#and the 6 members are like a little family

[crilbyte]

💚🎙️Hunted🎙️💚

~Reader x Human!Alastor🪓

Part 1 𖦹 Part 2 𖦹 Part 3 𖦹 Part 4 𖦹 Part 5 𖦹 Part 6

Summary: Alastor begins picking off Members of the Tully family one by one. Everything is going perfectly until one night when you can't sleep...

Warnings/Promises: 16+, slow burn, abusive relationship, murder, violence, torture, cannibalism.

The look of joy on your face as you eat his cooking makes Alastor want to sing. He did at the dining room table, chin resting in one propped up hand while the other drums little rhythms into the wood. His grin can only be described as whimsical as he watches you eat. Every bite you take makes your eyes sparkle, your smile bigger. Eh barely stand it, the pleased noises you make at the flavor.

It made him positively *ravenous.*

It was curious. He'd only ever felt this way during a hunt before now. He reveled in the fact that you could bring him this feeling. He feels a very long and impactful partnership cementing.

“Am I to assume you are enjoying the gumbo, my dear?” He asks, tilting his head with a grin.

“Oh, *god* yes,” you respond with a moan. “Alastor, you've always been a good cook but this is positively *delicious*. What's the secret?”

*He can feel the life draining from his kill as the blood drains out of its neck and down his arm.*

“It's my mother's recipe,” he says, waving you off.

*The gurgling of final breaths delighting him as fingers grope uselessly at his chest.*

“It's more than that. You've made me gumbo before. This is… different.”

*The pleads for freedom sounding like a familiar tune, one he could hum in his sleep. The way they try to touch on his humanity, as though he'd ever had that to begin with.*

“You're really going to make me reveal my secrets?” He asks, playfully.

*The look in their eyes when they realize they're already dead, that there's still minutes left but they're already past the point of no return. That sudden loss of any hope.*

“If I can,” you giggle. “This is way too good. Whatever it is, you need to do it more often. I swear, I'll get fat.”

*The feeling of a freshly sharpened knife slicing through hot muscle, choosing only the finest cuts for his pot.*

“It's fresh meat,” he answers. “From my last hunt.”

*He licks his blade clean. Only the best for your supper.*

“Can I have seconds?” You ask, batting your eyelashes sweetly.

*The finest revenge.*

“Of course, my dear.” Alastor stands, taking your bowl to the kitchen and ladling out another portion for you. He brings it back, setting it on the table and watching gleefully as you begin to happily dig in.

They had attempted to destroy you. Destroy your life…

It was only fair that now they should help sustain it…

The first two weeks Alastor went out every night. He did research, reconnaissance, and a fair bit of stalking. On the 13th day, ironically enough, Alastor found himself the perfect opportunity. He had been following Reggie, learning his routine. He wasn't a Tully, but he had dared to disclose your location to their filthy sights, so he'd have to go too.

It wasn't even difficult. He caught him on the way out of another speakeasy. The idiot was so blotto that he didn't even have to knock him out to get him back to his cabin. He dragged the sad sap into the woods and into the confines of his shed, the last four walls he would ever see, and tied him down. He’d wanted to take his time with him but it had been so long since he'd last gone hunting that he couldn't seem to hold himself back.

He had made a wonderful jambalaya. His meat lasted a good few weeks.

His next victim had been your darling sister in law. She was especially fun. He'd happened upon her walking home from the shops in the rain. Being the gentleman he was, he offered her a ride. She begged quite a bit, but she stopped after he inquired just how many times you had asked for her help? And what her answer had been? From them on she only screamed and cried. Still a pleasant serenade.

He found great joy in reporting on the string of strange disappearances happening in their quaint quarters of New Orleans. Giving false leads and wild tales of each victim and how they may have gone. It was the best ratings he'd ever gotten. Win-Win.

This song and dance went on for some time, he would pick off once of the Tully's, slowly climbing the tree until he would reach your dear sweet brother in law. He would bring them back to his shed and torture them a bit, making sure they knew just who it was they had wronged, he would wait until they begged for forgiveness and gleefully tell them, “*No.*” Before killing them and butchering their meat for the coming weeks and reporting their disappearance on his show.

Some lasted longer than others, your mother in law lasting almost a month and a half, cow that she was. But it wasn't until he had caught one of your nephews that he ran into any real trouble.

Alastor chuckles as he enters the shed, the smell of blood and sweat immediately filling his nostrils, mingling in a delicious mixture. His eyes fall on the boy, squirming on a makeshift table, his skin pale and bruised, a living mass of pain; he squirms languidly, his legs already gone and harvested. Alastor steps closer, his grin widening as he sees the fear in the boy's eyes, the trembling of his body. He leans down, letting his breath tickle the boy's neck. His fingers slowly play with a piece of a rope that bound him tightly.

"Anything to say for yourself...?" he asks, pulling the gag from his lips.

"Why are you doing this...?" he asks weakly.

Alastor chuckles softly, his breath brushing against the boy's cheek, his voice oozing with a strange sense of charm mixed with danger, intrigue and... affection?

"My dear boy... Why do you think?"

"It's her... it's her fault..." he says with venom, referring to you.

Alastor's facial expression changes, an almost imperceptible flicker of anger in his gaze. His grip on the rope tightens.

"Her?" he asks coldly, slowly leaning closer to the boy. Every word is heavy and deliberate: "What do you know of her pain..."

"She deserved what she got," he spits. "She killed my uncle!"

Alastor's eyes narrow, and she could almost swear they glinted dangerously. His voice takes on an icy edge.

"You dare speak of her as if she were the monster? She defended herself. I'm sorry he didn't suffer more... suffer like you will..." Alastor says, shoving the gag back into his mouth.

The boy pulls at his restraints as you make to carve off more edible cuts of meat from him. Alastor pauses in amusement at the sight of the boy struggling against his restraints, "You're not going anywhere," Alastor says in a matter-of-fact tone, before he continues carving more meat, this time from the boy's arm.

Between the rain and the muffled cries from the boy, Alastor is too engulfed in his work to hear your approach. It isn't until he sees the new source of light in the room that he turns to see you standing there in your nightgown, dripping wet. You hold a lantern in your hand and a mortified look on your face.

"A... Alastor...?" You say in a small voice.

Alastor blinks, surprised by your sudden presence, dropping the knife on the floor with a clatter. He quickly stands up and walks towards you, wiping his blood-stained hands on his apron, trying—and failing—to put on a reassuring smile.

"Ah, you startled me,” he says in an attempt at a light-hearted tone.

Your eyes flash between him and the boy on his table behind him, your hands quivering.

"W-what is this...?" You squeak out. "Who..." You begin to ask before he sees the recognition in your eyes. "Jonny?" You say the boy's name and his heart drops.

Alastor's eyes widen as he realizes that you recognize the boy on the table, his smile faltering. He tries to think of an excuse, but words fail him, his mind faltering at the sight of the fear in your eyes. He moves closer to you, trying to shield your line of vision from Jonny, his body language a protective one.

"No, no," he murmurs softly, shaking his head gently. "I can explain everything."

"Where are his legs!?" you demand, the loudest you’ve been yet.

He can hear the desperation in your voice, see it in you as you tear your gaze away from the horror behind him and look into his eyes. He can see that you're begging him for an excuse, for anything.

Alastor feels a chill run down his spine. He takes a deep breath and places a hand on your shoulder, trying to steady you as he speaks, his mind racing for a believable answer, but can't seem to come up with one.

You look down to the knife he'd just been holding before scanning the shed, seeing all the preserved meat. He watches as the gears turn in your head, as you put two and two together and your eyes widen impossibly further. Alastor can see the realization dawning in your eyes, and he braces himself for your reaction. He tightens his grip on your shoulder, trying to keep you grounded.

"Please, just listen to me," he repeats, his voice softer now.

You look back up at him, your breath coming quicker as you start to hyperventilate. Alastor's eyes widen as he sees the fear in your face, feeling a pang of guilt for putting you in this situation.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this," he says, his voice almost a whisper. He tries to pull you into a hug, hoping that it will help calm you down, but you flinch away, tripping backwards and falling to the ground.

"You- you were dressing a deer! You-no-you- o-our stock of meat...!?" He watches you look around the room once more before your hand raises to cover your mouth. He quickly moves to your side, trying to help you up.

"Please, let me explain," he says, his voice wavering.

You quickly turn away from him, vomiting up every last ounce of what was in your stomach. As it slows, you look down to see your dinner from that night, partially digested brisket.

Brisket?

The realization makes you vomit once more, but with nothing left to come up you find yourself just heaving. Alastor's stomach churns at the sight of you vomiting. He feels a deep sense of guilt and shame, knowing that he is responsible for your reaction.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, over and over again. He reaches up with a rag to try and wipe your mouth, to help.

You look down and see the blood soaked rag and pull away, quickly scuttling back and away.

“P-please,” you beg. "Don't hurt me..."

Alastor's heart breaks at your words, the fear and desperation in your voice tearing him apart.

"No, no, I would never hurt you!" he cries out, moving closer to you with his hands raised in a peaceful gesture. "Please, trust me. I love you."

It's the first time he's ever said the words; that either of you has, and it hits you like a freight train. Large tears form in your eyes, rolling silently down your cheeks as you stare at Alastor. His heart races as he sees the tears in your eyes. He moves closer to you, trying to reach out and take your hands in his.

"I love you," he repeats, whispering it this time. He wants to comfort you, to hold you and never let go. "Please..."

You turn quickly, scrambling to your feet before you dart for the door. You slam into it with your whole body and dash towards the woods. Alastor's heart sinks as he sees you go. He knows he has made a mistake. His obsession and possessiveness have taken over and now you’re scared of him.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, rising and giving chase.

Your bare feet are numb from the cold of the night. You don't even notice as they're scraped by the rough forest floor. The tree branches reach out and snag at your skin and nightclothes, making little cuts on your face and arms, little rips in the cloth, but you keep running.

Alastor's breath comes in ragged gasps as he follows you into the woods. He knows he has made a mistake, that his actions have frightened you. He can see as you stumble, tripping over felled branches as you run, desperate to escape him and it tears at his heart. Luckily you don't know these woods as well as he does, having grown up in them, and he quickly closes the distance between you.

Alastor watches in horror as you trip painfully, scraping up the palms of your hands as you try to catch yourself. Heartbroken and full of regret, he quickly closes the distance between you. You look behind to see him only feet away and begin to scramble in an attempt to get away.

"No!" You yell as you crawl along the ground. Alastor's movements are a blur as he launches himself forward, pinning you beneath his body.

"Please..." he begs, holding your wrists down with one hand while the other reaches out to tenderly cup your cheek. "Just listen!"

"No!" You cry out, thrashing in an attempt to escape.

This position isn't unfamiliar to him, Alastor had held prey he'd hunted before like this, the comparison is upsetting to him, not wanting to think of you like that. It's devastating, and he can feel a surge of guilt rising in him.

"Please!" You scream, "Please don't!"

"No, no... I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you." His heart shatters, your cries of distress and fear piercing him like a knife. He releases your wrists, instead grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into an embrace in a desperate attempt to comfort you, as well as keep himself from causing you further harm. "Stop... please..."

You fight him, trying to break his vice like hold, but it's no use. He keeps you held tight to him until your breathing turns to sobs and you grow too tired to fight.

Alastor clings to you as tight as he can, as if trying to absorb the pain and fear emanating from your sobs. Each breath shakes him with guilt, his body trembling.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean for you to see... Please forgive me..."

Your sobs become wails as you cry into his chest, eventually hugging Alastor back, clinging desperately to him as though he was the only thing left holding you onto the earth.

Alastor lets out a sigh of relief, his body sagging as he feels you beginning to cling to him.

"Shh... It's okay... I've got you." He murmurs comforting words into your ear, rubbing your back soothingly, trying to ease your pain.

You both stay like this, for how long, you're unsure, but eventually you begin to still; sniffles taking the place of your sobs as you begin to calm down. Alastor kisses the top of your head as he continues to hold you close, his fingers slowly working through your hair.

"I've got you, I've got you." He repeats the words, hoping to reassure you as he feels your body relax against his.

"Why..." You finally push out, your face still pressed to his chest.

Alastor's breath hitches as he hears your broken question, his hand freezing on your hair for a moment before he continues to run his fingers through it. His free hand moves to rest on the back of your head, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

"Because they deserve it," he answers.

"What...?" You look up at him.

Alastor's gaze darkens as he meets your reddened eyes, his thumb still gently brushing your cheek.

"They hurt you." He whispers, his voice deep and low. "They condemned you to that monster of a man. They deserve to feel the pain you felt."

You look back and forth between his eyes trying to register if he's telling the truth. Alastor's gaze remains steady, his hand shifting to tilt your chin up so that you're forced to meet his eyes.

"I would never lie to you." He murmurs, the intensity in his voice barely restrained. "You are the most important thing to me now."

You close your eyes and hold him tightly again, seemingly deciding to believe him. Alastor wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer as he feels the tension in your body ease. He rests his face on top of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"I promise, I will always protect you."

The two of you stay like this for another long while before you finally speak.

"You can't..." You say quietly, your voice hoarse from crying. "You have to stop..."

Alastor stiffens at your words, his arms tightening around you momentarily before loosening. He pulls back slightly, enough to meet your eyes again.

"What do you mean?" He asks, his voice strained.

You look deeply into his eyes. "You have to stop hunting them down. Please... for me..." You beg.

Alastor's expression shifts from shock to a deep sadness. He looks away, unable to hold your gaze as he whispers,

“Don't." The air feels heavy with disappointment and despair as he continues, "Don't try to save them. Don't defend them."

"No!" You shout. "No, that's not..." You hit your forehead onto his chest for a moment before looking back to his face. "You can't do this anymore... please..."

Alastor's eyes soften at your words. He brings his hand up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear.

"Then why..." He asks, genuinely wanting to understand.

"You have to stop because..." You breath hitches, "if you get caught... I'II... I'll be..." Your lip quivers.

You'll be all alone again, he realizes. Alastor's hand freezes, gripping your shoulder tightly.

"Don't say that." He whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls you in close, wrapping his arms around you as he rests his chin on top of your head.

"Please... please..." You beg as you cling to him. "I can't lose you, please..."

Alastor's heart aches as he feels your trembling body against his. He tightens his hold on you, whispering soothing words as he promises, "I won't leave you. I promise." He takes a deep breath, knowing that things must change. "I'll stop."

"Thank you..." You quietly sob into his chest. "Thank you..."

Alastor's heart swells as he feels your body relax against him. He gently strokes your hair as he whispers comforting words, promising to always be by your side. In that moment, he realizes that his love for you is more important than anything else.

You curl up into his lap, trembling and not letting go of him. Alastor holds you close, his heart aching at the sight of you trembling in his arms. He gently runs his fingers through your hair and whispers sweet words, promising to never let anything harm you again.

"I've got you, my dear." Alastor stands up, cradling you gently in his arms as he carries you back to the cabin. He walks with slow, steady steps, determined to keep you safe and secure. His heart beats faster as he approaches the door, eager to lay you down on a comfortable bed and hold you close.

He carries you as though you're made of glass, like you might turn on him at any moment, but you don't. You never let go of him, your arms wrapped around his neck, face buried in its crook.

Alastor's heart swells with emotion as he carries you inside and to your room, his mind filled with thoughts of your perfect, vulnerable form in his arms. You don't loosen your hold on you as he sets you into bed, your arms still around him.

“Please, don't go," you whisper. "Don't leave me."

Alastor's heart races as he sets you down, his mind reeling with thoughts of you and your desperate plea. He gently removes your arms from around his neck and sits down next to you, pulling you close.

"I don't plan on going anywhere, but I do need to go take care of..." he pauses, looking out the window, unsure if mentioning it again will upset you more. "Our little problem."

You look up at him and nod. "But you'll come back after?" You ask.

Alastor looks down at you and smiles, his eyes soft with affection.

"Yes, I'll come back as soon as I can. I promise." He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before standing up from the bed and heading towards the door. "And, don't worry, I'll not be too..."

"Cruel to him?" You ask, attempting to finish his sentence.

Alastor pauses at the door, his hand on the doorknob, and turns back to look you in the eye. "Yes. That..." he sighs.

"Don't..." You say, looking down, your hair covering your face as your fists clench the sheets.

Alastor's expression softens as he watches your reaction.

"What... Do you mean?" He takes a step towards you and kneels down beside the bed, reaching out to gently tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Don't.” You let go of your death grip on the blanket and instead hold his wrist, looking up at him with hollow eyes. "Be cruel."

His grip tightens around your wrist, and he leans closer, his face inches from yours.

"I won't. I promise to be kind," he whispers, his voice a low, soothing rumble. He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that borders on desperation.

"No," you grip his wrist tighter. "You misunderstand." You look deeply into his eyes. "Don't be kind. Don't let him go quietly. Be. Cruel."

Alastor's eyes widen slightly, his grip on you loosening. He pulls back, searching your face for any indication of a joke. When he finds none, he narrows his eyes, and his voice takes on a dangerous edge, the corners of his mouth threatening a smirk.

"You want me to be cruel... To him."

You nod. "Make it hurt." You squeeze just a little tighter.

Alastor's eyes flash with a darkness that sends a shiver down your spine. He takes your hand and slowly guides it to his chest.

"You understand, don't you?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is what you want? What you need?"

"I didn't ask you to stop because I didn't think they deserve this..." when you look back up at him, your eyes are wide, threatening tears. "I asked because... if you get caught, I'll lose you."

Alastor stillness intensifies, his eyes never leaving yours; that is, until he watches the first tears fall. His thumb moves to gently catch the droplet, brushing it away from your flushed cheek. He lets out a breath he'd been holding but never brings his gaze away from yours.

"You will never lose me," he whispers softly, his thumb caressing your skin. "But you are right. I cannot risk getting caught."

You nod, leaning into him and finding comfort in his embrace. Alastor pulls you even closer. He gently runs his fingers through your hair, and when he sees you sniffle, he pulls out a handkerchief. Alastor carefully dabs your tears away, his worry for you evident in his gaze.

"Ok. Go ahead," you say, trying to calm yourself. "And don't let him go easy... please..."

For a moment, Alastor's eyes flash. He leans in close, his hand cupping your cheek and his breath tickling your ear as he whispers, "Very well. I will make him suffer."

You shiver, your eyes fluttering shut as you lean your head into his touch.

"Thank you..."

Alastor's grip tightens around you. "You don't have to thank me. I would do anything for you." He leans down and presses his lips against your forehead, leaving them there for a moment longer before pulling away and giving you a small, reassuring smile. "You need only ask."

You smile back as he steps away, settling your head on the pillow and quickly drifting off to sleep. Alastor watches you, his fingers lingering at your jaw before he pulls back. He takes one last look at you before turning away and slipping out of the room, a determined look on his face as he moves to carry out your request.

Goils... We got a ways to go... And it's gonna get worse before it gets better.

Art by: @tae_hee_love on twitter

Taglist: @shadowqueen1318 @liveontelevision @honestlyshamelesskid @bad-and-drawn-that-way @lonelynmisunderstood @shcrou-sei @l0liamk @tasha-1994 @cosmiccandydreamer @twizzie-lairs @alastorssugar @cosmiccandydreamer @memoire-du-ciel @looking1016

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

So this might be an odd one, but I cannot stop thinking about it, so here you go. How would the celebrity characters (Vox, Velvette, Charlie, Lucifer, Angel Dust, maybe Alastor and Valentino) fare on a show like Hot Ones? (Explanation below if you're not familiar. It's on YouTube too if you're interested.)

It's basically an interview show where the guests and the host eat chicken wings with 10 progressively hotter hot sauces. Typically, guests descend into various flavors of mania as the sauces get hotter.

Vox would act nonchalant but be out fairly quickly. He likes spicy food but his processors aren’t built to handle so much at one time, especially if it’s only getting worse. He’d likely glitch and spark before crashing.

- “Hot? What, I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m fine. Tastes great! What do you mean I’m glitching out-”

Velvette wouldn’t even comment on the spice- try asking her questions and she’ll insult your clothing choice. She’s taking it slow and identifying every nuance of the flavor of each sauce before moving on, just to be petty because she likely didn’t want to be there. I think she’d get to number seven?

- “Mm, yes. It has a bit of a savory feel to it, doesn’t it? Really brings out the hints of desperation, sadness, and a profound taste of time wasting. Are we done here?”

Charlie, incredibly nervous. Out at around 3 or 4, eating any piece of bread she can find, probably crying. She’s dramatic but she’s trying.

- “Hoolllyyy shit- fuck, hold on, I am so sorry- gah! Why is my mouth on fire? Water, I need water! Oh shit that made things worse! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I NEED- YOU ALREADY HAD ALL THE BREAD AND MILK? I’m doomed. I’ll die to a hot sauce challenge. Check my will, I’m giving everything to Vaggie, Razzle and Dazzle.”

Lucifer, like Vox, would act nonchalant. Except he’s good at it. He’s been around since forever, and he’s likely had plenty of chances to get used to all sorts of food. He’d look at the bottle, take note of how it was made, how long the company has been around for, and dive into a short but sweet lecture on the history of the company, most popular flavors, etc. he’s probably pulling half of it out of his ass, in an attempt to impress Hell or look like a cool dad for his little girl. He’d be out of the game between 6 and 8.

- “Oh yes this is a family recipe! Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting a living member of said family, but I know it’s made with both love and care. Yeah, I know! John is such a good man, and his wife? Makes the best chicken buffalo casserole you’ll ever have. The sauce isn’t particularly spicy, but the dedication and history behind it, the love this family holds for eachother, is really what brings tears to my eyes.”

Angel Dust is an immediate lose. He’s charismatic but absolutely unhinged, he probably doesn’t follow the rules. Asks if he can mix the sauces, then ends up chugging the whole bottle (number 2) for ten dollars. He does it, gets his money, and is disqualified immediately after. Insults everyone’s sense of style, their boring topics of conversation, etc.

- “Enough about the sauce, tell me, hot stuff, do you have someone waiting for you at home? Cus I’d sure like to sample this hunk of meat…”

Alastor is completely unphased by the sauce but extremely irritable. He finds it all completely abominable. From the cameras and the picture boxes it’d be seen on to the sheer disappointment and lack of spice in the sauce. He’d asked if the wings are even seasoned, when everything was made, how fresh it is, etc. He glitches out the footage so he can’t be scene and the host (or hells equivalent- look, I headcanon it’d be Tom trench just for the shits and giggles) is pissed at him for it. He makes it to 9 before he ends up killing someone and getting kicked off.

- “My mother was quite a good cook! Have I mentioned that before? She made the best jambalaya, the recipe was to die for. No, of course I’m not telling you! What would you do with it? Take out all the seasonings and add this poor excuse of a hot sauce bought from the store? No, no, no. I’d rather keep my dignity and reputation as a well respected man, thank you. (Scoffs) share the recipe? As if I’d ever do such a thing to my mother…”

Valentino is nothing but insults the whole way through. Cussing people out, making snide comments on the set up of the cameras, outfits, the hosting skills. He doesn’t even have the sauces in order, he chooses whichever one he wants and just sort of goes for it. He wins with ease. Nobody can get him off set, he’s mixing the sauces together, somehow brings his own?? He forces production crew members to join in and try the sauce so he can insult them, specifically on their tastes and lack of ability to handle it. He’s a menace, to say the least. Gossiping, talking about clothes and fashion, texting, etc. he wins but everyone is pissed because of it.

[writingquestionsanswered]

hey, i love your blog, you’re so kind for doing all of this. kudos.

i was wondering if you have advice on how to not be terrified of sharing your work with the world? i write a lot of fanfiction (and someday hopefully some original stories) but i get so so anxious about ANYONE reading them so they usually end up rotting in my google docs, and eventually i stop writing them because i don’t get the motivation that comes from reader responses

but the issue is i’m not sure how to tackle this anxiety. as someone who has published works, do you have advice for this?

Tackling the Anxiety of Sharing Your Work

For my answer, I'm going to cobble together some bits from previous posts and add some new stuff. ♥

Sharing our fiction with others is one of the biggest steps we take as writers, and it can be scary no matter what you write. But, if you want to be published, it’s a necessary step. As with so many things in life, doing something that requires courage is often just a matter of taking a deep breath and doing it. "Ripping off the band-aid," as they say.

However, there are some things that might help ease the associated anxiety a bit:

1 - Try to Pin Down Your Specific Fears - One of the first things you may want to do is try to figure out what you're specifically afraid of or what's making you the most anxious about the prospect of sharing your work. If you can find the root cause, it might be easier to tackle the associated anxiety. Are you worried people:

will think your writing is bad?

won’t like your writing style?

won’t get your story/characters?

will judge you for what you write about?

will think less of you for writing at all or what you write about?

will blab about your writing to others?

will steal your ideas?

will see similarities between your story and others?

will make you feel tied to a project you might not complete?

I tackle some of these in the writing-related-fears portion of my Motivation master list.

2 - Don't Rush It - If you take the time to properly revise and edit your story, you can be confident in knowing you've put in the time and effort to make your story the best it possibly can be.

3 - Start Small - If you can, try sharing your story first with an "alpha reader," or in other words a trusted friend, family member, or community member who can appreciate your story. In this case, you might say you're not looking for specific feedback but just a general impression of what they liked about the story. This way, it's not about getting constructive criticism so much as getting over the hump of sharing it and getting the little boost of what they like about the story.

4 - Gradually Go Bigger - From there, you might try sending to a couple of beta readers and opening up to a bit more feedback. The great thing about this is not only are you conditioning yourself to sharing and getting the opinions of others, you can potentially use the feedback to iron out kinks in the story if there are any.

5 - Use a Pen Name - You might want to consider using a pen name for anonymity. Pen names have many different purposes, but much like wearing a mask at a party, they can decrease your inhibition a bit because it creates a bit of a buffer between the real you and your writing.

6 - Post and Let It Go - Many writers get around the issue by simply not engaging with reader feedback, and if you're someone who cares what other people think or are likely to be daunted by the prospect of criticism, this may be the best route for you to go. Now, I know that with fan-fiction in particular, reader feedback is often used for improvement. But the truth of the matter is, you shouldn't rely on reader feedback for improvement anyway. Alpha readers, beta readers, critique partners, and editors are a much better metric for where to improve. When you get your feedback elsewhere, you can post your story and let it fly on its own without worrying about what others are saying.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[aardvaark]

i was thinking about how i wished leverage had a birthday episode for some of the characters cause that would be sweet, but then i realised something and basically��. okay here’s my thoughts in quotes form, just for fun

hardison: so when’s your birthday? i could plan something for us and the team to do and-

parker: i dont know

hardison: you don’t know… your own birthday?

parker: no, how would i know? pshh, cmon, you’re telling me you remember EXACTLY when you were born? watch this - hey, eliot, do you know your exact birth date?

eliot, innocently passing by, who was canonically anonymously dropped off at a hospital as an infant: no, how would i know?

parker: that’s what i said!

hardison: excuse me?? what is going on right now

sophie, walking into the apartment: whats wrong?

hardison: parker and eliot- well, okay, when’s your birthday? i just have to prove something.

sophie: …….july 12th

hardison: why did you pause? wait, is that your birthday or sophie devereaux’s birthday?

sophie: ………… (guilty silence)

parker: see, no one knows their real birthday! haha you’re so weird sometimes, hardison

hardison:

hardison: what the fuck guys

[universalheart]

apocalypse

[speakercrab666]

hi!!! i want top surgery!!! my parents are helping me with some of the cost but i’m poor!!! here is my gofundme!!!

https://gofund.me/b5f3e092

please donate if you can, like i said i am getting some help from my parents which i’m extremely lucky to have but even with that help it would take years for me to save up the remainder of the cost by myself. plus accounting for recovery costs like time off work, rent, potential complications, any unexpected costs, i just want to give myself the best chance i can of going into this prepared.

if you can’t donate then do not donate!!!! i know how hard life is rn for so many of us, take care of yourself first. just reblogging or sharing this post would mean a lot to me.

i just booked my first consultation with my surgeon for May 2025 and i’m so excited!!!!!

[jesterguy]

How can my job be so awful and yet still the best choice for me

[tortademaracuya]

I keep running out of time and changing my sentences in the middle of saying them ajsusjdkdkdk aaggggggg i dont want to do the presentation on monday :(

[gentlenotes-moved]

think i took too many antacids today. i'm tired yet jittery and my stomach feels weird. hm.

[apricotluvr]

January 2023

[danielnelsen]

'evasion' is the worst dao ability, it should be a sustained ability so i can choose when to use it. you do the evasion animation on 1/5 of attacks and im trying to do the final battle so there are dozens of enemies at a time... they're all one-hit but i cant fucking hit them because im 'evading' the whole time, im actually losing my mind

[begaycommittreason]

a non-comprehensive list of reasons why bruce has tried banning halloween in the manor

1. dick was overly trusting of clowns as a child. he still holds the family record for most kidnappings in a single night

2. jason tried wearing his robin uniform as a costume. every. year.

3. jason then graduated to dressing up as his corpse and haunting (traumatizing) his brothers

4. cass always manages to scare him. no clark he does not shriek.

5. tim, duke, and steph got ‘spooky scary skeletons’ stuck in his head and martian manhunter started laughing at him in a JL meeting because of it

6. damian was followed and subsequently kidnapped by what they assumed was a group of very tall trick or treaters, but were actually just the league

7. that time of year is when jerry the turkey gets a little self aware (re: defensive). there have been incidents.

8. he walked downstairs only to be greeted with every member of his family dressed like green lantern. even alfred.

9. young justice decided to throw a giant party and to get in you had to wear the shittiest batman costume possible for their contest

10. jason won said contest. he didn’t even stay for the party, he just wanted the excuse

11. gotham rogues are drama kids and are therefore sluts for good thematic irony, so half of them do special edition attacks on halloween

12. the kids all do a candy swap at the end of the night, they invite kate and not him

13. tim has an allergy to peppermint and never seems to be aware of this, so he has to keep multiple epi pens on standby

14. he’s expected to wear slutty costumes and that’s just not worth his playboy cover

15. alfred only confiscates the candy he gets

16. he was just really hungover one year

17. damian has made them all watch coraline so. many. times. he doesn’t even get nightmares anymore

18. tim goes on a sugar high and has to be put on tech lockdown or he might frame lex luthor for murder and extort 90% of gotham’s elite

19. when dick and jason were younger they left open pumpkins outside his door and he would accidentally step in them every morning

20. damian tried to convince them to bob for apples with lazarus water

21. tim fell asleep while bobbing for apples (in normal water) and almost drowned

22. dick and steph drew a glittery skeleton over the batsuit

23. when he complains they all call him the grinch. it’s not even christmas.

24. pumpkin carving always leads to them flinging the innards at eachother and making a mess even alfred refuses to clean

25. the validity of candy corn argument comes to blows. every. single. year.

26. duke lead a revolt one year against the tyranny of bruce’s “no slanderous costumes” policy (he wanted to be slutty batman)

27. the kids throw a rager in the cave and somehow never get caught. it’s the only time they’re all willing to clean and it pisses bruce off that he can’t prove it.

28. bruce got sick and clark walked around the watchtower in a batman costume pretending to be him for two days

29. steph and dick glued the lorax mustache to him while he was sleeping because he refused to pick a costume. it didn’t come off for a week, and lois posted an article speculating he was secretly a natural ginger.

30. all the kids stayed in once and watched ‘it’s the great pumpkin charlie brown’ instead of partying and he’s been trying to get them to do it again ever since

[sundrop-writes]

Careful - Chapter One

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter One: Over Yet

We can go farther, beyond the end.

Summary:

You and Spencer broke up more than four years ago. Since then, he has tried his best to forget about you. He has pushed all of his feelings down - locked them away into a little box that he never touches.

That is, until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being stalked and killed by a man who kills single mothers. (And he quickly realizes that your son could be his.)

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 5,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Please keep in mind - I am not doing a taglist for this series, so please do not ask to be tagged in future parts. I do not do taglists. If you want to be notified when future parts of this fic are posted, you can follow this blog and turn on notifications here - I don't make personal posts on this blog, it is just pure posts of my fanfiction. Or you can subcribe on AO3 to get email notifications when this series is posted. You can also view the posting schedule on the series materlist and check @tenpintsof-sundrop for any information about possible changes to that schedule.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, the underlying misogyny that comes with a man killing women, mentions of children being orphaned due to their mothers being killed (though there is no mentions of other living family members taking care of those children - you can imaging that they still have nice families to take care of them if you want, I didn’t fill in that detail), mentions of children being in proximity of a serial killer; exes to lovers - the reader and Spencer broke up and the reason why will be revealed later; mentions of pregnancy/mentions of the reader having a child; mentions of sex that resulted in a child/pregnancy (there is no detailed sex scenes/detailed smut in this chapter, but there will be in other chapters); mentions of JJ x Will; the reader’s looks are described as vaguely as possible; passing mention of incest (in the context of a historical figure); all statements that Spencer makes toward the end of this chapter were heavily researched and are factual; I think that’s about it?

A/N: The reader and Spencer originally dated around Season 1/Season 2 - I state at some point during the fic that they dated for 3 years before breaking up, so they started dating when he was very early Season 1 baby Spence (or even before Season 1) and they broke up around Season 2. So technically this fic takes place around Season 6 - but because I didn't want to distract from the plot, I didn't mention any of the stuff going on with Emily or any of those major canon plot points, and I am using pictures of later versions of Spencer just because that's who I was picturing in my head while writing this. But that's how the math works out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!! This chapter is more of an introduction before we really get into the meat of things, but I still hope that you guys like it.

...

The team had been in Portland for three days.

No leads, a confusing, inconsistent profile - huge pieces missing that would likely give them the real answers. 

A patient killer with an extended timeline who likely wouldn’t kill again for months - leaving them chasing their tails, looking for answers. 

“Okay, so, let’s take a step back.” Hotch sighed. “What do we know so far?” 

He leaned against a nearby table, looking at everyone with the hope of reassessing the case from a different angle. The hope of talking it out to get some answers. 

Another woman’s body had been found just before they arrived, and that would mean that the UnSub would be out hunting again soon. This was both good and bad. 

Good, because the UnSub clearly had to spend a lot of time stalking his victims - he knew a lot of details of their lives, and he had spent a lot of time developing an intimate fantasy of being a part of their family in his mind. So he wouldn’t be killing again the next day. No woman was in immediate danger. It gave the team more time to find viable suspects. 

Bad because they had no physical evidence, no good leads. And thus far, the profile was leading them nowhere. It felt incomplete. 

They could find no real connections between the victims - their gyms, their banks, their childcare, their grocery stores. Somehow, the victims didn’t seem to have any crossover in their lives. There was no real way to say how the UnSub had met them. And someone like this - he would have interacted with them at least once in order to become obsessed and stalk them to this degree. 

“Five women dead within the last three years.” Prentiss announced, starting to round up the facts that the team knew for certain. “All of them mothers, all with children under the age of five. All within the same ten square mile radius of Oregon, around Portland’s suburban neighborhoods.” 

She slumped back into her chair with a tired huff, and then continued. 

“The UnSub breaks into their homes through a backdoor or a back window, and somehow goes undetected in such an upscale neighborhood.” She sighed. “He kills the mothers, but he leaves their children alive. And then he calls 9-1-1 to report the death as a case of child neglect.” 

“So he was likely neglected by his own mother in his childhood.” Morgan easily theorized. 

“All of the victims upper-middle class, single mothers to one child with good jobs. All of them are of the same physical type.” Rossi added on. “They’re the same race, they have the hair color, they’re the same body type - all in their late twenties to early thirties. So the UnSub definitely has a type. He’s most definitely recreating a fantasy of some kind - perhaps taking out revenge on his own mother, but protecting himself. Which is why he never hurts the children.” 

“Yeah, but the children are different.” Morgan replied. “Sometimes boys, sometimes girls. Some of them are biracial - he doesn’t look for a specific type in the father. He doesn’t necessarily need to see himself in the children.” 

Then, as another thought occurred to him, Morgan continued on: 

“Plus, the children’s ages vary from barely a year old all the way up to five - if he was looking to seek revenge on his mother, looking to protect a younger version of himself, then he would have locked in on a critical event that he needs to protect himself from. The age of the children would be more consistent, at least, because he would be looking to protect himself as he hits the age that he was most traumatized by a specific event.” 

“That’s good.” Hotch nodded. “Then we know that it’s more about the mothers. He hates women at his core. Protecting the children is just a byproduct of his obsession over these women.” 

“But we still have no clue how these women could be connected or how they met the UnSub.” Morgan replied, jaw stiff with frustration. 

“Focus on what we do know.” Hotch reminded him. 

“All of the women were killed via stabbing. They all had over a dozen stab wounds to their stomachs and genital areas.” Rossi replied. “So, he is an aggressive sexual sadist.” 

“But if he hates women so much, why spend so much time in the house?” Morgan argued gently. “Every single one of these scenes has evidence that the UnSub spent hours - possibly up to a day in the house before he killed them. He cooked dinner, set the table, and made the women eat it before he killed them. Including a second place setting for a child. Some of the kids even said that ‘the scary man’ tucked them into bed and read them a story.” 

He held up one of the crime scene photos that depicted the scene of the family’s place settings - a haunting scene of plates not cleaned up from dinner, with a flower vase sitting in the middle of the table with a few white flowers wilting inside of it. 

“He’s right - why bother to show them the kindness of a last meal if he shows so much aggression toward them during the killing?” Prentiss added on. 

“It’s a routine.” Hotch said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. “It’s likely that he chooses single mothers because he gets to play the role of the father. With the real father figure absent from the picture, it makes it easier for him to impose himself into that role. At least for a temporary amount of time.” 

“It is strange.” Reid added on, clearly swimming in thought. “It’s almost like he’s courting them? Sending them gifts, showing what a good father he could be. Each of the women were sent white carnations sometime in the days before they were killed, and after the killing, he lays the flowers around their head in a halo-like fashion. It is said that carnations represent motherhood, and the white shade could depict an angelic innocence that he’s projecting onto these women.” 

“So he views these women as angelic figures, yet he kills them so brutally?” Prentiss scoffed. “It just doesn’t add up.” 

“Maybe he views the killing itself as a type of purification.” Reid theorized. “It’s not uncommon for killers to emotionally fetishize dead bodies and consider them more ‘pure’ than their living counterparts.” 

Prentiss visibly cringed at this. 

“Wait.” JJ said, looking at one of the crime scene photos with a sharp line pulling her brows together. 

Everyone looked to her, waiting for her to finish this thought. 

“I don’t think that the mothers were the only ones sent gifts.” 

She held up the photo, showing a picture of a colorful child’s play mat in the living room. Everyone stared at the photo in confusion, and JJ sighed and began to explain. 

“Look at this toy truck in the middle.” She said, pointing at something that almost blended into the background of the photo. The true focus was a large handprint - one that belonged to the killer, but he had worn gloves. “It’s wooden, it’s hand-carved, it’s old fashioned. All the other toys are plastic, brightly coloured. Remember what the UnSub said in the second 9-1-1 call?” 

“‘She pretends to have her son’s best interests at heart, but she was going to let him get cancer from sucking on those cheap plastic toys.’” Reid said, repeating it word-for-word, using his impeccable memory. 

“Exactly.” JJ confirmed with a nod. “Clearly the UnSub believes that he would be a good father because he can gift his child something hand-made instead of something mass produced.” 

“Alright, get the crime scene techs back over there to pick up the truck, maybe he wasn’t wearing gloves when he made it and there is some slim chance he left a print on it.” Hotch said, and JJ left to call the crime scene unit. 

This left the team sitting in silence for a few more moments until Reid spoke up again. 

“What about preschools?” He said, suddenly coming out of a wave of thought to announce this to the room. 

“What?” Prentiss prompted, wondering what on earth he was talking about. 

“Preschools.” Spencer confirmed, looking across the table at her. 

“We checked already, none of the victims’ children went to the same preschool.” Morgan reminded him. “Two of the kids didn’t even go to preschool.” 

“Yeah, but preschools typically have large waitlists.” Spencer argued. 

Naturally, all eyes in the room fell on him, waiting for him to explain. 

“In the first 9-1-1 call, the UnSub said that the victim ‘shipped her son off to be cared for by strangers half the time’.” He explained, once again perfectly reciting this from memory. “What if the UnSub resents preschools and the schooling system for taking these children away from their mothers, so he’s choosing his victims off of a preschool waitlist? What if that’s where his obsession stems from because that’s where his rage stems from?” 

Reid jumped up, pointing to the map he had been using to make a geographical profile. 

“All of the victims live within the same school district.” He added on. “So they would be applying to the same group of preschools.” 

“I’ll call Garcia.” Morgan announced. 

A few minutes later, Morgan connected Garcia’s call to the comm on the center of the conference table they were working from. 

“Hey, pumpkin pies.” She greeted them sweetly, as usual. “So it turns out, the preschool that Tommy Laird, and Emily Ashton, the third and the fourth victim had in common, does have a waitlist. But none of the other victims’ names were on it.” 

“Come on, babygirl. I know you’re holding out on me.” Morgan said, giving a small smirk. 

“Oh, my Adonis, if I don’t have your trembling anticipation, I have nothing.” Garcia giggled. “The school’s waitlist, and their applications, are handled by a firm called Gordon & Stanheight. And it turns out, they handle the applications and waitlisting for five other preschools in the area.” 

“Which gives the UnSub a perfect way to pick his victims.” Morgan sighed. “The first interaction that gets him hooked might not even be in person-” 

“Unless he’s picking them out of the line-up on paper and then waiting to meet them in person?” Prentiss replied. “With this type of guy, the smallest smile, a nod in his direction - that could be consent in his mind to play father to a household that’s missing one.” 

“You said they handle forms for five different schools? That just widened the victim pool.” Rossi groaned. 

“And the suspect pool.” Garcia added on. “The firm has thirty male employees. And I did a bit more digging - the preschool applications have ten ‘optional’ questions on the bottom that are definitely not marked as such. Questions directed at the parent filling out the form, rather than vital information about the child. Things such as: ‘what’s your favorite food?’, ‘when is your birthday?’, ‘what’s your favorite color?’, ‘do you plan on having more children?’ - typical survey schlock,” 

“That would explain why the UnSub served Lisa Laird a birthday cake.” Reid sighed. “He knew it was her birthday two days before he killed her.”

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is going.” Emily sighed. 

“Oh, sugar. You probably won’t.” Penelope easily agreed. “The ‘optional’ part of the forms is sold off to other companies as survey data. And those forms are seen and handled by over a thousand male employees of Gordon & Stanheight’s larger ‘data processing’ sector.” 

“Well the UnSub has to be local to Portland. So narrow down the suspect list based on his last known address and go from there.” Hotch said. “Also, it would be someone who has a criminal record. Someone committing this level of violence wouldn’t be a first time offender.” 

“Gotcha.” Penelope said. “Penny G, out.” 

… 

The team ended up raiding Gordon & Stanheight’s Portland based office. 

After some pointless conversation, some threats of lawsuits, and some even larger threats of being detained for impeding an FBI investigation, the team was able to get their hands on the preschool applications. Over two-dozen boxes worth, that they would have to sort through. 

So this left JJ, Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss knee deep in paper, looking for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did. 

“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers. 

“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the house until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.” 

“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.” 

“So we’re hanging all our hopes on the idea that this psychopath needs time to ‘fall in love’ with his next victim before he kills her?” Prentiss groaned. 

“Sadly, yes.” Rossi confirmed. 

“It helps that most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.” 

The rest of the conversation easily became quiet in Spencer’s ears when he saw it. 

It should have been just another page among the sea of paper in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut. It pushed all the air out of him in seconds, it made him dizzy, made him struggle to breathe. Like a reel flashing through his mind, it brought back a flood of memories he thought he had locked away forever. 

It was you. 

What the hell were you doing applying for preschools? 

Spencer rushed to tear this paper away from the others in order to read it more carefully. 

Surely enough, the application was filled out in your handwriting. Something that had barely changed over the years. And it was all right there, laid out in front of his eyes, clear as day - 

You had a son. 

A son named Sebastian, who was three years old. Spencer checked the date on the form, eagerly looking for a birth date for your son. His birthday had just recently passed, actually, so he was four years old now. 

And his birth date was… fuck. 

He had been born eight and a half months, almost nine months exactly after the two of you had broken up. Your son had been born eight and a half months after the day you had left and Spencer had never seen you again. 

One thousand, seven hundred and two days. 

Four years, eight months, and two days. 

It wasn’t difficult math. 

Your son was the perfect age to be Spencer’s child. Was this Spencer’s child? 

His hands began to shake at the very thought of it.  

Is that why you had disappeared from his life with such haste? Because you knew that you were pregnant and you didn’t want Spencer to be a part of your child’s life? 

Had you been keeping this from him intentionally? 

He hadn’t thought about you in four long years, he had tried so hard not to. He had spent so long forcing himself not to miss you, and now he was struck with the realization that he might have a child out there with the woman he considered to be his regrettable lost love. A child he didn’t know - a child who he had missed four whole years with. 

What the fuck was going on? 

There were no pictures included with the application, and suddenly, Spencer found himself dying to see the boy. He wanted to know if there was any physical resemblance to himself, or if he was jumping to conclusions. 

Maybe you had cheated on him. Maybe that was why you had left town and never contacted him again. Maybe the kid wasn’t his at all, maybe- 

“Reid.” JJ called out gently, getting his attention. 

Spencer suddenly realized that he was hyperventilating, staring down at the application with your name on it in his hand, wrinkling the paper as he squeezed it more frantically. 

“Did you find something?” 

… 

All in all, the team found four different women who fit the victim pattern in the files - you being one of them. 

So the team split up, ready to knock on each of the womens’ doors, preparing to warn them that if they received any gifts or saw any suspicious men lingering around them in the next few days, they should call. They had to hope that the UnSub wouldn’t move on from this victim pool if he saw the FBI around. But he was overly confident, he had contacted police before. 

It could definitely work. 

When Hotch found out that Spencer had known you, he said that Spencer should be the one to knock on your door. That you might find it comforting to hear that you and your child could possibly be in danger if it were coming from ‘an old friend’. Spencer stuttered over himself and didn’t have the words to explain that you weren’t just a good friend to him, but a romantic flame. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the team by telling everyone that the break-up had been messy, and sudden, and Spencer still wasn’t even completely sure what had caused it. He didn’t want to rip open his old wounds in front of everyone. 

So he simply shut his mouth and got in the car with JJ, and they made their way toward your house. 

…

“So…” JJ’s voice broke through the undulating silence of the car ride - filled by nothing but the sound of the car’s motor running and gears grinding inside Spencer’s mind as he tried to figure all of this out. “I do have to ask the obvious question,” 

“What is that?” Spencer probed, slightly glad to be relieved of his own thoughts. 

He wasn’t so glad when JJ pried those thoughts out of his mind and spilled them to the open air. 

“Is the kid yours?” She wondered aloud. “I mean - when did you and Y/N break up?” 

JJ had known you as Spencer’s girlfriend. 

Come to think of it, she was probably the only person on the current field team who had some kind of a relationship with you back when you and Spencer dated. 

Initially, it had been by accident. JJ had driven him home one night after a particularly long and sleepless case, and you had been coming to his apartment to drop off some books he had asked for (shortly after he had given you a key). When JJ saw you, her natural curiosity got the better of her - even more so when you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself as ‘Spencer’s girlfriend’ without hesitation. 

The two of you got to talking, and JJ invited you to ‘girls night’. You met Elle and Penelope shortly after. You had become pretty good friends with the three of them before the break-up. 

But Spencer had always felt secretive…. well, protective of you. He didn’t want Morgan teasing him about you, or him wanting to have ‘guy talk’ about things that occurred in the bedroom. Not when it might mean talking about intimate moments with you. Spencer had only introduced you to Gideon over coffee about three weeks before the break-up, and that felt like a lifetime ago. 

Back then, having you, Elle, and Gideon leave his life all in a matter of a few months felt like hell on earth. It felt like being grabbed by his ankles and shaken for all he was worth. He really wasn’t sure that he was ready to see you again. 

It had been four years. 

JJ was someone he could lean on right now. 

“Four years ago.” He told her, completely honest. 

“And how old is the kid?” JJ asked. 

“Four - four years old.” Spencer stuttered out, realizing that now as he was speaking about this very real possibility, he might be breathing more life into it. 

“Oh my god.” JJ sighed. “Well… could it-? I mean…? Did the two of you?” 

It took Spencer a moment to clue into what JJ was talking about. He gave her a sideways glance and she took her eyes off the road for a moment, raising her brows and giving him a pointed look. 

“Please tell me you know what does and what doesn’t make a baby,” JJ groaned. 

“Oh!” Spencer huffed, a small wave of embarrassment flooding him. “Yes! God, yes. I know.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Spencer felt the need to clarify his answer. 

“We - I mean. We…” He trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. “We didn’t always use… protection. We were together for three years, at the time, it was on the table.” 

“Kids were on the table for you back then?” JJ asked, clearly shocked by this. “I could not imagine little twenty-four year old Spence with a baby.” 

“Well… it’s something I’ve always wanted.” He mumbled quietly in reply. 

It was true. At the time, Spencer easily imagined himself getting married to you, having multiple kids with you. These days, seeing JJ with Henry and Will brought him the occasional underlying pang of jealousy - but since breaking up with you, there hadn’t been anyone else in Spencer’s life that he could have imagined having kids with. He thought that he was going to be alone and childless for the rest of his life. That the dream was long dead for him. 

“Hey - then, maybe this is a blessing in disguise?” JJ posed. “If we hadn’t been looking through those forms because of this UnSub, you never would have found Y/N again. You wouldn’t even know this baby exists.” 

There was another thing that JJ was dying to ask - something she held back because she felt like it was a touch too personal. (Even if ‘too personal’ was basically how the BAU team lived - knee deep in each other’s business, all the time). 

She wanted to know why you had a baby, a baby that Spencer had very likely fathered, and you hadn’t contacted him about it. Spencer seemed entirely clueless about the child’s existence before now, and JJ knew that because of what his own father had been like, he wouldn’t just blow off a kid that was his if he knew that one was out there in the world. 

So why hadn’t you told Spencer about the baby? 

“What if the kid isn’t yours?” JJ wondered aloud. 

Maybe that would unburden him. She knew that either way, Spencer would fight to protect you from the UnSub. But if the kid wasn’t his - he would walk away again, and he wouldn’t have to be hung up on the heartbreak of dealing with his ex just to parent a child together. 

“Honestly… I think I’ll be more heartbroken if I find out that he’s not even mine.” Spencer told her, his voice quiet and already lulling with that disappointment. 

That was not something JJ had considered. She frowned as she saw the sadness paint across Spencer’s face. 

“One thing at a time, alright?” 

…

When they pulled into your driveway, Spencer’s mind immediately began churning. 

It was a nice house. It was a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. The front yard was clean and trimmed and there was a silver SUV in the driveway with a ‘baby on board’ sticker in the rear window. There was a rocking chair on the porch, but he didn’t see many children’s toys out front on the lawn. He guessed that was a good thing. Letting children play in the front where they could run into the street and potentially get hit by a car was too dangerous. He was glad to already see signs that you were a good mother. 

Spencer felt like he was opening up a book halfway, desperately wanting to be filled in on the previous chapters while having missed so much. Still wanting to read ahead and see more. 

He had already missed so much of your son’s life. He had missed you. That was something forming the biggest knot in his gut. He had truly missed you. The times he had allowed himself to think of you over these past few years - he had missed you so dearly. 

And now the two of you likely had a child together. 

Craning his neck to get a better look, desperately trying to take in more information, Spencer’s eyes were wide and hungry as JJ put the car in park by the curb in front of your house. As Spencer reached for the passenger side door handle, JJ’s phone rang. 

“I have to take this.” She sighed. “You go ahead.” 

She gave Spencer a distinct look that said ‘I know you need a minute alone with Y/N’, and he nodded, stepping out of the vehicle while she greeted whoever was on the other line. He smoothed down his tie - for once in his whole life, he was actually worried about how he looked. Only because he knew that he was going to see you. Perhaps he had only ever felt like this before going on his first date with you. 

He had such a strange lashing of emotions going through him as he approached the door. Fear, anxiety, anticipation. Longing. 

He truly had tried so hard to lock away his feelings for you when you had left. He had tried to move on. He had considered, briefly, in passing, dating other women. There had been times when someone else caught his eye, and he considered asking her out on a date. Morgan had offered to ‘set him up’. Penelope had offered too, telling him that he deserved to ‘get back out there’. 

Whenever she asked about you, his heart freshly cracked open. 

At one point, she had advised him to write a long, Shakespearian letter, pouring out his heart to you in an effort to get you back - one which she would mail. (Because of course, she could get your new address in a heartbeat.) But he didn’t want to experience the heartbreak all over again if you ignored him. He didn’t want to sit, waiting by the mailbox every single day like a lost dog, waiting for you to write him back in return. 

You had disappeared from his life for a reason. Just like everyone else had. For a long time, Spencer convinced himself that he was simply meant to end up alone. 

Perhaps if he had known about your son - a child that could very well be his - then he might have felt differently about getting Penelope to contact you. 

But now he was standing at your front door, his fist shaking as he raised his hand to knock. 

He let out a sharp breath and steadied himself, giving three swift, firm knocks against the door and then trying to wait patiently. His heart thumped inside of his throat, and it felt like forever. 

“Sorry!” Your voice called out from behind the door, muffled. “Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-” 

You cut off your own words as you opened the door - the moment you caught Spencer’s eye and recognized it was him, pure shock fell across your features, and you froze on the spot. 

You were just as stunning as ever. You had barely aged at all - your hair was different than the last time he had seen you, of course. And you were dressed casually - wearing a simple hooded sweatshirt with a drawstring and a pair of jeans with some fuzzy slipper boots on. But pale blue looked so good on you.

So much like the pale blue dress you had worn on your first date with him. 

You were breath-taking. 

“Y/N.” He greeted you, his throat dry already. 

You didn’t say anything, simply continuing to stare him down with wide-eyed shock. 

Seeing you again, Spencer couldn’t help but to think back to that first date. 

The first night that he knew he was in love with you. 

… 

He had taken you to see the Virginia Symphony Orchestra. 

It was Spencer’s idea of a good time - and it ended up being one of the most beautiful, most romantic, most unique first dates that you had ever been on. 

It was difficult not to fall for him with the beautiful music in the air and his glossy eyes, so sickeningly thick with affection, staring you down all night. 

Afterwards, the two of you stopped to get ice cream at a small shop that was a short walk down from the orchestra. And now you were both enjoying your ice cream as you walked along in the cool night air - enjoying the peace and quiet and the gentle breeze in the darkness. 

It was a perfect night. 

Spencer could think of no better way to spend it than with you. The yellow bulbs of the street lights practically cast a glow onto your skin, the mulberry lipstick now worn off your lips as you brought the pink spoon to your mouth and licked up your sweet treat. 

His stomach was churning with nerves. Joyous nerves. 

And as per usual, when he was nervous - he rambled. 

“You know, Bach actually married his cousin.” He said, spouting off the first thing that came to mind. 

You told him that Bach was one of your favorite composers - it’s why he had thought to bring you to the orchestra on a date in the first place. 

“I did not know that.” You giggled. “So what? Was it like a ‘third cousin twice removed’ type situation?” 

Spencer found himself grinning at the fact that you actually engaged him in the conversation, rather than staring at him with an odd look for bringing up such a strange topic. 

“Not quite.” He replied. “They had the same surname before marriage.” 

“Oh, ew.” You chuckled again, giving a shudder at the thought of this. 

Spencer knew it was an odd topic to discuss on a date, and if he rambled on too much, it might freak you out - but he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth ran away with him, and he continued. 

“He married Maria Barbara Bach, and they had seven children together.” He told you. “His sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel became composers and musicians much like their father, which was actually carrying on a legacy started by Bach’s father himself - who was a seventh generation musician. He was the one who taught Bach the organ from a very young age.” 

“Why don’t people play the organ anymore?” You wondered aloud. “Except in churches, I guess. The organ rocks.” 

Spencer’s brain began rocketing off at the fact that you had asked him a question. A question he could answer. 

“The organ has actually long been associated with divinity.” He replied. “The instrument rose in popularity alongside Catholicism throughout the eighteenth century, and in a sense, that was part of what made Bach a sort of ‘rockstar’ of his time. The religious references in his work, and his mastery of the organ - all of it made him incredibly popular at the time because it caused him to be favored by the church and by royal figures associated with the church.” 

Spencer gleamed a large smile, heavily enjoying that he could share these facts with you. He thought for certain that any moment, you would change the subject or imply that he should stop talking. But instead, you engaged the conversation more. 

“Religious references?” You questioned, wondering what he meant by this. 

“Yes!” Spencer grinned, suddenly very excited by the explanation behind this. “Even in his secular music, Bach would often incorporate the acronym ‘INJ’, a Latin abbreviation that means ‘In Nomine Jesu’, or ‘in the name of Jesus’. It was something he put on all of his manuscripts.” 

You grinned back. You found it fascinating that being around Spencer for such short periods of time caused you to learn so many things. It easily made you want to be around him more. 

“Interesting.” You replied. 

“And his talent on the organ was seen as something that made him ‘divine’ at the time. Divine enough to be worthy of performing for royalty.” Spencer added on. “In 1708, Bach got a position as the court organist in Weimer for Duke Wilhelm. And later when he requested early release from this position, desiring to go work for Prince Leopold of Koethen, the Duke actually had him arrested and put in jail for several weeks in 1716.” 

Spencer laughed at this mental image - the composer being put in jail. 

“Ooh, harsh.” You sighed. “But I guess Dukes have too much power.” 

Spencer let out another bright laugh at this. 

“And see, the interesting thing is, Bach later became the conductor of the court orchestra, in which Prince Leopold played.” 

“So he got his wish,” You replied with a smile. 

“And see-” 

Spencer set off on another rant again, and you couldn’t help yourself. You put your spoon into the cup of ice cream and then you used your now free hand to reach out and grab Spencer by his tie - you pulled him toward you before he could get anymore words out, and he let out a shocked, choked-off sound when you pressed your mouth into his. 

He sighed gently against your lips, and unconsciously dropped his own melting chocolate cone on the ground by his feet as his limp hands drifted toward your waist. He was dizzy, and now every single fact he had ever known about any composer had vanished from his head. In that moment, standing under a random street lamp on a random sidewalk somewhere - all he knew was the soft, pillowy feeling of your lips and the cool night breeze against his skin. 

It was perfect. You were perfect. 

You found his intelligence and the enthusiasm with which he spoke to be so utterly irresistible. You had been on so many dates with men before where they had acted like talking about their interests was a chore. Where they had made it seem like the whole thing was simply a routine, waiting for the end of the night so they could get into your pants. And for them, that’s what it probably was. 

But Spencer was nothing like that. 

He spoke about everything with such intense passion - and you couldn’t resist the urge to try and suck that very passion off his lips. 

When you were forced to pull back slightly, your lungs crying out for oxygen, Spencer let out a gentle moan and began puffing out sweet little pants across your chin as he tried to catch his breath. You kept a hold of his tie, wanting to keep him close, and he stayed there, gently pressing his forehead against yours. 

“That was… wow.” He sighed. 

“I didn’t think I would ever find you at a loss for words, Doctor Reid.” You replied with a giggle. 

“Well, I - you - wow.” 

It was all he could muster, causing you both to break down into laughter. 

Back then - everything had been perfect. 

He had no clue where it all went so wrong.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Two - Liar

[be-good-to-bugs]

OᴗO

[theyluvkarolina]

𝐋𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐒

· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑ ` ` The monster's gone…He's on the run… And your daddy's here ` ` ⊹ ‧₊˚

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ being a father of a baby has it’s ups and downs, but stress gets to the best of us.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ max, charles, lando, x fem!reader (separate)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ୨୧ besides kids and pregnancy… jos verstappen (ALL MY HOMIES HATE JOS!!), a very very very small jules reference, google translated languages

𝐀/𝐍 ୨୧ heyyy… hey.. how ya’ll doing? 🫣🫣 FINALLY DONE! Sorry to be out for so long! not very happy with my lando piece though. I had a idea but I think i failed to execute it well :(. also, this this a very different format then what i’m used to doing now, so I hope you guys enjoy it 🩷

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍

BEING a father was never a idea that made its way into Max’s mind, in fact, it’s something he’s scared of. From the get go, all he thought about and dedicated his time to was racing, from the break of dawn to the dead of night. If anything, if present day Max met himself in his teenage years, teenage Max would scoff in his face probably. With Jos, Max was on constant eggshells, were pleasing his father was forever his goal. But things change. Things changed since he started Formula One finally gaining some independence, and a noticeable change once he met you.

With you, Max felt loved. He never had to please you as long as he was being himself. He didn’t have to get first. He didn’t have to work his ass off everyday to impress his father. He got to show off his personality and didn’t have to suppress his stubbornness, or his humor. And he loved you for that.

Formula One will always be a priority, but Max’s tiers of importance changed 6 months ago, those 6 months ago where a new member of the Verstappen family entered the world. A little girl to be exact. Max never imagined himself as a father to a little girl, but after seeing her once she was born and getting to hold her, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

It was quiet. Perfectly quiet. The Monaco sun pushing its way through the blinds of the nursery as Max rocked back and forth in the chair, little girl in his arms, the sound of the waves hitting the rocks down at the shore being faintly heard from your guys’ apartment. It was early in the morning, 7 AM to be exact and as you rested up in bed, Max decided this will be his opportunity to spend some missed time with his little girl.

Looking down at her round face, he examined her features. The curve of her lips, the shape of her eyes, the silhouette of her nose. All of her features were yours besides her nose, inheriting Max’s profile. Everything was perfect to him. Too perfect.

The more Max looked at her stroking her cheek, the more he wondered if he was up for this.

He had no healthy representation of a father figure.

What if he lashed out at her like Jos did?

What if he can’t be the father she deserves?

What if-

“I know that look.” Your voice breaks him out of his trance. Max looked up from where he was sitting, seeing you stand in the doorway. “Care to share, Mr. Champion?” You asked, offering a smile, walking over to him.

“You’re supposed to be resting, Schatje.” He whispers out, getting up before placing the little one in the crib.

“Mom’s don’t get a chance to rest.” You say with a slight laugh before curving your lips into a frown. “What’s wrong Max?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“It’s just-Godverdomme…” He starts, before turning to you. “Am I a good dad?”.

“Max… you are a amazing dad. I promise you. She loves you so much, you have no idea how much.” You reassure him.

“…I’m scared. I don’t want to turn into my dad.” He whispers out, moving his gaze to the little girl in the crib. “What if I turn into my dad?”

“Max, look at me. Will you?” You say putting a hand on his cheek, making his eyes meet yours. “You aren’t him and you never will be. Knowing that what your father did is the first step in the right direction. She loves you. Everytime she sees you on TV, she lights up like the sun. If you weren’t a good father, she wouldn’t have been so calm in your arms. You aren’t Jos, Max. You are you and I love you. I wouldn’t have married you if I knew otherwise.” You explain, giving him a soft smile as he looks back at you.

Max gives a tight lipped response, glancing back at his daughter, using his hand to smoothen her baby hairs and cracking a smile.

Maybe he is more prepared for his little girl than he thought…even the princess tea parties in the future. And he can’t wait.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂

CHARLES would give up the world if it meant being a father. Growing up with three brothers, it was only natural of him to want kids of his own.

When you showed him the pregnancy test at Austrian GP, and uttered the words of a “I’m pregnant” while in the garage, he officially marked it as the best day of his life, second to marriage of course. His eyes going comically wide before immediately lifting you up, spinning you around as the crowd cheered and the Ferrari staff members offering their congratulations.

As the months passed along with the trimesters, Charles treated you like a piece of fine china. You weren’t even allowed to stand after 2 minutes without Charles fussing like a mother hen.

“Y/N, chérie, please sit down!” Is most likely the most common sentence he’s said in his life for 9 months.

Since the delivery of your son, Charles has been supporting you nonstop, if anything, even more than during the pregnancy. The second Charles saw him, tears gathered in his eyes, and in those dark blue eyes, his little boy was the light of his life. A new beginning. A new motivation. A motivation to push himself even harder. A motivation to try his best in every grand prix, but most of all, a motivation to love you and your son till his last breath.

It was the dead of night, calm and tranquil before cries disrupt the silence of the night. Rubbing your eyes, and checking the clock to read 2:34 AM, letting out a sigh, you lift the sheets off the bed before a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Go back to sleep amour, I’ll get him. You rest up, okay?” Charles says in a hushed tone, his voice still laced with sleep and his dark brown waves in a tangled mess from the pillow.

"But Charles, the season just finished... if anything you should-" You started before he placed a finger on your lips lightly.

"Sleep. Please. You've done more than enough when I was not here.." He pleaded.

Giving a nod, you slowly make your way back to bed, still awake though.

He cracks open the nursery room, lifting the little boy into his arms.

"Oh mon loulou, qu'est-ce que c'est ? Maman gave you food.. your diaper is changed..." Charles murmurs into to himself bouncing the little one up and down. The Ferrari driver was at a loss, nothing seemed to be wrong, but there was and he didn't know what to do as the crying simply continued.

"How about we take a walk?" Charles talked as if the little one can respond. The Monégasque steadily left the room, holding your son close before stopping in front of a photo taken of you and Charles on your first date. The photo shows you, smilingly a bit awkwardly at the camera, but charming nonetheless, with Charles next to you with a closed lip smile.

"There's maman at our first date. Doesn't she look pretty? Actually.. she is still the most beautiful woman in the world. She was very shy the entire time… “ Charles commented pointing at the photo, a smile gracing his lips. The little boys cries soon turn into whimpers, his little head turned to the image his parents.

“Oh, and here is of me and Maman at our wedding.” The driver commented, thinking fondly as he pointed to the photo next to it the previous. This time, it was of you both kissing underneath the arch of greenery and flowers. “This was before you were born…ou conçu” He muttered the last part..

You smiled at the not so subtle whispers of Charles as he recollects his memories from the past as the baby in his arms finally quiets down, Charles smoothening his tufts of dark hair that have become more apparent as time passed.

“And this… is when you were born…” Charles says with a smile before noticing that the baby fell asleep.

"You’re not exactly quiet y’know…” You say with a teasing tone.

“Y/N, what are you doing up still?” Charles questioned, adjusting the baby in his arms, slightly taken aback by your sudden presence. “…did you… hear everything?” He continued, a rosy tint lightly coating his cheeks in the dim light, as if a little kid caught red-handed.

“Well… the conversion was hard not to listen to.” You say, giving a tired smile. “He looks just like you, y’know that? From the lips, to the shape of his eyes… the curve of his nose…” You continue, taking the little one from his arms, giving a kiss to both him and Charles.

"Does he really?” Charles asked, turning to you with his bright, signature lopsided smile, his dimples showing before looking down at your son, his smirk slowly disappearing.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? You seem worried…” You question, raising a brow with a concerned tone.

"Be honest with me…please?” He pleaded, seemingly embarrassed by the question he’s going to ask. You give a nod, signaling him to continue.

“Do you think he will hate me?” Charles blurted out. “I mean, I rarely spend time at home, leaving you to do all work in the apartment for more than half of the year and with the baby and your work- I just… I don’t want him to think that his father hates him for always travelling.“ You blink before sighing, placing your palm onto his cheek as you hold your son in one arm.

“Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc. Our little boy will never hate you or anything of the such. You are the sweetest, and most loving father any child can ask for. I trust you and I love you.” You comfort him, stroking his stubbly cheek, making his charming grin return.

“…Thank you.”

“There’s that smile I love. Now come on… not only does our little Jules need his sleep, we do too.”

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒

LANDO didn’t think he’d be a father so young. If anything, Lando planned his future superbly. Complete Formula One with at least a world championship underneath his belt, get married, move back to England to be close to family, and eventually start his own family. But sometimes you have to live in the present instead of the future.

Needless to say, your pregnancy was unplanned. With a celebration of a podium win, alcoholic drinks, and the lights of the club, one thing led to another. Telling him was the stressful part but everything turned out better than believed.

The second you told him, his eyes widened before asking a “..Are you serious?”. As soon as you confirmed a bright, boyish smile overtook him, wrapping you in a tight hug and placing kisses all over your face and eventually onto your lower abdomen. During your pregnancy, he wanted the world to know and proudly showed you off. That’s when you knew everything will be perfectly fine with you, him and your new addition to the family.

It would be lying to say that the performance of McLaren during the Japanese GP was great. The strategy was below average, the cars were not at their best performance, but most of all, no podium for Lando or Oscar. Lando was frustrated. Even though it’s so early in his career, Lando feels as if he’s falling behind. And having no wins is rubbing salt in the wound. Having to be known as the racer with such a noticable and bold personality, he wants to prove himself to not only the fans, but journalists that he capable of being a world champion in given time.

“Fuckin’ hell..” Lando muttered, running a hand through his curly hair as he sat down on his driver's room couch. P5. If anything, most drivers will dream of a P5, but Lando wanted more. What could he have done differently?

What if he reacted faster to the lights out?

What if he made that turn quicker?

What if he listened to his impulses?

Will he ever win a race in his life?

Will he always be a disappointment to his girlfriend and daughter?

“I can hear what you’re thinking from a mile away Lando.” You snap him out of his thoughts, turning his head to face you as you hold your daughter. “I came to check on you. You left right after the interviews and we couldn’t find you. This little lady started to get fussy without you.”

“Did she now?” He asked, giving a smile to overshadow his frowning from earlier. trying to steer the topic away from the attention on him.

“Lando, I’m worried about you. You’ve been so… distant lately. Tell me what’s wrong.” You try to persuade him, taking a seat onto the driver’s room coach next to him.

“You don’t need to worry, it’s nothing major. Just-“

“Just you being self-critical and thinking about what you can do different during the race even though you tried your best and have done everything you can given the car that you have?” You say, catching him off guard by how spot on you were.

“…well… that was spot on.” He comments jokingly, giving a rather melancholic look. “How did you know?”

“Lando, I’ve known you since we were 16 and started dating since we were 19. We are now 24 and have a kid together. I sure hope I get this stuff right.” You explained in a teasing tone, but a tender expression begins gracing your face. “Do you want to talk about it?” You question, placing a free hand noto his cheek in a comforting manner.

He gently moves your hand from his cheek, holding onto it instead. “I guess I just want to prove myself and not disappoint you, our little girl, and the team.”

“Lando, we are more than proud of you. Hell, we are above and beyond elevated with how you’ve been doing since you joined F1.” You comfort, adjusting the little one in your arms as she tried to grab your hair.

“…Even with no career wins..?” Lando asks, his gaze meeting yours.

“Look at me Lando. Having no wins is perfectly fine. The fact you even made it this far into your career is amazing in itself. You need to stop doubting yourself and taking away the credit you deserve.” You continue, giving a soft look.

“I don’t want to disappoint her when she gets older.” Lando explained, “Her father in Formula 1, driving for McLaren with no wins for 6 seasons so far. I don’t want her to be embarrassed by her classmates when she gets older because of me-” He sighed before a small hand patted his face harshly.

"BAH!” The little girl squealed, her hand still resting against Lando’s cheek.

Lando groaned, still a bit surprised by the sudden attack. “What is it silly girl? Are you not happy daddy is talking down on himself?” Lando asked, a genuine smile appearing on his face, taking her from your arms and placing her in his lap for her to stand on. She placed her hands on both of his cheeks now, as Lando stroked her curly hair back from her face.

“She’s just saying what we are thinking.” You laugh, resting your head on Lando’s shoulder.

“Saying? I’m not sure much saying is going on.” He replies with a raised brow.

“…You get what I mean.” You roll your eyes and get up from the couch.

“I do.” He answers with a smirk, also getting up while holding his daughter close to him.

“Come on now. Let’s get out of here and celebrate how far you’ve gotten.” You say giving Lando a kiss on the lips and a kiss to the little one’s forehead.

Yeah. Lando wouldn’t change this one bit.

[princessbrunette]

All i can think about is rafe cameron buying you stupidly expensive lingerie sets for christmas😵‍💫 and then after breakfast he asks you to model them🤭

SANTA BABY ♡

gettin me in the festive spirit hehehe this made me wanna spend xmas with the cameron’s so bad :((

cw: christmas duh, family bonding time, i aged Wheezie down to be like 6 years old bc i think it would be cute idk LMAOOO , suggestive themes but nothing too crazy ❀

At his core, Rafe Cameron liked to think he was a family man. He’d often flip out, misbehave, and shit talk his family members it’s true, but Christmas was a time he liked to put it all behind him (Atleast until the new year starts, and he can start up his usual BS)

As you can imagine, Christmas at the Cameron’s was something extravagant. Humungous white christmas tree with silver decorations at the centre of the house, the outside of the house decked with lights that required enough power to start up 3 yachts, fake snow on the porch and Frank Sinatras Christmas album playing round the house at each corner. The years had only softened Ward, and whilst he could be cruel, hard on Rafe and borderline forgetful of Wheezies existence — Christmas was where he shone brightest, just wanting to do right by his kids and now, you, his sons girlfriend.

Receiving presents from the family was a whole different ballgame to your usual Christmas at home, Ward having grinned ear to ear when he handed you the box with the Tiffany’s heart tag charm bracelet glittering under the Christmas lights of the early morning (Wheezie being Wheezie woke everyone up at 6AM sharp.) Rafe, who’d insisted you’d curled right up to his side on the couch wearing his robe resisted an eye roll, his dad always having to out do him, but you seemed elated and he felt his heart warm.

They went all out, Rose handing you a literal 90’s Blumarine runway piece she’d simply overheard you talking Rafes ear off about, the next 5 minutes spent by you and Sarah fawning over it. Sarah’s gift was next, a set of SKIMS dresses you’d been saving to your Pinterest which she couldn’t help but notice, and of course Wheezie proudly handing you a glittery macaroni necklace she’d crafted you at school, which you had no choice but to act like it was the best gift of all.

Come Rafe’s turn, he simply offered his family a smile and patted your side, turning his head to look at you. “I’ve got her presents in my room, figured I’d give it to you privately.” He teases, ignoring Sarah’s ‘Barf’ comment from her cross legged position on the floor beside her little sister.

The family dispersed for a little while, Sarah helping Wheezie set up her new toys on the carpet infront of the tree, Rose and Ward going to start up the food in the kitchen (Ward insists on cooking everything themselves instead of having the chefs do it, because it was tradition.) Before you could wander in there and offer your help, you were being pulled back gently by the arm into your fluffy robe clad boyfriend wearing a poorly masked excited smile. “What, you don’t want your present from me?”

He slides a box from under his bed when you get up to his room again, covered with thin pink gift paper to hide the logo. He sits on his chair, robe falling between his legs and bare knees exposed outwards. “C’mon, sit on santas lap.” He grins and you mirror him, skipping over, happy and spoiled and perching on his leg. He puts the box in your lap and you peel away the paper to see the Agent Provocateur logo with the iconic black ribbon. You widen your eyes at him as if to say ‘Okaaaay, good job’ before wedging your fingertips carefully beneath the cardboard lip and lifting it, seeing 5 sets before you that was perfectly accustomed to your taste.

You remember your trip to the city with Rafe, it was business of course — but you were happy to tag along and walk alongside him watching him handle things for you and his family. You’d spotted the fancy lingerie store, practically pressing yourself up against the glass of the window as you look inside rambling about how you had so many of the sets saved to your Pinterest, pointing out each with your finger smushed to the glass. Rafe nodded distractedly, phone pressed to his ear, leaning on his hip in his gridded shirt and khaki pants that fit too good, before gesturing to you with his thumb that the two of you needed to get moving again, or else you’d be late to the appointment with a buyer. You pout and peel yourself away from the store.

But that was like what, September? Did he go back and buy it all for you? Order it once he’d returned home with you? You’d know Rafe to hold a grudge, but didn’t know his memory served in a positive manner too. “Rafe…” You coo, plucking out the sets and holding them up to admire the intricate lace detailing, spotting matching garters and whatever else you’d mentioned laying in the box. The thought of him fumbling through your underwear drawer trying to figure out your bra size made you giggle, wrapping an arm around his neck in an appreciative squeeze.

“How’d you remember?” Your voice was high in awe, wanting to hold on to this sweet side of Rafe forever.

“Please, I pay attention sometimes y’know.” He smirks modestly, eyes on the box as he admires his work. “So you like it? Yeah?” His hands finding your hips and giving them a soft squeeze.

“Love it, Rafey.” It comes out muffled, because you’re busying yourself with pressing big wet kisses to his cheek, and then eventually his mouth. He pulls away a fraction, lips still brushing yours and eyes cracking open.

“Gonna try it all on for me though, right?” He drawls in that classic Rafe way that you can never say no to and you nod so vigorously you nearly headbutt him. He pats your butt with a pleased hum and pecks you once more. “Atta girl.”