was a big beautiful wedding.

(Y/n) Reid?

Special Agent (Y/n) Reid?

Dr. and Mrs. Reid?

__

The next morning (Y/n) nearly threw herself out of bed as her alarm clock chirped it’s horrific tune. 6 am, but with a catch. Earlier in the week (Y/n) promised her favorite tech analyst coffee and a blueberry muffin first thing in the morning. Only problem was the nearest coffee shop just happened to be twenty five minutes out of her driving route to work, it was Spencer’s coffee shop next to his apartment.

Throwing her sweater on (Y/n) grabbed her bag and walked briskly down the corridor to the elevator and into the lobby. Once her car started and she was out of the parking lot (Y/n) felt her muscles relax against her cushioned seat, but her hands felt slippery on the steering wheel. Whether the conversation ended good or bad she needed to talk to Spencer; she reached into her bag and let her fingers feel around for her cellphone. But nothing.

“Dammit,” (Y/n) muttered under her breath, she gripped the steering wheel with big hands again with a tight grip. There was no time to circle back and all (Y/n) could think about was the long line that awaited her. She sighed and kept on driving on autopilot.

Her little car smelled of warm baked goods and French roast, vanilla from sweetener and a subtle fragrance of pound cake in the passenger seat. The drive to Quantico almost felt blissful, but (Y/n) made herself come back down from bakery heaven when it occurred to her just how claustrophobic her work day was about to become. All the whispering across desks just to converse with Spencer in complete secrecy, talking in corners outside of the bullpen.

The minute (Y/n) opened the door to the office she whipped her head around on the lookout for Spencer. He wasn’t at his desk, he didn’t appear to be in Hotch’s office. (Y/n) bit the inside of her cheek and sped across the bullpen to her desk to drop her bag off under her chair. On the way to Garcia’s den (Y/n) also looked both ways as not to cross paths with her love.

“Enter,” Penelope’s voice chimed once (Y/n) knocked. Garcia’s lair always smelled nice, either from her perfume or from the sage she periodically burned. Penelope’s eyes lit up and seemed to double in size once she spun around in her chair, she opened her arms graciously “Work wife!”.

“Good morning my love. I come bearing gifts” (Y/n) held the paper bag and cup holder up.

“Oh I love you. I mean it. Die for you, walk on broken glass for you, give up all of my shoes for you”.

“Garcy we all know you’re not giving up your shoes for anyone, but I appreciate the thought,” (Y/n) took her own coffee from the holder once Garcia set everything down at her desk.

“Since when do you drink decaf?” Penelope giggled.

“Since always” (Y/n) couldn’t even convince herself of that simple lie. To help her disruption she raised her eyebrow and turned the cup in her hand around so the words “Decaf” that were written in sharpie across the side weren’t visible anymore.

“False, dear. Ever since I’ve known you you’ve always had a double Americano with steamed milk. I don’t know how you could even stand to drink decaffeinated Americano” Garcia grimaced and exaggerated a disgusted expression with her tongue out for effect.

“Yeah, well now I drink it decaf. I hate the jitters”, but taking that first sip it took all the strength (Y/n) had to not spit the entire thing out. Maybe it was all in her head but it wasn’t the same piping hot drink she desired nearly every morning.

“Doll you love the jitters you live for the jitters. So what’s really going on with you?”.

“Nothing, really”.

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. An almost violent urge to pee. (Y/n) held her legs together instinctively and followed with a muttered, “Be right back” before she speed walked stiffly out the room and down the hall to the bathrooms. When (Y/n) returned Garcia looked like she barely moved, sitting there with a very suspicious smile on her face.

“What was that all about?,” she asked.

“I just had to use the bathroom” (Y/n) said a bit breathlessly.

“Mhm alright. Back to your coffee I-“

“Garcia my coffee is fine and so am I. I just didn’t want any caffeine this morning”.

Just as (Y/n) leaned herself against an edge of Garcia’s desk while they conversed on less interrogatory topics she began to feel the same urgent, knot tightening feeling again.

“Garcia hold that thought I really have to use the bathroom again”.

“Wait what?,” but before (Y/n) could answer, Penelope thought quickly and jumped from her seat and placed herself right in front of her door. Crossing her arms in front of her chest Penelope attempted to stand with authority.

“Garcia I really need to use the bathroom. Can you move please?”.

“No, not until you tell me what you’re hiding from me. You all may be profilers but I can smell lies and right now you’re stinking up my entire lair and I don’t appreciate it,” Garcia pointed an accusing, hot pink polished finger at (Y/n) as she moved uncomfortably in her spot in front of her.

“Would you rather me surrounding you lair with me ‘lies’ or would you rather I pissed myself right on your floor?”.

“You wouldn’t” Garcia narrowed her eyes.

“I will if you leave me no other option,” (Y/n) withered in her spot as her muscles contracted and uncontracted with the immense pressure building up.

(Y/n) could see Garcia weighing her options rather obviously. Keeping her body in front of the door Penelope crossed her arms once again and said, “Do it”.

“Oh for the love of God Penelope!” (Y/n) groaned.

“Tell me what you’re hiding from me!”

“You’ve gone insane, Garcia”.

“We’ve been friends for almost ten years you should be able to tell me when something’s wrong. You’ve trusted me with everything up until now”.

“Goddammit fine! I’m pregnant!,” (Y/n) yelled almost victoriously.

Penelope’s eyes became the size of dinner plates, her mouth opened as far as humanly possible and she felt like her legs might give out from her shock.

“Oh my god,” Garcia gasped.

“Pen, I promise I will talk to you about it in a minute just please let me use the bathroom”.

“Oh right sorry!,” Garcia moved aside as (Y/n) ran past her. This gave Penelope time to compose herself. Breathe, breathe, breathe. In and out, in and out.

“Alright,” (Y/n) came back and settled herself against Garcia’s desk. “I ju-“, (Y/n) couldn’t even finish the beginning of her sentence before Penelope reached out and laid her hands on (Y/n)’s stomach. Only four weeks along so there wasn’t much change, maybe a little bit rounder, but not yet a full bump.

“You have life inside of you, (Y/n). Like you are creating a tiny, little, adorable life” Garcia continued to gawk and ramble. When she talked it felt like she was in her own little world.

“Garcia,” (Y/n) laughed, “focus”.

“Right, right. Sorry. Ummm, who’s the father? Have you been seeing someone I don’t know about?”.

For security and in the event Penelope started jumping about (Y/n) took her hand in hers and gave it a loving squeeze, “Spencer”.

“Sp-Spencer? You and Spencer? You’re back together? Oh my god you two are back together and having little baby geniuses”

(Y/n) laughed, it all sounded so wonderful when Penelope said it, like a fantasy world.

“I didn’t think this would ever happen again, (Y/n). I mean you were so great together and then everything changed: your brother, you left the team, you were working in New York. And then poor Reid, last year was really hard for him, even if he never told you he wasn’t completely the same when you left”, Garcia squeezed (Y/n)’s hand back as her voice became quiet, sincerity was important right now. “I’m so happy for you”.

“Thank you. Garcy I don’t know what I’m gonna do”, (Y/n) leaned her head in the support of Penelope’s hand.

“What’s stressing you?”.

“I love Spencer, so much. I’m happy, but it’s different”.

“What’s different?”.

“Us. We’re different. Garcia, he asked me if we were gonna get married. A year ago I would be over the moon if Spence wanted to get married, but it’s different now”.

“How-“, Garcia’s door opened and Spencer stuck his head out from the gap.

“Garcia have you seen-“, (Y/n) stood up, she knew he was looking for her. No phone usually meant worrisome people on the hunt. “Hey”, Spencer said softly.

“Hey”.

“Can we talk?”.

(Y/n) nodded. The way Spencer talked always made the anxiety fade, the gentle tone of his voice and the adoration he always kept in his eyes when he looked at (Y/n) kept any kind of tension at bay. The two walked down the hall to the stairwell. Before anyone said a word Spencer placed a sweet kiss on (Y/n)’s forehead, he let his hands rest at her side comfortably.

“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have texted you something like that I just-I didn’t know what you wanted. I know you said you would move in with me and I know how I feel about you. I love you”, Spencer spoke softly in a low whisper.

“I love you too Spence. It’s just...it all feels so fast. One minute I’m having the most amazing night with you and the next we’re hearing wedding bells”, (Y/n) watched as Spencer’s expression dropped, he kept trying to regain a lift in his expression so he wouldn’t give away his immediate embarrassment.

“You’re hearing wedding bells or am I hearing wedding bells? Cause from here it looks like I’m the only one even considering the possibility”.

“Spence, we just got back together. I barely talked to you in the last year and now this?”, (Y/n) struggled to keep her volume at bay as it fluctuated the more frazzled she felt herself become.

“(Y/n) we have almost ten years of history, not to mention four of those years were us in an actual relationship. If you don’t know if you’d marry me after all of that then I have a good feeling I could answer that for you”, (Y/n) suddenly reached out and took ahold of Spencer by his forearm. She was instantly afraid that he’d walk away, yet he was speaking so calmly.

“I want to marry you. I just don’t want it to only be because...of what we did”, (Y/n) felt Spencer take the arm she had a grip on and trail his fingers lightly across her clothed stomach. He kept his eyes on the area as his fingers rested at the slight curve in (Y/n)’s stomach that had just barely begun to form.

“It wouldn’t just be that,” Spencer shook his head “ We can say that we were together for four years but I’ve loved you for so much longer than that. And if one day I bring it up again and if by any chance you say yes I promise you I will spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how much you mean to me”.

(Y/n) opened her mouth to speak but her lips just tremble. (Y/n) took a deep breath before suddenly taking Spencer by the back of his neck, pulling him into a fervent kiss under the flickering light in the stairwell. It nearly took Spencer’s breath away, it was nothing like their first kiss, not even like their kisses during their first time. It felt like the room became a hundred degrees warmer and when it was time (Y/n) wanted anything but to let go, to just turn around and walk to her desk for ten hours.

Spencer ran his hands up to her hair, it took everything in his power to start something he sure as hell couldn't finish in a government stairwell, so he settled for a forceful kiss on (Y/n)’s warm cheek. He loved when he could feel her smile as he peppered gentle kisses over her face.