#because squeezing her and picking her up and shaking her by the cat shoulders to go I LOVE YOU ARTEMIS DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU

[fractallogic]

Darktime camera is no match for cat who is bathing herself (because some hoomin came barging in and put their hoomin face and hoomin smell all over catte. YUCK.)

But nonetheless I LOVE how she found just a perfect little cat-shaped crater to sleep in while my covers were all disarrayed. Hard to tell from the pic but the way everything fell when I finally decided to rouse myself this morning resulted in a little cat-ball-sized spot. And she FOUND it and she decided to sleep in the cat spot instead of in her usual spot right in front of my pillow. God I love this cat.

[mynameisjag]

Because I just remembered, as author, I have power to do whatever the hell I want in fanfiction. The only powers in the universe that can stop me is my terrible ADD and terrible sleeping habits.

It’s a sequel to ‘Mistaken for Wolverine's and Wade's possible kid.'

There was a possible feral child running around with claws and a smart mouth.

“We'll take him home, keep him in the bathroom for a little while so Laura can get used to his scent and then slowly introduce them to each other.”

“…they aren’t cats…”

“Right, weasel family, close enough.”

Logan rolled his eyes with grunt, the smell of crushed ice and iron filling his nose, they had been following the kids scent for awhile now, enough for a quick change out of uniform to throw on street clothes.

Wade had thrown on an over large sweater with the hoodie pulled up with a face mask and glasses, Logan himself was dressed in one of his flannels.

“We look like the Unibomber and the Bounty Paper mascot have decided to go on a date at the local market.”

They were close, the tracks had lead them to a more public place, a small outdoor fruit market, but there was no sign of white hair anywhere. Though that didn’t matter if the kid could go invisible.

They were close though…

“So what’s the bet that baby wolvie can change his appearance to fit in?”

“Hmm?”

Wade nudged their shoulders together as he gave a subtle nod over to the next stall, black hair, blue eyes, different clothes…but the smell remained the same…

“Oh, boy, whoever made this designer baby knew what they were doing, still has those sharp claws and cute little fangs you both share. Congratulations to us? What we naming him?”

“Wade.”

“Right, assuming gender, my apologies.”

The man actually snorted in brief amusement, getting what he knew was a wide grin even if it was covered up, he rolled his eyes as the usually red covered merc grabbed his bicep, “He could be a Void escapee, I don’t smell any other human smells on him, let’s stay up wind right now.”

Wade gave the arm he was attached to a small squeeze, “Led the way Mr. Paper Picker Upper.”

They moved slowly through the crowd, eyes on the kid but still keeping a distance incase he picked up the super senses trait.

Lightly clawed hands were picking up apples, sniffing them then placing them down, head would tilt and the ears would twitch, he was still listening for any kind of disturbance. Eyes would focus on a fruit, then dart to the side, still wary and still watching out.

“The face shape and features are the same…need better proof though.”

“Lucky you and the need for the plot to move forward, looks like someone has itchy knuckles and a case of peekaboo.”

Sure enough, one hand was rubbing at the knuckles were a slight sheen glinted in the sunlight before disappearing.

The kid was frowning down at his own hands, distracted enough to not notice Wade casually stroll up behind him, “Baby boy, is that you! You’ve been gone for two years! We thought you were dead!”

Logan sighed tiredly, accepting his fate as he watched his partner throw his arms around the child in a crushing hug, wailing dramatically how they would be so much better parents now, they would support his interest in professional knitting and how dare he leave with a note written in cursive.

Phones were out, people were clapping over the tearful reunion, the poor kid looked shocked to be manhandled over to him by Wade.

“It’s your Daddy, I know he is currently cosplaying a lumberjack, but he’s still the asshole we love.”

Logan could only shake his head, letting out a huff before staring down the kid, “Ready to have that chat?”

Bright blue eyes glared up at him on a level of unimpressed that only teens could reach, “I don’t know, are you ready to go save Goldilocks, I think you better go off and get lost in the woods looking for her.”

“Oh, he is just the Sassiness! He gets it from me, I swear! Just an absolute deee-light!"

[ddejavvu]

Hiii! Could you write a Spencer Reid x fem reader who are dating & she’s super drunk, he needs to take care of her and she’s all “no I have a boyfriend who I love so much” and goes on a ramble about Spencer, not releasing she’s talking to him & he’s all heart eyes and giggly at her whilst trying to take care of her? Lots of fluff? Thank you!

The minute Spencer tries taking your hand to help you down from the booth you're squeezed into, you push his hand away, "No."

"No," You repeat, shaking your head with all the coordination of a baby deer, "Nooo sir. I am not going to be partaking in anything with you, because I have a boyfriend," You announce, your voice spanning over the entire table, even reaching Rossi who's at the head, "And I love him, and you're- just- fuck off."

Spencer's mouth falls open incredulously at your expletive, though a laugh escapes it rather than one of his own. "Oh, really? You've got a boyfriend?"

"Mhm." You nod proudly, settling back into your seat and burrowing away from his waiting hands into Emily's side, "He's tall, and he has a gun, so don't-" You choke on what Spencer presumes is a hiccup, but could very well be a belch, "Don't mess with me."

"You tell'im," Emily laughs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and rubbing the chilly skin beneath the cutoff of your sleeves, "Do you want me to call Spencer for you, sweetheart? Have him come pick you up?"

"Yeah," You nod easily, your eyes set greedily on your friend's drink now that yours have been downed, "Can you tell him to bring me a blanket, too? I'm cold."

Unbeknownst to you, Penelope herds Spencer away to the edge of the patio your team is seated on, and there's a lingering smile on his face as he listens to what she whispers in his ear.

"I have a blanket in my car," She tells him, "It might have some cat hair on it, but you can totally take it! Go get it, and you can come back like we called you."

"Okay," Spencer's eager to take Penelope's keys from her when she shoves them into Spencer's hands, "Thanks, Garcia. Just make sure she doesn't drink any more, okay?"

A quick glance back at your table reveals Emily holding her glass to your lips, helping you tilt it backwards to dump the concoction down your throat.

"Uh- any more than that." Spencer clarifies. Penelope nods, rushing off to make sure you don't find Rossi's scotch.

Spencer returns barely two minutes later, discreetly dumping Penelope's keys back into her purse. Hotch and Morgan share a knowing smirk when Spencer pats you on the shoulder, and JJ pinches your side from across Emily to get you to notice the man standing beside you.

"Hi angel," Spencer croons, and your face lights up, shining brighter than the fairy lights strung above you, "Emily called me, she said you wanted me to come get you?"

"Spencer!" You cheer, and Emily shares her strength with you to hoist you into his arms where you cling to him like a koala bear, "Spence, you're here! There was this guy, and he tried holding my hand, and-"

"Oh, no," Spencer scrunches his nose, unable to stop himself from laughing when you take it as an invitation to smear yours against his own, "Not a guy! Are you okay, angel?"

"Mhm," You hum, tucking your face into his shoulder, "You're here now, Spence. And you brought a blanket, just like I asked."

"Of course I did," He beams, wrapping his arm tightly around your back as you settle over him like dead weight, "Uh- guys, can we get a bill?"

"Just go," Rossi waves him off, patting his pocket where you all know his rather thick wallet lies, "Take her home now, so that she can't run up my card with any more drinks, and I'll pay for the ones she already had."

"Thanks Rossi," Spencer grins awkwardly at him, flashing the man a strained thumbs-up before he has to use that hand to support the backs of your thighs once more, "Okay, honey, ready to go?"

You don't answer, and Derek leans sideways to peek at you.

"She's out," He snickers, "Pretty boy, make sure she's still breathing when you get home, alright?"

"Got it," Spencer chuckles breathily, "Okay, uh- bye guys."

There's a chorus of send-offs, and Hotch tilts his glass at Reid with an amused twinkle in his dark eyes, "Make sure you're both on time Monday. Hangovers don't excuse you from duty."

[evie-sturns]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

summary: you and chris have a major argument, which results in you storming out of you and chris's house. he regrets everything, but it results in him saying 'i love you' for the first time.

warnings: angst, swearing, argument, crying, fluff, happy ending!

-----------------*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*--------------------

me and chris have been dating for two months, we've never fought, i mean we've bickered, but never a real argument. we've done alot together, we have a house together, 2 cats, we've hooked up tens of times, but never said those 3 words.

'i love you'.

i think both of us are just terrified of scaring the other person away.

-

"chris! i'm home!" i say, walking through the front door as i put my purse down.

no response.

chris is sitting on the couch, my phone on his lap.

"why do you have my phone baby?" I say, jumping down next to him.

"i think we both know." his voice is filled with emotion, he clenched the pepsi can in his right hand tighter.

i reach out a hand, placing it gently on his thigh, he grabs my wrist and throws my hand towards me, my shoulder is tweaked slightly.

"don't fucking touch me!" he says, looking at me in disgust, raising his voice as he stands up.

my eyebrows furrow from pure confusion as i follow him, standing up and facing him.

"tell me whats happening christopher." i say sternly, my shoulder pulses from the sudden jolt.

chris knows when i use his full name i mean it, i don't just throw it around because of how formal it is.

chris glares down at me before slamming the pepsi can to the floor.

"all these fucking months, all these hookups, all these deep talks, everything meant nothing to you?!" he yells, my heart sinks, ive never liked people yelling at me.

i've always had an attitude, chris knows how to deal with it.

"look, if you dont open your fucking mouth instead of flaming me for something i don't even know, i'm out of here yeah?" i snap back, folding my arms.

"you're so pathetic." he mutters, pushing my shoulder back.

"stop touching me chris!" i scream. squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my fists like a toddler.

he scoffs.

a silence grows before i flop down on the couch, clutching my shoulder. i pat the spot next to me, signalling for him to sit down, hoping we can talk it out.

he takes a step back before yelling, "go call mark, cause he clearly loves you so much!" his voice cracking.

my eyes widen.

"so fuck you!" he yells, i stand up.

his cheeks are flushed his eyes are glossy, chris's bottom lip is quivering.

my gaze softens, but instantly flicks back to a harsh one as chris starts again.

"im done with you're shit y/n, go home! for once in your life just leave. me. alone." he says, his tone cold.

i've never cried in front of chris, i don't cry often and if i do, im always alone. but the way he was looking at me broke something in me.

several tears fall down my cheek as i look up at chris. the tears increase as i just stare at him, his mouth gapes slightly. his eyebrows tilt up above his nose.

i push past him, grabbing my purse and running out the door, chris is speed-walking after me, before i slam the door shut, i yell out.

"by the way chris. mark is my fucking dad." my voice shakes as the tears don't slow.

an audible gasp escapes from chris's lips right before the door shuts.

-

two days ago i stormed through the door to my best friends house, sobbing as she comforted me.

i haven’t texted chris in those two days, but he’s been spamming my phone nonstop.

I sigh, sitting my head up off my best friend, amelia’s chest. “you okay?” she asks, pausing the movie which is playing on her macbook.

“did you not hear?” i ask, adjusting my sweater

“hear what..?” she asks, her eyebrowints furrowing in confusion

“you’re doorbell just rang, i’ll go get it okay?” i say, giving amelia a warm smile as i run downstairs.

i open the door, my heart sinks.

“chris?” i say, taking a nervous step back

his hand is clutched onto a stuffed animal, and a hand picked flower, which is dropping to the side slightly now. chris’s eyes are swollen, his nose red.

“i- uh.. um.” he stammers looking around

i stay silent, waiting for him to start,

he holds a hand out “can we go sit in my car i uh..” he says, his voice cracking

chris has always said his car is his comfort place, the area he feels safest, so i don’t shut him down yet.

i take his hand “amelia! i’ll be back in a few minutes” i yell as i close the front door behind me.

the walk down the driveway is silent, i can feel chris’s hand growing more sweaty by the second. he opens the door for me, the passenger seat has a blanket on it, with a packet of painkillers resting in the middle.

“what’s the pills for?” i ask, looking over my shoulder at chris.

“your shoulder..” he says, a guilty expression plastered across his face.

i nod understandably, sitting down in the car seat.

chris walks over to the driver side, climbing inside.

he lets out an audible swallow before opening his mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

“shit.. sorry ‘m really nervous..” chris says, holding onto a pepsi can.

“i’m so sorry, for even assuming the worst. i feel like an absolute goof for thinking your dad was another person..” he pauses for a second, quickly rubbing his under eyes

“and i was just hurt, i don’t even know why i thought mark was someone else, i should’ve never touched you i feel like shit about that too, and i’ve never seen you cry, so seeing what i had done to effect you just shattered my heart, i just don’t want to loose you and i.. i” he takes in a deep breath

“i love you.”

the rest of his words don’t get through to me, my heart is fluttering, i look over at him, chris’s cheeks are flushed red as his mouth moves quicker than his brain, i lean over the centre console, shutting him up with a kiss.

after a few seconds i pull away, “i love you too christopher.”

-

i run back inside, thanking amelia and telling her everything chris said, amelia is practically crying tears of joy as she hugs me, “go go! go back to his house i love you y/n!” she says, a smile spread ear to ear on her face.

i run back outside to chris, climbing inside his car.

the rest of the conversations go like this.

“are you sure your shoulders okay?”

“chris you barely touched me.”

“no but i made you cry y/n.”

“yeah, not because of the shoulder sweetheart.”

“well i told matt and nick what happened and then ordered a private doctor to come assess you..”

“chris.”

——————————————————————————

ayeee hope y’all like!!

[luveline]

hiiii not sure if your requests are open but if they aren’t just ignore this😭

imagine getting into an argument with james, sirius, and remus because you brought a stray kitten or something home and you really don’t have the room for a kitten

“but look at him🥺”

“no”

“🥺”

“… no” *less convincingly*

You hold the kitten in your hand. Remus strokes her head, her little damp ears. “It's not about that, Remus, I just couldn't leave her there, the box was falling apart and… I thought that only happened in movies.” 

Sirius leans forward on his knees to give the kitten a stroke of his own. “She's lovely,” he murmurs, scratching under her chin and grinning when she moves into it for more. “It's too bad the flat's so small. Otherwise we could keep her.” 

She's tortoise shell with a white half circle around her mouth, eyes squinted closed as she shivers. You've wrapped her in a tea towel like a blanket. She is, without a doubt, that cutest and saddest creature you've ever seen. “Where is she supposed to go, Siri?” you ask gently. 

“People love cats.” Sirius puts his hand on Remus' thigh casually, giving it a loving squeeze as he settles in. “Everybody wants a kitten.” 

But not everyone will be nice to a kitten. She feels like your responsibility now; how can you leave her? She's burrowed into you from the moment you picked her up, shushing and murmuring, your knees sodden in the puddle of rainwater beneath you both. 

“We have to keep her, please,” you say. 

There's a mutual surprise. “Dove, we can't,” Remus says. “The bathroom barely fits the toilet, shower, and sink, we'd never be able to have a litter box.” 

“It wouldn't be fair,” Sirius agrees, “on us or the kitten, she'd have no room once she turns into a cat.” 

You bring the kitten close to your chest and show them her helpless face. “But look at her,” you say softly, widening your eyes gently, your brows bunched together in the beginnings of heartbreak. 

“No,” Remus says, shaking his head sympathetically. 

You frown at him and Sirius in turn, your bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. 

“No,” he says again, sounding unsure. 

Sirius rubs his leg. “Stay strong, my love.” 

“There's just not enough room.” 

You fear you may be losing this battle, and if they really don't want a cat, maybe you shouldn't force them. But then your trump card comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, shirtless, grey joggers low on his hips, and you know you still have a chance. 

“Wow, Jamie,” you say, not having to act very much to give your voice a hoarse rasp, “you might need to shower again.” 

His smile is magnetic. “Yeah?” he asks, immediately delighted by such a brazen comment. “How's the little sweetheart? Reckon we can leave her alone?” 

“She's cold still,” you say.

James visibly melts at your sad tone, while Remus rolls his eyes. “She's just trying to get you on her side, James. I've said we can't keep the cat and she's–” 

“Taking advantage of her feminine wiles?” Sirius suggests. 

“Cheating,” Remus finishes. 

James leans over the back of the sofa between your head and Remus to kiss behind your ear, a brief press of the lips. “Why should I care? Doesn't she deserve her own way?” 

“It's not as though I'm lying,” you say guiltily. 

James laughs and kisses your jaw. You bring your shoulder up to your chin and flush with heat at such a simple thing, trying your hardest not to jostle the kitten in your hand as he wraps an arm around your front, resting his face against yours. The wet curls of his hair are cold on your skin, and the straight line of his jaw digs in. “I know,” he says. 

“Catch on, Jamie,” Remus says. 

“Shan't, won't.” Another kiss to your cheek. 

“Please, Remus, I promise if you don't want her then I won't make you, but if it's about room, of course there's enough. The four of us manage to squeeze in, don't we?” You lean into James’ embrace, eyes melty-soft. You're practically batting your eyelashes at him. 

Sirius flops into Remus’ lap with a resigned sigh. “If you don't say yes, I will anyway. Look at her.” 

You don't know if he means the kitten or you, but you choose to believe it's you he's complimenting, and you react accordingly, your little smile pushing Remus completely over the edge. 

He sighs. “Yes, alright. Fine.” 

You pass James the little warm parcel of fur and use your freshly emptied hands to grab Remus by both arms. “Thank you! Aw, thank you, Remus. Sirius. I'll be so absolutely clean and if it does seem too small I promise, I won't make anyone suffer.” 

“I never thought you would,” he says. “If you really want to keep her, I can't stop you. I'm your boyfriend, not a prison warden.” 

“Well, we share a home–” 

“I know,” he says warmly, “it's alright. Keep your kitten, dove. Looks like you've found her for a reason.” 

You laugh happily and gather him up for a hug. “Oh, I love you.” 

“What shall we name her?” Sirius asks around you. 

“I'm not fussed. What do you like?” James asks. 

Sirius meets your eyes as you and Remus pull apart. “You always get your way, hmm? Why don't you name her?” 

Oh, you could hug him to death too. He looks comfortable where he is, his face on Remus thigh, hair fanned out over his joggers, and you don't want to disturb him (he's not quite as tactile as the others), so you stroke a curl from his cheek and offer him a cheeky smile. “Don't you have any ideas?” you ask. 

“About you, or the cat?” 

You laugh at his teasing. “Which one do you think?” 

Remus nudges you in the ribs. “Don't start. If we're keeping your cat, we need to go out, don't we? You'll have to go get dressed again.”

You give them all a glowing smile and clamber off of the sofa to find your shoes. 

[foreingersgod]

you’re caroline harvey fic absolutely ate. please write more for her there’s such a lack of fics 😫

Scaredy Cat . CH

pairing: caroline harvey x reader

A/N: i had to rewrite this 3 times because it kept sounding super awkward, so if this is horrible, im sorry LOL

“maybe we should watch something else, babe…” caroline offered from the spot next to you on the bed. she had an arm wrapped lazily around your shoulder, legs tangled with yours under the sheets “it’s gonna get you scared and then you won’t be able to sleep”

it was a simple date-night-in on a gloomy saturday. the rain pouring heavily outside made it impossible to continue with your original plans, forcing you and caroline to resort to a movie night in your shared apartment. in all honesty, you didn’t mind-you’d much rather snuggle up in bed with your girlfriend, snacking on a half eaten box of pizza and throwing on a show. you had been scrolling through netflix for what felt like an eternity until you came upon the horror section, recognizing a movie poster that you thought looked quite interesting. you turned to caroline with a pleading look, begging her agree to watch it with you. but she knew you more than you knew yourself and was quite quick to suggest something else.

she knew you were jumpy person, easily paranoid over little things, so she was aware that watching this movie wouldn’t end like you thought it would. you always claimed to like horror movies-love them, in fact-but without fail, you’d end up shutting it off before it even got to the good part. she thought she’d spare you of the jumpscares and inevitably the nightmares you were sure to have by picking a different movie.

“but it looks so good!” you pouted, bottom lip jutting out as you gave her your best puppy dog eyes. a look you knew she could never refuse “i promise i won’t chicken out! please?”

she rose her eyebrows at you, head tilting to the side in distrust. but you doubled nonetheless as you continued your pleas.

“alight alight, fine” she agreed, rolling her eyes “but i don’t want to hear about how scared you are when we go to bed, got it?”

you smiled almost instantly, shaking your shoulders in excitement and pressing play on the movie. your body scooted closer to caroline’s and your hand found its way to her sweatpant-clad thigh. an off key, eerie music emitted from the screen as the movie began to roll.

“i’m a woman of my word” you said, waving her off “it’s probably not even that scary, i’m sure i’ll be fine”

famous last words.

like caroline had expected, your excitement was short lived. only 20 minutes had passed before you were jolting in your seat and clinging onto her arm. it took all she had to not burst out laughing every time one of the jumpscares took you by surprise. she noticed how your hand squeezed her bicep every time one of the scenes got increasingly suspenseful, how you would cover eyes with one hand with your fingers parted slightly.

finally the movie ended after a huge plot twist, resulting in you letting out a relieved sigh. just like you had promised, you made it the entire way through.

“so,” caroline began, watching the credits take over the screen as she turned the TV off. she looked over to you, fear practically radiating off of your body “was it worth it?”

“yea” you nodded as you chewed on the inside of your cheek “not bad at all”

it was quite obvious that you were lying. from the meekness of your voice to the extensive clingy-ness, caroline knew that you were more deceiving than you intended to let on. but despite that, she wanted to let you have your moment of pride and let you workout the fright yourself.

“y’sure? you’re looking a bit pale, babe. gonna make it through the night?”

“i’m fine!” you shrugged it off once more, slumping down on the bed and pulling the comforter up over your body abruptly. sleep seemed to be the only thing to soothe your mind. your feet found company with hers as you grappled for any source of comforting touch “can we just go to bed now?”

caroline obliged as to not press any further. you wouldn’t be a happy camper if she had proved you to be wrong. she followed in your actions, nuzzling into bed and pulling you flush against her chest like she always did. for several moments, it seemed the world was silent for the night. trees rustled outside your bedroom window, the frame of your apartment building creaking with each whoosh of the wind, the quiet breathes of your girlfriend hitting the nape of your neck softly. it was like any other night, drifting off to sleep with one another, until caroline felt you tossing and turning.

“YN,” she mumbled, half asleep. she sat up using her elbow to prop herself up as she gently shook your arm “what’s going on, you keep moving around over there?”

you muttered something into your pillow, your words incoherent to caroline. the restless movements of your limbs continued as she tried asking you again, only to be met with a defeated whimper.

“what?”

“i said,” you finally removed your face from your pillow, craning your neck so she could hear you better “i really need to pee”

“you-” she shook her head “if you need to pee, go to the bathroom…”

“but i can’t”

“why not?”

“because,” an embarrassed whisper escaped your throat “i’m too…scared to get up”

her infectious laugh bounced off the walls of the bedroom. a sound soothing enough to make you forget about the pressure on your bladder for a swift moment. you groaned as she carefully pulled the duvet down the bed.

“alright, scaredy cat” the bed dipped as she threw her legs off the mattress, feet already planted on the plush carpet “come on”

“huh?”

“i said come on” she was now on your side of the bed, searching in the dark for your hand blindly. she gripped it softly as she tugged you out of bed “i’ll go with you”

“you don’t have to do that” she guided you towards the bathroom with her hand still grasping onto yours. the ground beneath you creaked with each step, causing you to stay on high alert. you felt caroline’s thumb rub small circles on the skin of your hand to let you know she was right there with you.

“no,” she said, flipping the switch to the bathroom lights and ushering you in. she found residence on the sink counter, her legs kicking carelessly in the air “but i want to”

you couldn’t help but smile, a rosy blush creeping onto your cheeks. caroline had to the be the sweetest person on the planet. not everyone was so fortunate to have a partner that would escort them into the bathroom at 2 am after watching a scary movie. you did your best to keep the bathroom break short, doing your business quickly as you felt guilty for waking your girlfriend up.

“better?” she asked as you washed your hands.

“much” you sighed before facing her, letting your arms drape across her shoulders as you melted into her embrace “thank you, baby, you’re the best”

“anything for my girl” she grinned. the scent of her berry chapstick lingered on her lips as she leaned into you, placing a chaste kiss to your lips “but that was the last time you’re watching a scary movie, i told you that you were gonna get scared”

“okay whatever” you joked, releasing her from your grasp as you headed back to bed “maybe i just wanted you to protect me”

you both climbed back under the covers, the mattress below you still warm from your weight. the night was still peaceful, everything just the same as you had left it. your bodies fell back into their typical positions as you placed a hand atop her chest.

“mmm” she mumbled, burying her face in the crook of your neck once again “you know i always will”

“yea,” you said, feeling how her heartbeat slowed under your touch, indicating she was nearly asleep. with heavy eyelids, you let yourself do the same as you drifted into a similar slumber “i do”

[rninies]

✮ idiotic love - gojo satoru

synopsis: gojo satoru annoys the hell out of you.

warnings: fluff, gn!reader, chaotic couple lol — wc: 698

notes: this is not enemies to lovers but one sided hatred LMFAO

you and gojo satoru have been incompatible ever since you met him. it’s not like he’s ever said anything mean to you, but it’s because he annoys the hell out of you. every little thing he does makes you just want to punch him in the face. shoko and suguru have already seen the way you two bicker every time you see each other, and it is safe to say they are tired of it.

as fate wants, you and satoru have been picked to go grocery shopping together. jujutsu high requires a snack restock, and as unlucky as you are, you picked the short end of the stick. when satoru looks at the face you made when you pull the short stick, he laughs out loud, doubling over.

“are you laughing at me?” you asked, clenching the stick so hard in your hand that it almost breaks.

“yeah, i am. what are you going to do about it?” satoru says with an annoying smile on his face.

the irked you for some reason. “wipe that smile off your face before i do it for you.” you throw the stick at satoru, crossing your arms. “who got the other one?” when satoru lifts his hand up, you immediately shake your head. “no. no way. i am not going to the grocery store with him.” you gave shoko a pleading look, begging her to switch with you but all she did was shrug.

“sorry, y/n.” she apologizes half-heartedly.

“sugu?” you turn to look at him and he shakes his head, leaving before you can ask him. “you traitor!”

“hey come on. grocery shopping with me is fun.” satoru slings an arm over your shoulder. you flinched, surprised, and immediately moved away from him. “come on. the kids are waiting.” he winks and starts walking away. you groan before catching up to him.

the first two minutes were filled with silence, which was weird for satoru because he always wanted to talk to you. the silence… feels weird. you were used to a loud satoru, so a quiet satoru just… creeps you out for some reason.

“are you okay?” you asked, and satoru hummed in reply.

“mm, could be better,” he mumbles. however, he suddenly stops, making you shocked. “actually, no. i’m not okay.”

you raise an eyebrow. “what? what’s wrong?”

“this is so frustrating.” satoru scratches the back of his neck and then drops his hand frustratedly. “this question has been on my mind ever since we met, okay? why do you hate me so much?”

“what?” you paused, not knowing what to answer. why do you hate satoru so much? “you want an answer right now?”

“yes, please.” satoru crosses his arms, waiting for your answer.

“it’s the way you annoy me all the time. the way you always have to show off your stupid infinity power by using it whenever i try to throw a pillow at your way. it’s the way your stupidly handsome face is constantly on my mind!” you exclaimed, but then you immediately covered your mouth, realizing what you had just said.

satoru blinks and then smiles, shaking his head. “ah, so you have a crush on me?”

“no!” you wave your hand in front of his face, turning red. “no! i don’t like you! don’t get the wrong idea! i just-”

“nu-uh. you have a crush on me.” a smug smile is evident on his face and you immediately slapped yourself mentally. “the person who has been clearly hating me since the start has a crush on me.”

“stop! no! i didn’t say that! stop, you’re delusional. i do not have a crush-” satoru cuts you off with a kiss. your eyes widened when you felt his soft lips on yours. when satoru pulled away, you couldn’t move or say anything.

“cat got your tongue?” satoru smirks, he places a finger under your chin and squishes both of your cheeks. “come on. say something.”

“you-” you stuttered before turning around and start walking. “i hate you!”

satoru looks at you in shock before laughing, catching up with you with ease. his hand intertwine with yours, squeezing it. “i love you too.”

taglist: @planetnini @xintre @kyoghurts @sad-darksoul (send an ask to be added!) <3

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic january 9 - write - 946words - feat. fem!harry because i was craving girldads

(this one also esp goes out to @veryinnovative)

“Papa?”

“Yes, mon chou?” Regulus responds, shaking a curl out of his eyes to look over his shoulder as he keeps stirring.

Harrie is still bent over her artwork, crayon held in a tight fist, pigtails standing askew with half her hair falling out of them and in her little face anyways.

“Will you help me write my name?”

Regulus lowers the temperature of the stovetop to let the sauce simmer as he puts on the lid, “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

He crouches down to check the potato wedges and veggies in the oven, satisfied when they look according to the alarm he set, and gives his hands a quick rinse before he saunters over to his daughter.

The soles of his plush slippers are a faint noise against the whirring of the oven and the soft bubbling of the pot. The air smells warm and cozy with the home-cooked meal and the drying clementine peels that are still on the table from Harrie’s earlier snack.

Regulus bends over her to regard her painting, nose buried into her wayward hair, inhaling. It smells like her Strawberry Shortcake (the kid’s show) shampoo, like James’ cologne and still that distinct brand of baby that Regulus is utterly obsessed with and hopes she never loses. Well, at least as long as she’s small enough for him to still pick her up.

Harrie is unperturbed, keeps drawing little blue petals around a flower besides what Regulus assumes must be their cat, Mochi. Or maybe a very oversized ant. His little artiste.

“Can I give you a kiss?” Regulus mumbles into the crown of her head.

“Yup.” 

Harrie squeals when Regulus plants a loud smooch on her chubby cheek. She smells like grapes and walnuts there too. James must’ve packed them for her lunch in kindergarden.

She tapers off into a hearty giggle when Regulus keeps peppering kisses before he lets himself fall into the kitchen chair beside her.

“So,” Regulus says pointedly, making a show of granting her his undivided attention.

Harrie nods her head, making little, silly Mhm-mhm-mhm noises. Like she’s trying to convey the importance of what follows. Or like she has a tune stuck in her head. Regulus bets his money on both.

He grins, tucking a strand behind Harrie’s ear that just falls right back into place. “Where do you want your name?”

A tongue pokes out of the corner of his daughter’s mouth and she turns her pen to point at the top edge with the end of it, “Right here.”

“Alright.”

Harrie chooses another color for her signature and then they begin to write together.

“An H. Huh—as in house,” Regulus makes, Harrie repeating the sound automatically. “Two straight lines down and then one across the middle. Good job.”

“Then Ay,” Harrie continues. The beginning of the alphabet she’s already got memorized.

“That’s right, mon chou.”

“Ha-rrr.”

“An R—that’s a straight line, with a bump on top and a leg on the bottom. That’s it. We need another one of those, remember? Your name has two.”

Just as Harrie sets onto the next letter Regulus hears a car rumble up into their driveway, head instinctively swiveling around to the window.

When he looks back down the second R isn’t entirely correct. “Whoops—look, this one has its leg on the wrong side, honey.”

“Oh,” Harrie makes, eyebrows rising, and she goes to grab her eraser.

She corrects her letter and then proceeds to draw the I without prompting from Regulus, adding a wonky heart on top.

“Good job. And an—”

“E–like eeeraser,” his daughter sings, adding the three horizontal lines to the last letter, right as Regulus hears a keychain jingle against the front door.

Harrie is now drawing a little star next to her name as James comes into the kitchen with Mochi in his arms, a leaf sticking to his paw.

“Daddy,” Harrie yells, scrambling down from her chair and hasting into James’ arms, Mochi already fleeing for his cat tree, presumably.

James hums delightedly, smiling as he squeezes their daughter to his chest, “Mm, mi amorcito.”

He’s still in his coat and beanie from outside, glasses fogging up—though luckily for him, he’s had the mind to slip out of his boots at least.

Harrie rubs her palms along James’ stubbled jaw when they pull apart, making him chuckle. “Missed me?”

“A little,” Harrie shrugs.

“Oh, only a little, huh?” James challenges, whisking Harrie up and whirling her around in the air, twirling himself and making her scream with joy.

He sets her against his hip after he successfully lost one of her hair ties on his little escapade, never to be found again or for Mochi to play with.

“Smells amazing, love,” James says warmly, gazing at Regulus before helping Harrie gently pull out the other hair tie too.

Which reminds him Regulus to check on the sauce again. 

He smiles sweetly at his husband and wanders back over to the counter, grabbing the lid with a kitchen mitten and stirring the thickening sauce as he gets hit by its savoury tang and hint of black pepper and parsley.

At his back he hears Harrie and James babbling, conversing about something or the other as she takes her seat again. Something about finger paints and Ron and tea cup and pee accident.

Regulus is just stretching to get some plates when there’s strong arms wrapping around him from behind, prompting his lips into another immediate smile.

“Mi vida,” his husband mumbles, pressing a soft kiss behind Regulus’ ear.

James is warm and smells like caramel latte and outside air and the same hint of cologne found in their daughter’s hair.

[mediumgayitalian]

She almost runs over her guitar on her way in the driveway.

For a second, the image is so obscene that she laughs. She’d gotten her hands on a permanent marker, when she was three, scrawled her name across the body with careful hands a tongue stuck out of her mouth in concentration. The N is backwards, and she’d creatively used the soundhole as the O. Hollered for Daddy to come look, to come ruffle her hair and swing her over his shoulders for a job well done.

He’d come to look, alright.

“Well, Helen,” he’d said to his wife, scrubbing a hand over his neck, “damn thing’s hers, now, I suppose.”

He’d always warned her to be careful with it. Scolded her for every sticker she’d slapped on the neck, every painted doodle on the face. Picked it up when she left it sprawled on the couch, placing it gently on the stand. Careful as he was with all her things, with her.

It’s strings-down on the pavement, now, half-crushed under the weight of her patched pink backpack. She takes a half step forward, chipped paint of her purple toenails scratching against the wood of the guitar. She crouches down and touches it, softly, wincing at the twang of the twisted strings.

“What…”

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention. She looks up just in time to catch the pale blue curtains swish quickly shut over the bow windows, to see the lights flick off.

Mouth dry, she touches her stomach. The swell is barely there — barely noticeable. Barely far along enough to feel the kick.

She wants to scream. She wants to run up to the door and bang on it ‘til Mama swings it open, wants to collapse to her knees and sob and beg for their forgiveness. Wants to tell them about how scared she’s been for months. Wants Mama to grip her hand in her calloused ones, sit her at the kitchen table and get her the exact type of tea that’ll settle her stomach and soothe her heartburn. Wants Daddy to smooth back her hair and press a kiss to the crown of her forehead, squeezing the curve of her shoulder. Wants Wally the cat to hop up onto her lap, mrrping and bumping his head into her sternum.

Instead, she swallows. She swings her backpack over her shoulders, picks her guitar gently off the cracked driveway, and walks straight-backed to her car. The key sticks in the lock, as it always does, and in her increasingly desperate attempts to force it open she twists the damn thing, and the key is sad and thin and bent when she yanks it out and she cries, almost, the tears build and build and build in her eyes, util suddenly she grits her teeth and decides that she will not. She shoves the key back in the lock and twists the other way, bending it back into shape, wrenching open the door and throwing her backpack in, relishing in the thunk as it hits the passenger door. With her guitar she’s gentler, barely, setting it neatly along the backseats and wrenching her hand back as hard as she can to make up for it.

She sits in the drivers seat so hard the whole car shakes. The steering wheel is warm, still, from the heat of her palms on the drive here from Molly’s house, because she’s been overheated lately. For the last four months, to be exact. Overheated and cranky and nauseous and heavy.

“Well,” she whispers, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. She wraps her arms around her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut, biting her tongue as hard as she can. “It’s you and me and sheer fucking will, I guess, kid.”

She rifles through her CDs until she comes across a case with a wood-pattern print and a man with a revolver lounging across it. She pulls out the scratched disc and feeds it carefully into the player, waiting for the deep baritone to rumble through her shit plastic speakers, and listens to the first bar, the second, the third.

But this is for real, so forget about me. Eight more minutes to go.

The light doesn’t come back on. The curtains don’t flick. Her Daddy doesn’t come runnin’ out the door, screaming for her to wait. Mama doesn’t follow out calmly after him. All there is is shadow, shadow, shadow, and the shape her guitar made upside down on the pavement.

She backs out of the driveway where she tripped and fell and lost her first tooth, and drives, and drives, and drives.

———

When she was little, her uncle took her to go see Alien.

He shouldn’t have. It was far too old a movie for a kid her age, and the clerk had told him so. But Noah Solace had a penchant for being stubborn and a chip in his shoulder, so he’d taken her anyway. He should have left when the alien leapt from its nest and definitely when one of the freaky little parasites burst from the guy’s chest, but he didn’t, and Naomi had watched frozen completely in her seat, palms sweating, spine rigid, squirming at the thought of something growing inside her. Of being betrayed by something that lived in the deepest recesses of her body.

The day after she leaves home, she taps her chewed-up fingernail on the sides of the wall-phone by a rest stop. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. The Bell logo is covered partially by someone’s tag, by a curved C and bubble O B A L T. Ironically, the worn Sharpie ink is purple.

617 343 7844. She knows the number by heart. She knows the song of dialling it like she knows Jolene. Bah-duh-duh bah-duhduh duh-bah-duhduh. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, four. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She sucks her lip into her teeth. Training her eyes on the purple COBALT tag, the obstructed Bell, the rainbow of wads of gum balled up in the corners, she presses the right buttons. Bahduhduh-bahduhduh-duhbahduhduh. Ring. Ring.

What is she doing. What is she doing.

Ring. Ring.

Naomi isn’t one for planning. She’s absent-minded, she knows she is. Flighty and distracted. Head in the clouds, never one to study. A coaster. A drifter. A real one, now.

Ring. Ring.

Hey, Uncle Noah. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I keep forgetting to respond to your letters. How am I? I’m great! I slept with a god and now I’m nineteen and knocked up and homeless, to boot. Wanna come pick me up?

Ring. Ring.

God, what is she doing. What is she doing.

Ring. Ring. Ri—

“Fuck d’you want?”

Low baritone. Gravelly. Rough, slurring. Sleepy?

“Hello? Can you hear me? Who’s this?”

Hey, Uncle Noah. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I keep forgetting to —

“Is this one’a them fuckin’ tele — fuck they called — tele…tele…”

— respond to your letters, great, nineteen knocked up —

“Tele…grams? Telefuckin…telemarketers! You one’a them fuckin’ telemarketers?”

— pick me up pick me up pick me up please —

“Swear t’a fuckin’ Jesus — I told you sons of bitches —”

— parasite —

“Ah, fuck you. You call here again I’mma fuckin’ —”

Click.

Riiiiiiinnnnnng.

She stares at her own finger on the receiver, white and bloodless. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale.

You have disconnected. To reconnect your call, please —

She flings the phone from her hands, against the receiver, against the box, clink, clatter, bounce, tap tap tap tap tap tap against the pavement. Tap. Scritch. Tap tap tap. And flees to her car.

———

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

She blinks back at the yellow little fuel light, humming along to the stereo. She can push it for a while longer, probably. Maybe even to the district line.

What happens if she just drives? If she drives and drives and doesn’t stop. Lets the little light blinkblinkblink at her, keepin’ time with Reba McEntire and her dying husband. That’s the night when the lights went out in Georgia.

She’d have time to pull over, probably. Coast on the speed she was going, cut across to the gravel shoulder. There’s no one else around, anyway. She could recline her seat and cross her arms over her chest and watch the clouds through the dusty top of her windshield. Sleep through the night and wake with the mourning doves’ cooing. Then what? That’s the night that they hung an innocent man.

Walk, probably. On the side of the highway, along the stretch of dying grass and reedy weeds. Guitar on her back and backpack tucked under her arm, strolling under the balmy March sun and sing to the cawing crows, to the rushing cars. Well, don’t sell your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer.

Someone’d pull up next to her, probably. A trucker or a group of hippies. Headed to Oregon, they might say, round glasses covering bloodshot red eyes. Need a ride? ‘Cause the judge in the town’s got bloodstains on his hands.

And she would need a ride. She’d sing for them, maybe. Pluck along to Hey Jude on her out-of-tune guitar and holler with the wind rushing in from the old broken windows. They’d know someone in Cali, of course they would, slip her their card. He’s a manager, he’s looking for some new talent. You’re just what he needs. Well, they hung my brother before I could say.

Right. A knocked-up nobody who’s paying for gas with her last few bills and the four quarters she found in a sticky mess of juice in her cup holder. She’ll go platinum, right up there with the Stones and the Roses. Naomi Solace, part-time mom, full-time country star. The tracks he saw while on his way.

She drifts off the exit to the first gas station she sees. The blink, blink, blink of the light irritates her, now.

The highway town she drifts through looks like a carbon copy of the dozens of others she’s been to in her life. The giant grey rest stop, the 24 hour McDonalds, the three separate Mattress Firms. She skips over the Buccees — the stupid mascot gives her the creeps — and pulls into the first gas station she sees. Dollar twenty a gallon. Jesus.

There’s an old man at the pump across from her. He stares as he pumps his gas. Nausea builds in her stomach, but whether that’s the gross factor or the avocado-sized mass growing inside her, but she doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. She sprints for the little convenience store at top speeds, shoving open the door and ignoring the startled cashier and stumbling into the little bathroom in the back, barely making it to the stained toilets before emptying the contents of her stomach. She can see the half-digested junior bacon cheeseburger she had for lunch. It makes her throw up more. It also makes her mourn the eighty-nine cents she spent on it. Fuck.

She walks back into the convenience store grimacing at the taste of her own mouth. Nobody tells you that mouthwash and water bottles account for approximately eight billion dollars of your pregnancy cost. Of course, Naomi has never asked, but that should be a bigger part of the condom ads.

Or abstinence ads. She’s not sure how helpful a piece of rubber is against godly sperm. Mary seemed to struggle with the ordeal. Godspeed to her — she gets why the Catholics are so bananas for her now. This shit is hard and she handled it like a champ. Good on you, Mother Mary.

“Just these?” the cashier asks hesitantly, poking at the travel mouthwash, the water bottles, the singular packaged pickle, and the tiny jar of strawberry jam. And the plastic spoon she grabs from the hot table.

“And pump number 5. Please.”

“…Twenty-three sixty.”

Gas and water and a snack.

Twenty five dollars.

She has to count out her coins, hyperaware if the cashier’s dirty look. She bites back a comment about how frustrating it must be for them to have to do their job when it’s so busy out, what with one customer. Shame. Because she’s used up her irresponsibility quota for the next few years, she reckons, so she oughtta bite her tongue.

Half her fortune poorer, she walks back out to her car. The gas nozzle is still sticking out if it. She puts it back while holding her breath — do gas fumes kill growing babies? They probably kill growing babies — and shoves open her trunk, digging around. Blanket — no. Forgotten impulse purchases from months ago — no. Umbrella — no. Grad cap — no, and also why.

Finally, she finds what she’s looking for. She climbs onto the hood of the car, digging into her jam pickle, and flips open the paper atlas, turning the many pages until the map of Texas stares out at her, huge and overwhelming.

Twenty-six dollars and forty-nine cents. That’s what she has left. ‘Round twenty bucks for a full tank — that’s what she has left. 400 miles on a full tank. Seven or so hours until she’s out of the state.

“I could leave,” she says aloud.

And go where? New Mexico? Barely. She’s nowhere near LA, she’s nowhere near New York; hell, she’s nowhere near Austin. She’s nowhere near anything. Not even the nearest Amtrak station. She could drive until she runs out of gas, leave her car on the side of the road, and walk — to where? To the desert? To some serial killer’s basement?

To fucking find Apollo again?

“This is ridiculous.”

Slamming the atlas closed, she stomps back into the convenience store.

“There a secondhand store near here?” she demands.

The cashier regards her for a moment. Taking her in, probably, her ratty jeans that she can’t button anymore, her stained pink sweater, the greasy mess of her hair. The jam sticking to the corner of her mouth and the sliver of stomach pushing over the waistband of her pants. Her peeling flip-flops.

“Not here,” they say finally. “Highway town, ma’am. Ain’t got shit but what you can see from the road. You wanna real store, you gotta head ten miles east to Blowshow.”

“There’s a town called Blowshow?” she asks incredulously.

“There’s a town called Sheffield,” replies the cashier, mouth twitching, “which no one calls Joansburg, on account that the mayor was caught with his secretary gumming his green bean behind his desk by the film crew of the local news station coming to talk about a recent policy change. It’s got a main road and a general store, and will most definitely have a secondhand store.”

Naomi nods, rocking back on her heels. “Anybody hirin’?”

“Well, I ain’t been to Blowshow since last Sunday. And even then only to come see my sister. I wasn’t lookin’ at help wanted signs.”

“There’s gotta be somethin’.”

The cashier hums. The busy themself with a stack of cigarette boxes behind the counter, fiddling with a strip of cardboard come loose.

“There’s a diner,” they admit. “Di’s. Worst turnover rate than any place I ever been to.” The glance over at her, eyebrows raised. “Frankly, you won’t last a quarter year.”

Instead of sneering something about bowing out quickly and how they must know lots about finishing early, because that’s gross and also uncalled for, Naomi simply walks out. She gets in her car and starts the engine and turns the radio to thirty, making the warbling over the speakers so warped she might as well be listening to static, and guns it east. Or what she’s pretty sure is east, anyway. It’s fifteen minutes the empty pothole roads give way to something that looks like it’s seen a person in the last forty years. A little house sits nestled in the trees, bikes strewn about the driveway. A few hundred yards down road is a jogger that she gives a wide berth. In minutes, she’s pulling into a proper town — a tiny town, with more trees than people, but a real town with a real purpose. She slows to a crawl, eyeing hand-painted banners and peeling signs until she finds what she’s looking for.

The secondhand shop is small, clustered, and smells like mothballs. A shelf of broken old toys blocks her view of the rest of it and any people that may live inside of it, so she steps aside it, stepping carefully around chipped tile and stacked up boxes, looking for the right section. (The right shelf, really; nothing in this store is big enough to be a section.)

She finds what she’s looking for in a dusty old corner near the very back. Behind a broken typewriter and an ancient fax machine, and more random wires and cables than she can count, is a little portable cassette player. A pair of wiry headphones are wound around the hunk of black plastic, foam ear muffs cracked and peeling, and the worn label on the side reads Isobel. She grabs the clunky old machine carefully, brushing the pads of her fingers over the peeling paper label, and holds it to her chest.

At home she has a proper CD Walkman. It’s pink and pretty and covered all over in shiny foil stickers, and it’s chipped on the side from when she dropped it down the stairs. It skips every sixth song of an album without fail and she has to skip three backwards and two forwards to hear it. She has a collection of CDs to go with it longer than her longest shelf, and they’re arranged by colour and favour.

On another shelf, she finds a series of chipped cassette tapes. She flicks through the selection, frowning, trying to restructure hopes that were set too high and read labels written thirty years ago.

“I’ve got an extra box of them by the counter,” says a voice, making her yelp.

“Christ alive, you could kill somebody,” she snaps.

The man shrugs. He wears the loudest shirt she has ever seen and cutoff shorts that are way too short for someone his age. There are streaks of blue in his white hair, and four sweatbands on his left wrist. Green purple grey yellow. One, two, three, four.

“I’ll take a look.”

She spends another ten minutes in silence. The box, at least, has a little more variety than the shelf, so she picks out what’s worth it. She ends up with a stack the size of her arm.

“I have ten dollars,” she lies, Mama’s lecture about showing your cards ringing in her head. “That cover it?”

“Beautifully,” says the man, shiny gold-tooth smile. His bug-eye spectacles gleam in the yellow light. He holds out his hand. “Ten bucks for the player and tapes.”

Looking him right in the eye, she hands him her last twenty-dollar bill. He glares, when he sees it, muttering something about liars and thieves. Strangely, he looks at her with a little bit of respect when he slams her change down onto the counter.

She walks back out to her car, unwinding the headphones as she does. She’s half-worried the ancient things will disintegrate in her hands, but they manage to stay whole, if a little warped. She slides in behind the wheel and pushes back the seat, settling against the itchy carpet upholstery. With a quick glance out the window to make sure there are no creeps, she pulls up her shirt, bunching it up around her ribs, and lowers the waistband of her jeans. She eyes her belly critically.

There’s definitely a bump. Not much she couldn’t explain away with a particularly filling lunch, but it’s hard and there and constantly kicking at her from inside. Slowly, feeling foolish all the while, she stretches out the headphones until both halves rest on either side of her stomach. She picks out one of the tapes, slides it in the player, and clears her throat.

“Listen, kid,” she says, trying to sound less embarrassed than she feels, “I don’t want some lame baby who doesn’t know that Tina Turner was country first, okay? That’s a — waste of my time.” She clears her throat, hovering over the play button. “I better get some engagement.”

The twangy guitar is loud enough that she can hear it through the headphones. Or maybe they’re just that bad. Either way, Alien Parasite should be able to hear it just fine, amniotic fluid be damned.

“‘Means your true love daddy ain’t comin’ back,” she sings along. She closes her eyes and relaxes against the recliner seat, bare skin tingling. “‘Cause I’m movin’ on, I’ll soon be gone. Mhm, hm hm. So I’m movin’ on.’”

At the crest of the bridge, as the guitar speeds up and beats get harder, there’s a point of pressure right above her navel. Another, a few seconds later, at her pelvis. A third right below her ribs.

“Acrobatic little freak,” she mumbles fondly, smiling at her stretched taught skin.

She adjusts the headphones, adjusts herself, and turns the music up louder.

———

next

[birgittesilverbae]

They (whoever you’d like) celebrate Ava’s birthday, the year that she turns older than Shannon was? (Sorry this one’s sad)

Ava turns away from the bonfire and waits for her eyes to adjust before she scans the darkness of the beach. Mary's sitting in the sand down towards the curve of the shore, silhouetted in the moonlight. Ava works her hand free of Bea's, kisses the backs of her knuckles. "I'll be back in a bit," she promises.

Her back aches with the movement of standing and she takes a moment to bend double, to let gravity tug at her spine, raids the cooler for two of Bea's sparkling waters and trudges down the beach. Mary doesn't look up at her approach, just leans back on her hands and digs her feet into the sand. 

"Hey, kid," she says, almost soft enough to be swallowed by the low rumble of the waves.

"Hey." She settles down at Mary's side, places one of the drink cans near her hip. "How old do I have to be before you stop calling me that?"

Mary's body stiffens as though to a gut punch. "This old, probably," she admits, gaze still fixed out at sea. "Otherwise I'm going to start feeling like I'm calling Shan a kid, and that'd just be weird."

Ava wets her lips. "Is this–"

"You're older now than she ever was."

Ava nods, fiddles with the tab of her can. "When was her birthday?"

"She didn't take a new name when she joined, so she got St. Senan's patron day. March 8th."

"I meant her actual birthday?"

Mary's mouth goes lopsided. "The summer solstice," she admits quietly. "June 21st."

"Oh." Ava's shoulders fall, and she gnaws at her lip before continuing. "Is that… Is that what you and Bea were doing last week? Celebrating her birthday?"

"Beatrice didn't tell you?"

Ava shakes her head. "She said it wasn't her place."

Mary scoffs a little. "It's as much her place as mine," she replies, casting a glance towards the bonfire. "But yeah. We went back to Antequera. Back to the old Cat's Cradle." Her voice catches in her throat, and Ava reaches across the chasm between them, lays her hand beside Mary's. Mary grasps it, hangs on tight. "Sorry, Ava, I didn't mean to get all fucking emotional tonight."

"It's okay. Do you two do that every year?"

"All but the first after she– All but the first after she died. I went alone that year." 

Ava picks at the thread Mary's left hanging. "Because she was too busy mourning me?"

"Something like that." She squeezes Ava's hand. "I didn't begrudge her it then and I don't now, you know. I'm glad she's got you. I'm glad I didn't have to watch her turn into me."

"Turn into what, a badass?"

"Yeah, sure." Mary's teeth glint bright in the moonlight as she cracks a smile. "So glad I got to watch her turn into a lovesick softie instead."

[possum-quesadilla]

Chapter 8 of Time’s Arrow, “October passed me by just like any month” is up! Enjoy the spooky festivities!! (Because next chapter will not be as fluffy as this one.)

As always, details!

- The lyrics for this chapter’s title are from “October Passed Me By” by girl in red! It’s perhaps the most literal title lyric.

- “Shaking as they poured over their every option, over all of the possibilities laid out before them.” - They have accidentally picked up on some of Cyrus’ speaking patterns.

- “Exhaustion weighed down their limbs, the heaviness of it all threatening to crack their collarbone as it settled down heavily on their shoulders.” - Kinda referencing the song “Sweet Hibiscus Tea” by Penelope Scott. Also “Never Love An Anchor” by The Crane Wives!

- “Beetlejuice?” - The first time he has not called him “Mr. Juice”!

- “The man asked, eyebrows creased in concern as he slowly stepped closer to the demon.” - FINAlLY ACKNOWLEDGING THAT IT IS CONCERN AND CARE! WE DID IT!

- “… as Charles returned with a package of mascot bandaids…” - Pokémon bandaids!

- “(He thought he heard him asking something about grey hair.)” - His hair turns grey when he is overwhelmed / overstimulated / burnt out. Charles does not have the color chart memorized yet.

- “He just wanted to go to sleep.” - By sleep he means hibernate.

- “Beetlejuice didn’t know who bandaged his face, or who gave him a warm mug of cinnamon tea. Someone kissed his temple, a cat jumped in his lap.” - Charles bandaged his face, Delia made him the tea and kissed his temple, and Pluto is in his lap!

- “Someone’s hands were on his shoulders.” - Charles’ hands.

- “He opened his eyes to find Lydia’s shoulders moving with each deep, purposeful breath she took.” - She is sooo super mad and is plotting Cyrus’ demise, but she is trying to hold it in for Beej.

- “He’d avoided discussing Cyrus with them for as long as he could. What they had was wonderful, but it was still new. Unsure. Fragile. He supposed this was as good of a test as any.” - It is not fragile but Beej has never been in like an actually stable relationship so it feels strange.

- “… he swallowed hard, staring down at the mug in his hands. ‘Happy Father’s Day to my favorite financial burden’. Huh. This is Chuck’s.” - Charles doesn’t let others use his favorite mug, but he is making an acception for Beej here.

- “The hands squeezed his shoulders, and someone kissed the top of his head.” - Again, Charles and Delia.

- “They all sat in a semi-comfortable silence, the ghosts’ arms wrapped around his midsection, Adam’s lips in his hair while Barbara rested her cheek on his collarbone.” - The “lips in hair” is from a lyric from “The Bed Song” by Amanda Palmer, one of my favorite sad songs. Wanted to highlight the sweet intimacy of this scene.

- “Barbara and Adam both had to step out of the room separately to take breaks, during which he heard them doing their best to stifle sobs. (They never left him by himself, thankfully.) He was sure he’d never seen the two of them so… angry. Adam’s face turned red, and he quietly clenched his jaw and nodded along. Barbara often stood to pace the room, swiftly returning to her chair after she’d gotten the bursts of rage out of her. He could still feel the rage boiling within them, even as they laid peacefully beside him. He hadn’t had anyone ever… sit and listen and care like that. Reassure him, over and over; “it’s not your fault”, “we’re here for you”. “We love you”. Over and over. They thanked him for sharing with them. They held him as he cried.” - Just kinda wanted to highlight this. The Maitlands are no strangers to trauma and a tough conversation like this, so they are unfortunately well-versed in how to handle them. They are furious, but they are going to rage about it later, when Beej isn’t there. Also, no, he did not tell them about the Deal, so they have no idea about his time limit.

- “Beetlejuice had seen the kitten choke on his own back paw before.” - Based on my friend’s kitten. Little guy is dumb.

- “Don’t talk about my son like that, Shoggoth.” - Based on a strange trait of mine, where I call people by their last names when I’m mad at them.

- “They frowned, tail tip shaking as they lightly tugged at their leg fur. (It was getting quite long, lately. They weren’t sure what to do about it.)” - Wool shearing is on the horizon!!

- “… her face flushing a light pink as Ash leaned in and scooped it up without a problem.” - Lydia has a type. This comes up several times in the chapter. Also, Ash is putting on lots of muscle mass thanks to Barbara’s lunches!

- “ “You were making weird.. pained dad noises with each step!” “Those were… normal noises!” ” - Shout out to my fellow non-dads who make dad noises due to pain.

- “Lydia crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Do I have to call Barbara? Because I’ll totally call her.” Beetlejuice growled, a noise which his sister readily returned. “… no. I’ll stay put.” ” - The mere threat of telling Barbara is more than enough to convince him.

- “ “Yeah, it sounds like a proper hoot.” He ignored the way both teens raised an eyebrow at his phrasing.” - If I have been judged for using that word, so too will Beej.

- “ “Are we leaving soon? I think I’m going to chew my own arms off if I have to be stuck in this any longer.” Lydia groaned softly. “Not again, please.” She ignored Ash’s soft but disbelieving ‘again?’.” - They have yet to tell Ash the full details of the time loop.

- “Lydia had done their makeup before her own, carefully painting on skeletal features. The two of them were both flushed as she held the other teen’s face and leaned in close. Beetlejuice had to step out to chase Pluto around to escape the tension.” - Lesbians.

- “ “We can have plenty of fun together while they’re at school.” Slowly, he turned his head back to look at his boyfriend with wide eyes. “… oh?” Barbara nodded enthusiastically. “We still have to watch ‘Hocus Pocus’!” “Don’t forget ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’!” Ah. Okay. Not what I had in mind, but still fun, I guess.” - Beej thought they were gonna get freaky, but he is totally happy with not doing it for now.

- “Barbara tutted, quickly walking over to them. “You might think it’s gross now, but you’ll be all ‘gross’ with a lucky lady someday!” Beetlejuice was sure the teen’s face was flushed under all the makeup. “Ohh, you two look so cute! I wish I could pinch your cheeks!” She leaned to kiss Lydia’s forehead, then an astounded Ash’s. “You two be safe and have fun today, alright? We’ll start the festivities as soon as you get home!” ” - MOTHER BARBARA MOMENT!!

- “Barbara made him bacon and eggs.” - As mentioned in a previous chapter, Barbara makes bacon and eggs the particular way Beej likes them!

- “The next movie was some sort of weird animation. The visuals were nice and strange (and oddly familiar, somehow), and the songs were catchy.” - Hehe, it’s because it has the same aesthetic as his original movie.

- “He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he was woken by the sound of the front door opening.” - Knocked the fuck out by head scratches

- “He swiftly went to get up and phase down through the floor to meet his sister, but was halted by Adam gripping his face and pulling him in for a sudden deep, long kiss. Beetlejuice was reduced to a puddle of pink-haired (and faced) goo in his hands, stammering out false starts to sentences. (He even thanked him. How ridiculous is that?)” - A reference to how Adam tricked Beetlejuice in the musical! Perhaps not the best method to use here, in retrospect. I sure am glad Beej didn’t think on it too hard.

- “… a strange backpack was placed on his back.” - One that looks like Bowser’s shell!

- “She paused to kiss his cheek. (He wished, more than anything, that her lipstick would leave a mark.)” - Sad reminder that they are, indeed, dead.

- “Fuck, when did Lyds get so tall?” - It’s happening! She’s getting taller!!

- “Beetlejuice even somehow managed to squeeze into a storm drain and grab the ankles of an unlucky group of parents following behind their trick-or-treating kids. He’d never heard such a high-pitched wail come out of such a large man before.” - Based on a personal experience.

- “The fun only briefly halted when Lydia noticed a missing person poster that was posted around town for a local old coot. Beetlejuice hurried her along, pushing down the bubbling guilt in his throat. “It’s Connecticut, people go missing all the time!” He had no frame of reference for that, of course, but she seemed to buy it.” - Hmm. Weird! I wonder what this is about?

- “(‘They’ not including Beetlejuice. He wasn’t allowed to hold the knives and gouging tools, but he was allowed to direct Lydia on how he wanted his pumpkin to look. And eat all of the pumpkin guts.)” - Also based on personal experience. I was not allowed to eat the guts.

- “The latter two were in their own versions of the group costume, Charles wearing a green sweater and a fake mustache, Delia wearing a yellow dress and a plastic tiara.” - just wanted to highlight their cute Halloween costumes.

- “She released his tail, wiping her hand off on her pants afterwards. “Can’t have Mrs. D stealing all of your gratitude!” ” - Ash thinks Delia and Charles are already married. Also, she’s wiping her hands off because Beetlejuice’s tail feels weird.

- “ “Hey, I try not to judge you two on your hobbies. Maybe they were measuring me for a coffin!” Ash nodded, stepping back as Beetlejuice got to his hooves. “Yeah, I need practice, and if you’re not gonna let me do an autopsy on him, at least I can - ” ” - Ash plans to work in a morgue!

- “But Ash did a splendid job of distracting him, egging him on with insults about his driving skills. What are they up to? It was hard to pay attention to the stupid, colorful track. He kept falling off, his mind stuck on what Lydia could possibly- ” - Ash and Beej trash talking! Also yeah it’s Rainbow Road.

- “Those twinkling vermillion eyes shone brightly at him, dark skin and pretty freckles glistening gently with demonic power. (Geez, she’d gotten more powerful.) A purple-jeweled nose ring was the only addition to her appearance. Her corkscrew-curly hair was still untamed, matching russet-colored cow-like ears barely poking out from underneath. A tag hung from her left ear, her name inscribed in various scypts. Long, curved horns accented her face. She was tall and broad, hulking over him like always. He weighed nothing to her, like holding a handful of grapes. Russet-furred bovine legs hidden by dark dress pants, a plain black dress-shirt with wide sleeves.” - Say hello to Deb! Here is her description, so it’s all in one place. She is a beautiful buff woman, and she is 6’6”! All demons are tall, Beej is an exception. Also, “He weighed nothing to her, like holding a handful of grapes.” Is a reference to “Brooklyn-99”!

- “Beetlejuice squirmed futilely in her grip, pointing at each of the humans in turn. “Deb, that’s Chuck, (he ignored the man murmuring “Charles, please”) Delia, Ash, my partners Barbara and Adam, and my.. sister Lydia.” ” - notice how he trusts Deb enough to give her their real names?

- “ “She’s quite the talented witch! How long has she been a part of your coven?” Lydia’s face flushed, and she looked down at the floor. “Just, uh… just two months, Miss.” ” - I would act the same way if a giant, beautiful woman complimented my skills.

- Bela is pronounced “bay-la”!

- “ “There’s a two demon limit to this house.” Barbara and Adam exchanged glances as Lydia and Beetlejuice let out twin exasperated groans. “Daaad!” “Don’t ‘dad’ me, missy. Two demons is plenty.” ” - damn that sucks. I wonder if this rule will ever be broken!

[dinogoose]

who could stay? (you could stay)

Buck and Eddie have been playing this ‘game’, or living a lie- depending on who you ask.

Basically, anytime they are on a call that isn’t serious, Buck and Eddie try to convince anyone they can that they are married.

This ‘game’ is killing Buck.

“Baby, I was just telling this nice woman about our honeymoon.”

(or, pretending to be your bros husband for laughs is sometimes all it takes for everything to bubble over.)

Buck and Eddie have been playing this ‘game’, or living a lie- depending on who you ask.

Basically, anytime they are on a call that isn’t serious, Buck and Eddie try to convince anyone they can that they are married.

This ‘game’ is killing Buck.

“Baby, I was just telling this nice woman about our honeymoon.” Eddie says, reaching out to squeeze Buck’s bicep.

He’s sixty percent sure he blacks out. Shaking his head he comes back to himself, he’s got a role to fill.

“Aww! It was wonderful, although anytime with this hunk is a dream.” Buck tells her, batting his eyelashes at Eddie slightly.

If he leans more into the joke, it doesn’t hurt as bad. Because this is all fake to Eddie. He isn’t deeply in love with his best friend. He doesn’t long from a distance. His heart doesn’t ache with every look.

“Oh to be young and in love again!” The woman exclaims, jolting Buck from his thoughts.

She had called 9-1-1 because her cat got stuck in a tree. Extremely cliche- Buck’s aware- but at least it was an easy call.

“Alright, here’s your cat Ma'am. I hope you have a wonderful day!” Buck passes over the cat carefully, the creature settling into her owner's arms. The woman smiles up at him warm and bright.

“Thank you so much. I really wish you boys nothing but the best, you hold such an honest love for one another. And please thank the rest of your team for me.” She waves them off, Buck and Eddie heading towards the truck together.

He feels guilty. Lying to all these people. He knows it’s just meant to be a silly game, making everyone who’s in on it laugh, but truth be told it’s destroying Buck.

Eddie’s shoulder knocks into his.

“You okay?” His face is pinched with worry and if they were actually married, Buck would ease it with a kiss.

“I’m all good, pookie bear.” Eddie looks truly disgusted by that pet name, although it still earns Buck a gorgeous laugh.

“You two are grossing me out! Hurry up!” Chimney is leaned out of the truck, fake retching just to show exactly how sickened he is. Buck rolls his eyes, picking up the pace.

***

This continues for a few more days. They play the ‘game’ each time, Eddie moves on not affected in the slightest, and Buck mopes around until someone calls him out on it.

Buck’s honestly ready to rip his own hair out at this point. Which- okay, yes- this is his fault. If he told Eddie at any point this was making him uncomfortable, the older man would’ve stopped no questions asked.

It’s just apparently Buck is a glutton for punishment.

“I’m worried about you.” Hen tells him, an hour after Eddie told someone Buck was the love of his life. Buck cannot stop replaying it in his mind.

“Why?” He’s attempting to play dumb, although he doesn’t think it works based on the way she just raises her eyebrows.

“You need to tell Eddie. I don’t think this is a joke for either of you. I don’t think it ever was.” Hen’s right about it not being a joke for Buck, it’s the Eddie part he’s still not sure of.

Just the way Eddie always laughs it off, perfectly fine and normal afterwards whereas Buck is a quiet mess.

“Hen I just-“ She cuts him off.

“No. No more excuses, just talk to him Buck please. I swear nothing bad can come of it.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “Promise me you’ll talk to him about this.”

Buck hesitates for a moment, is he ready to do this? Potentially destroy everything he’s built with Eddie? Over something this stupid?

Hen shakes him, “Promise me, Buckley.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.” She searches his eyes before nodding and walking away.

He watches her walk away before his eyes drift to Eddie (as they do often). He’s sat at the table, laughing with Chimney and a few other guys on shift.

Buck stares as he throws his head back, the expanse of his neck exposed. The way his joy carries through the loft, a happy echo bouncing off the walls.

Eddie makes Buck feel whole just by being in the same building as him.

He’s got to tell him.

***

Obviously confessing to Eddie is simpler in his mind than it is in action.

He’s thought about having Eddie over for dinner, just the two of them enjoying a home cooked meal.

Maybe they drive out to Buck’s favorite lookout point, admiring the constellations hand-in-hand.

In Eddie’s kitchen, sharing a beer, as the brunette is bathed in the moonlight. Buck would use no words instead just leaning forward and connecting their mouths.

So, yeah, Buck’s envisioned this a lot.

He’s leaning towards the first idea, already mapping out what he needs from the store when he bumps right into a solid chest.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry- Eddie?” Eddie has placed each of his hands on Buck’s waist to steady him, the heat burning through Buck’s clothing.

“What’s up man? Why are you just standing by my car?” They parked nowhere near each other today, which means Eddie is here to talk to Buck. That’s strange. Normally they text or call after a shift- if they aren’t going home together. They don’t corner each other in dark parking lots.

Buck would be more panicked, if it weren’t for the big, calloused hands splayed on his skin. Calming him.

“You’ve been off all day.” Eddie states. Not mad, just concerned. His hands are still firmly placed on Buck’s waist, making it difficult for the blonde to conjure up any words.

“I uh- well-“ He puffs out a breath of air, looking away from Eddie.

“I was going to do this later. Preferably over a nice dinner. Maybe light some candles, get dressed up-“

“Buck.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He’s never been good with romance, always leaning towards sensual instead of intimate, but with Eddie he wants it all. He wants to show Eddie all of the love he deserves.

“You’re my best friend. I’ve never had that before, someone I could lean on, be with, never getting tired of each other. You and Christopher are my family, helping me realize I’m not just a ghost floating through this life.” He laughs a little, running his hand through his hair, embarrassed by his own confession.

Eddie’s thumbs rub soothing circles into his skin, urging him to continue.

“Anyways- I guess over the years, I’ve been steadily falling in love with you. Well maybe not steadily, more like falling face first, but you get what I mean. I love you. And this whole ‘game’ we’ve been playing has been killing me, because it’s fake-“

“Woah, it’s not fake.” Eddie interrupts.

“Yes-“ Eddie shushes him again- clearly in an interrupting mood. Rude.

“Obviously we aren’t married, but everything else is true. You are the love of my life, and I’m just thankful I get to spend everyday with you.” He’s… what?

“What?” He elegantly says, eyes still focused on Eddie’s.

“It took me a long time to accept that I liked men. God knows how repressed I’ve been, I mean me dating Ana? Who was I kidding? Being with you though, makes me realize I don’t need to live in denial. You make me brave, Buck.” He’s getting a little misty eyed as he just stares at the man in front of him.

“You make me brave too.” Then he’s closing the gap between them.

Two souls destined for one another, finally connecting.

Buck is home.

“I love you, hot stuff.” Buck says against Eddie’s lips. He can feel Eddie smile.

“I love you too, cariño.”

[beea-idiot56]

Cakes and Kisses || Childe x reader ||

Usually Y/n didn't do “special” things for their loved ones.

While yes they wouldn't hesitate to jump in and do absolutely anything for him, but getting up early, putting a little too much effort in, and sacrificing their own well being would be on the list for ‘id do that but no’. It may come off as rude, or selfish, but truthfully it was just because they knew they'd be able to show her love in other ways. After all, their love language was touchy, and most of the time their partner didn't mind.

Today was different though, it wasn't a special occasion, or a birthday, or anything of the sort; but they were already up early in the morning to run a mile and it happened to give them more energy then take. So when they got home, they decided to bake a cake for their loved one, Childe. Y/n had taken a shower, gotten dressed, and then slipped their wet hair into a ponytail high on their head and slipped on an apron. they was careful not to step on the creaky parts of their and Childes home as they walked, they didn't want him to wake up and ruin the surprise.

Apparently though, their cat had other plans. As they were walking back to the counter, with all of the pots, pans, and utensils in hand, their cat had walked in front of them effectively tripping them and sending all the pots and pans across the house and onto the hardwood floor. Making a loud smash. “Fucking hell-” y/n muttered as they, as silently as possible, picked up all the things they had dropped.

Yet that did not stop childe from rushing into the kitchen a few moments later; out of breath, bed hair, and wide eyes. They met eyes as y/n desperately picked up everything trying to hide the very obvious cake pan behind their back so he wouldn't see.

“Are you okay?” he had asked, rushing forward and kneeling down, taking their chin and turning it side to side looking for scratches. y/n laughed and shook their head,

“Just my pride” they laughed before running a hand in his hair, shaking it before standing up, “go ahead and head back to sleep, i'm sorry for waking you.” they smiled nervously holding their hand up to help him up.

“No its fine, i was starting to wake up anyways.” he said before looking at the hand behind her back. “Whatcha got there?” he asked trying to circle around his loved ones shoulder trying to get a glimpse of what they possessed.

“Cat food!” y/n blurted trying to desperately attempt childe to go do something else so they would have time to at the very least, get the cake in the oven.

“Yeah okay” childe said, making Y/n sigh heavily in reliefe. That was until he very quickly turned on his heel and reached around y/n pulling them into a hug, effectively stealing the cake pans and mixer. His heart melted as he slowly released y/n from the hug they were trying to squeeze their way out of.

“Awhhhhh, sweetssss, were you going to make me a cake?” he cued staring at the pan affectionally. y/n whined loudly before leaning thei head against the childe's chest and nodding pitifully. Childe laughed and patted their back,

“it's alright darling, we can bake it together!” childe smiled and spoke loudly as he patted their back and came his hands in between their wet hair. “But it was supposed to be a surprise for youuuuu” y/n pouted wrapping their arms around his neck, which was a few inches above their shoulders.

“Thats fine dont worry!” he smiled, “it'll be better if we make it together. More memories!” Y/n stared up at his bright blue eyes trying to find any hints of hesitance. Surely, after being scared the shit out of, he wouldn't have wanted to bake a cake. l especially considering it was like, 7am. After just seeing stars in his eyes thinking about the possibility of baking something with them, y/nfinally caved,

“finney” they mumbled; sending the child's hands in the air and a loud woop from his throat. Childe gave Y/n a quick peck on her lips to which they very much so revered from muttering something about “morning breath”. they watched as he basically jumped around the kitchen gathering all the things they needed.

He didn't usually cook, only when they were especially tired, or if it was their birthday or something. they USUALLY didn't trust him in the kitchen. He could catch fish and cook them just fine, but when it came to absolutely anything else? Absolutely not. Whether it be as simple as flipping a pancake - which he was extremely overzealous with and got it stuck to the ceiling- or just simply boiling water -he put it on low “accidently”-, he was very, very, very prone to making mistakes. And on the other hand, y/n was quick in the kitchen. They multitasked well, and they could handle a large meal and the stress of it(Childe folded under pressure if it was anything more than one main dish). So they were usually the preferred option for cooking food.

So y/n was a bit skeptical about letting him bake an entire cake with them. Though, they would be watching so it wouldn't be too terrible. y/n gathered the eggs and the other liquids quietly putting them on the counter. they got a smaller bowl and cracked the egg flat on the counter, opening it into the small bowl. y/n checked it for blood and shells before pouring it into the bigger bowl.

Childe came over and wrapped his arms around their waist before reaching for the other egg. y/n let him crack it and put it in the small bowl. No shell, and no blood. He picked it up and put it into the large bowl before smiling(which they felt because he tended to breathe out of his nose in a short puff before he smiled, and well, y//n could feel his breath on their neck). they laughed a bit before petting his head. y/n handed the whisk to him as they held the bowl, nodding for him to whisk it. He started to stir it like a spoon. “Not like that silly '' y/n smiled, resting her hand around his and gently moving it in the correct motions of whisking. He made a small “oh” noise and kept going, getting a little zealous with the motion. So they quickly pushed his hand away. And started gathering all the dry ingredients.

While they were following the instructions on a box) they didn't have all the ingredients for a homemade cake so a box cake will have to suffice). Childe got the flour out, along with another bowl, and a measuring cup. He smiled before taking the flour and pressing his finger into it. Childe then walked over to Y/n , who was very quiet as they focused on the instructions, trying to figure out what jobs they were going to let childe do and what they'd take over, he very carefully, put the flour on their nose. out of shock she squeaked and looked at it before looking at childe, who was laughing his ass off.

“AJAX!!! I JUST TOOK A SHOWER” they half yelled, half sternly scolded, despite the fact they felt their mouth's corner tip upwards in a smile.

“Im sorry- the- the temptation was just t-to much. '' he gasped out as he laughed, doubling over. He couldn't help himself apparently. Smiling y/n grabbed the bag of flour before taking a small portion and throwing it in his hair. they, after doing this, started to laugh their ass off as they put the bag on the counter. He screamed dramatically, grabbing his head.

“MY BEAUTIFUL HAIR!!” he yelled, obviously just being dramatic to be dramatic. This made them laugh even harder as they felt tears prickle the corners of their eyes, grabbing the counter for support. Childe kept laughing as shook the flour of his hair, making it rain flour everywhere.

“CHILDE!!” they yelped, still laughing. “The floors all dirty now!!” they pouted at him. He looked at them before smiling and kissing her forehead, to which she leaned back from, knowing it was just a ploy to get his flouring hair all over their face, which they were not up to. He smiled before grabbing their waist and pulling them in.

“It's fineeee, I'll clean it once we get the cake in the oven,” he laughed as they smiled, shaking their head. The rest of the baking went,,, better. Not great, there was still teasing, and flour tossing, and maybe a few dropped pieces of batter. But at last, at the forfeit of a clean kitchen.

The cake was in the oven and y/n now had the job of cleaning it all. they got right to work, taking a towel and wetting it before starting to wipe down the counter. Until they felt themself being straight up picked up. She laughed and kicked as childe walked them over to the little island in their kitchen.

“NOPE! I said I would clean and will uphold my promises!!” he smiled before taking the towel out of their hand. He splashed their nose with the water attached to the rap making them yelp and flinch, which he simply laughed at. they sighed at him before sitting down. In all truth, the adrenaline of the run earlier in the morning was starting to wear off and their legs had started to get tired. So they watched their hands folded and their head in the nook of her elbow, as childe cleaned, making surprisingly quick work of it.

“Since when could you clean?” they laughed as he came over and leaned on the island opposite to them. “Hmm, 3 little siblings tend to teach you a thing or two about cleaning” he giggled before taking the rag and gently wiping off her nose, which still held the crime scene of his earlier atrocities.

“Oh, thank you” they smiled her eyes closing at the soft feeling of the cool water and soft rag. He smiled and nodded leaning on the counter and just staring at his loved one. He went down and placed another kiss on their forehead, to which they giggled at, making him do it again and again until they had to sit up and shook him off laughing loudly.

Childe laughed as well and walked over to their side and sat on the chair next to them leaning over and placing his head in their lap. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it didn't matter too much to him. they simply ran her fingers through his hair and hummed to the music that they had started to play earlier. y/n looked outside the window and watched the birds as they flew, while he stared at his partner.

-----=-----=-----

This was my self indulgent little one shot i wrote for myself and had to go back in and change all the pronouns and names it was greattttt

anyways this is my fav troupe to have every trouped so i hope you enjoyed it toooo!

[riddikulus-writings]

Distracted

Chapter 16

Did he live? Who Knows.

“No. no, no, nononono–” a wordless scream, ripped straight from someone’s throat, “I need to– he–” broke out in between grunts. A crack. A scream – pain. Shouting from more voices, more people, and– “Let me go, DuBois, he needs m– I need him!”

“I’ve always hated hospitals.”

“Me too,” Rick agreed, leaning back in his pale green chair, “Just somethin’ unnerving about ‘em.” he’d broken his arm once, playing basketball in high school. The doctors were kind, understanding, but the too-sterile atmosphere just jerked something in his brain.

He was hardwired for grime. Blood, dirt, getting down and dirty to do the things other people didn’t want to.

“I only started getting scared of them in my twenties,” she admitted quietly, “So, I guess I didn’t always hate them. Too many doctor visits, early twenties. Shoulder problems, hip problems. Sinus problems. Foot problems, fuckin’ knee problems, too. MRIs and arthrograms, x-rays, cat-scans. Parker would try to come with, but sometimes, most of the time – he was a busy boy, y’know. Too good at everything, and everyone wanted his help because of it  – so I’d be all alone, and I just started getting jumpy. Then he… the accident, back at the hospital– but he was DOA…”

Rick placed a comforting hand on her knee, squeezing to let her know she didn’t have to continue, “I know, Nyx.” He stood up, “Water?”

“I’m not incapable,” her eyebrow raised, hand swiping at the tears gathering in her eyes, “I could get it myself, but yes, please, if you’re offering.”

“You’re all bandaged up, hooked up to…” Rick waved a hand at her and all the tubes and wires– they were mainly for watching heart rate and blood pressure, but she was hooked up, nonetheless, “Those. Y’ain’t movin’.”

“I could be like my dad was and start yoinkin’ this shit outta me. He was not happy about being hospitalized that one time– I’m getting released this afternoon,” she gently took the paper cup from his too-large hands, “So, I will be moving. Thank you for visiting, though. It means a lot.”

Dad, hospitalized with stage-four inoperable brain cancer the week after her wedding. Dazed and confused, ripping his IVs out. Had a 24-hour watch put on him after that. Nyx thought it was funny.

Rick had never had the unfortunate scenario of being hospitalized with no one to come visit. His parents, a couple friends he doesn’t talk to anymore. Rick knows he himself doesn’t like to feel alone, “I also came to visit because I’m your ride home, hun.”

She shook her head, “No, I won’t make you do that–”

“Y’ain’t makin’ me do nothin,” he sat back down in the Visitor Chair and leaned on the beside, “Besides, consider us even for you drivin’ me back home when my truck had a flat after work.”

Nyx snorted, remembering the memory, “Knew you for, what? Two days? Surprised my driving didn’t scare you off.”

“It almost did.”

The windows of her truck were down, the cold spring breeze floating through, ruffling the discarded fast food wrappers and baler twine that littered the floor by Rick’s feet. An empty grain bag in the back seat crinkled. Nyx shrugged and swerved violently to the other side of the rough dirt road, hitting several potholes that made the entire Colorado shake, “I’m trying to miss the fuckin’ potholes. Goddamn, we picked a bad time of year to take time off.”

“We quit, Nyx, quit callin’ it time off.”

Her grin got bigger, and she turned her head to face him instead of watching the road, “I love quitting.” some of her hair fell into her eyes, despite most of it being held down by her grimy ball cap.

Rick admits, he’s never been to Wisconsin. It’s gloomy looking, up in the upper-central part of the state – “About right…. Here,” Nyx would say, offering her right hand as a makeshift map of the state as she pointed to the middle-knuckle of her middle finger, “Real hilly. Lots of trees. Not as hilly as Bayfield, or really further up north anywhere, but we’ll go exploring later.”. –. But, he told himself, grabbing the appropriately-named oh shit handle above his head as Nyx nearly put her truck in the ditch. One of the cats in back hissed – it is springtime. Springtime has gloomy colors. A greyscale almost sort of time.

The ditches are lined with melting snowbanks – brown with shuffled-up gravel from when the plow trucks went through – and almost overflowing with running water. The trees all lacked leaves, looking dead as the spindly branches hung over the road, “Gotta trim those,” Nyx mused, mostly to herself, “Now, be warned, there may or may not be some type of party at my house. Got it?”

Pothole. Rick’s teeth rattled. He almost smacked his head into the doorframe. How long is this fuckin’ road, “Party?”

“They missed me,” she shrugged, coming up to a stop sign, “And, remember, everyone wants to meet the Legendary Rick Flag.”

“Quit callin’ me that.”

“Hey, you survived getting stabbed in the chest with dirty porcelain,” she floored it, drifting the truck around the corner with a laugh, rain-heavy gravel spitting in a spray behind them, “I’d call that pretty legendary.”

“And you have… whatever you have. That ain’t legendary?” Nyx had no idea what it was. No idea about it until just a few weeks ago– turns out Waller just wanted her because she was a pretty face and a good soldier.

“Yeah… let’s not mention that to anyone,” she gave him a pointed look, “I don’ want Waller coming sniffing again. Just say I’ve got good de-escalation tactics so my family can scoff and tell you I usually escalate the situations, instead.”

“Y’sure they’re gonna like me?” he wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous all of a sudden. Everything he’s ever faced, and having a family meeting was the thing that was unnerving him?

“Here's my driveway,” it was a narrow dirt path cutting through what was probably normally a thick forest, “Brace yourself; my house is awesome. And I already told you, they’ll love you. I bet even my asshole goats will like you. If you offer them food.” she added on, “The dogs will bark, but that’s what dogs do. Our two are the German Shepherd lookin’ ones – but they’re mixes, the one is inbred a bit, I told you that, she’s stupid but she’s cute, I guess. Cousins might have their dogs by, too – and oh lord there’s a lot. I’ve got a ton, and… Yeah, Parker has a big family. I can almost guarantee, there’s a whole schmear of people roaming about my yard. I bet even our old landlord – previous farm owner – came by.”

“You got yourself a whole welcomin’ committee,” Rick mentioned, his voice uneasy.

Nyx turned onto a highway, “I lied about this road being my driveway, I was just pointing out what I would’ve liked my driveway to be. Our farm sits right on this highway, not ideal but beggars can’t be choosers.” 

There were cars lining the highway on either side, parked closer together the further they drove, “Eris…”

“Oh, don’t let the cars bug you,” she slowed down more, reaching a white-sided farmhouse with green tin, a trailer house to match on the opposite side of the drive, a big barn in back and farmland stretching further for what looked like miles. There were people crowding everywhere, dogs barking – the two aforementioned German Shepherd mixes sprinting straight for the pickup – kids of all ages running all over the place, “Ready?”

“No,” Rick admitted, not able to hide his toothy grin anymore. He grabbed the door handle and shrugged back at her, “But I have to be.”

[hunting-songs]

The book had ended too quickly for his liking. He sighed somewhat disappointed. He looked at his makeshift library and realized that he needed to get new books, since there weren't any that he felt like rereading at the moment. Then looked at the shared room. Basho was taking a bath, Linssen was watching a novel on the iPad with headphones on, and Senritsu was sitting at the desk. A mischievous smile appeared on his face before he approached Senritsu from behind, his hands rested gently on her shoulders, his fingers pressed softly and delicately on them, like the beginning of a massage. He leaned forward, placing a couple of soft, slow kisses on her cheek, while one of his hands moved down and up her right arm, his fingers touching her with a feather-soft touch. Finally he whispered, as soft and delicate as a cat's purr. "If you let me, I could spend the whole night booping you~" Kurapika bit his lower lip trying to hold back his laughter, his forehead resting gently on her shoulder as he laughed to himself due that really bad pick up line

The very second Kurapika closed his book, Senritsu looked up suddenly very attentive from the maps she had studied over. She did not needed to turn around to know what the other was doing- she heard his restlessness, she heard his boredom, and she heard the sudden melody of mischief that replaced that boredom and restlessness. Senritsu was not suprised about Kurapikas hands on her shoulder, she was not suprised about his fingers wandering up and down her arm and she was not suprised by hearing his breath tickle her ear like a soft caressing. What she did not expected was the word 'booping'. Without beeing able to hold back she suddenly bursted out in laughters, not melodically ones but laughters that consisted more of surpressed snorts. Hastily the Musician leaned forward, holding her small hands before her mouth and snorting completly unbridled laughters that shaked her whole body so hard she almost fell off the chair. By the time hot tears started to run down her cheeks Senritsu leaned her elbows on the table, hiding her face behind her small hands and laughing about the stupid word, laughing about Kurapikas sweetly playful heartbeat, laughing over the fact that he made her laugh in the first place. In the background of the room she heard Basho sing in the bathtub and the electronic distorted voices of the Drama Linssen was watching through his heaphones, yet the loudest and clearest was the song of Kurapikas surpressed chuckles against her shoulder and she noticed not for the first time how much she had missed that song.

Still smiling but with a jokingly scolding tune in her melodic voice she reached up and playfully pinched the others ear before she gently squeezed the hand on her shoulder: "...did you just asked me to spend the night with you by threatening me with ´boops´?"

"Horrible. Try again.", the woman just shaked her head, still with a chuckle singing behind her voice. Her hair rustling she leaned her head to the side, pressing her cheek against Kurapikas to purr as sweet as a kitten: "Or better, how about you sit down and help me, mhmmmm? I would love to share that with you and hear your thoughts." She tapped her fingers against the map she had been brooding over, showing a red line she had marked with a pencil that drew a route from one of Yorkshins railstations to a railstation still kilometres - days!- away over small streets and barely drawn out trails from where Senritsu had marked a big forestarea with a red cross. The way the Musician tapped her fingers against the edge of the table was in a nimbly, joyful, almost giddy melody: "Someone contacted me over the Yorkshin-university to help him get a certaine wood for an instrument- a violine. Well, more accurately- I am payed by that person to go and get enough of that wood, because they would probably die if they try it themself. Have you heard about those big trees- the hearts of the forest? No, not something like the world-tree, but they are like seaweed in an ocean-" she tapped her short finger at the edge of the forest, almost singing the following words happily like a sweet song: "They are small and brittle on the outside of the forest," Senritsu moved her finger farer into the forestarea, humming along in excitment: "-but as deeper you go into the forest, as deeper you dive into the ocean so to say, as bigger and older they get. And that is exactly the kind of wood my client wants, mhmmmmmmm..." The woman ran her tounge over her lips as if she could taste the sweetness of the words and her own thrill of anticipation: "Obviously going so deep into that forest will be not especially easy, the bottom of the ocean is also dangerouse and from what I had been told by beast-hunters not only the trees get very old and big there, so it will be not at all rilassato." Senritsu sounded as if she was not at all unhappy about that prospect, quite the opposite. She squeezed Kurapikas hand lovingly, barely noticeable swaying from one side to another on the chair like a child looking forward to a meal: "I only need to find a faster way to the forests edge and than I will managed from there on to get as deep as possible with all needed equipment." [ @skarletchains ]

[writer-in-theory]

places we won't walk — spencer reid

summary: when the memories of a past assault become too much, spencer is there, always. pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader category: hurt/comfort content warnings: 17+ due to heavy subject matter, mentions of past SA(assaulter described as a man), multiple mentions of food/dinner, descriptions of depressive episode relating to PTSD (from outside perspective) word count: 2.3k

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When Spencer first moved to Virginia, he rescued a cat. 

It had been a ratty tiny thing back then, mostly hidden under the large dumpster outside of his new apartment complex. He’d seen it scampering around before, but it was when it rained for three days straight that Spencer finally scooped up the animal and brought her inside. She was smaller than she should have been, her fur was matted in too many places to count, but the second Spencer wrapped a towel around her she let out the sweetest purr he’d ever heard. 

She’s scratched the hell out of him for weeks, but when she finally grew to trust him little Andromeda (Andi for short) became the gentlest, most cuddly cat. Through it all, Spencer had learned that sometimes the gentlest souls were those most hurt by the world. 

So maybe that was when you sat him down to talk about something you’d never told any other partner, Spencer already had an inkling of what pain you’d gone through. You’d held his hand through it all and told him, in no uncertain terms, what your past had looked like. 

You told him it wouldn’t be easy, that even though it had been years since that man had assaulted you there were wounds that hadn’t quite healed and scars that still itched if you thought of them for too long.

And Spencer squeezed your hand, not knowing how to be there for you through this but knowing he’d do everything to make sure you felt safe with him.

The first time Spencer saw the lingering marks you’d mentioned that night was a month later. You’d texted him that morning that it was a bad day, that you couldn’t cook even though it was your turn. He’d worried himself for the rest of the day, sitting at his desk and picturing what you were doing. He wondered where your mind was, and though he knew it wasn’t perfect he texted you old pictures of Andi every hour because he knew how much you loved that darling cat. Though it wouldn’t fix a thing, Spencer hoped it would be enough to keep your mind from wandering to those dark places, if only until he could be there.

He brought dinner home—a plastic bag in a shaking hand as he prepared himself for what he’d find behind that apartment door. 

Normally Andromeda waited by the door for him, ready to reach up and beg to be picked up. When Spencer opened the door, however, the tortie was nowhere in sight. In fact, no one was in sight, really. It was completely silent in the apartment, far from the usual music playing as you danced about the apartment, begging him to join in as soon as he stepped through the door.

Spencer set the bag down on the kitchen counter, knowing the food was the least of his concerns despite the growling beginning now in his stomach. Instead, he slipped off his shoes and padded back to where the bedroom was.

He almost missed you when he opened the door. The curtains were pulled shut, the main lights off and every tiny light from any appliance taped over. The blankets were piled up on the bed so thick that he didn’t see your frame under them at first. It was only upon closer inspection that he saw a peek of your shoulder, a hand curled to your chest, a bit of ruffled hair.

“Darling?” he asked softly, careful not to scare you with any sudden movements toward you. Your back was to him in bed but you turned just enough that you could peek at him over your shoulder. No words were spoken, but the light from the hall illuminated your face enough to reveal the shiny tear tracks carved there.

“Oh,” Spencer whispered, all breath fleeing from his chest as the sight of you in pain. “Can I join you in bed? Is it okay if I touch you?”

Again, you didn’t say a word but the small nod was enough. You only spoke when he took a step forward, a quiet “Not behind me, please.”

So Spencer walked to the other side of the bed, always keeping his hands in your vision as he climbed in. He laid just in front of you, a hand resting gently on the bed in front of you. Spencer wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go, but the fear behind your eyes now alerting him that touch was a danger right now.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked after a moment, and the drop of your gaze was enough to answer him. “I brought your favorite takeout. I’d love it if you ate some but I can put it in the fridge for later if you’d rather.”

“I’m sorry.” At first, Spencer thought he’d misheard you. It didn’t make sense that you’d be uttering those words now and yet there you were, still bundled up in a sweatshirt and several blankets, apologizing. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry he ruined me before I could give you what you deserve.”

Spencer thought he knew what a broken heart felt like before. He’d dated others and had them leave him far too soon, he’d lost friends in the worst ways and had some people pick at his worst parts. Yet this, these simple words whispered between the two of you, shattered his heart in a way he’d never experienced before. He could feel it in his chest, a physical ache that radiated out until he was sure the pain would last longer than tonight.

“Can I touch you?” Spencer asked then, voice as soft as he could manage. You choked out a ‘yes’ around the tears that had restarted.

The moment you gave consent, Spencer raised his hand to brush over your cheek. He swiped back your hair, wiped away the tears traveling over your skin, and ran his thumb over each and every landmark on your face that he’d long since memorized.

“You are far from ruined,” Spencer finally told you, voice as sure as it had been since he’d first walked into the apartment. “He may have taken something from you, but please never believe that you’re not enough for me. Darling, you are radiant.”

“I haven’t moved from the bed, haven’t showered. Spencer, I’m stinky.”

“Then I have a stinky partner that I love,” Spencer teased, grateful to see the hint of a smile and feel the sharp intake of an airy laugh from you.

“You know what I mean,” you groaned.

“I do,” Spencer agreed, “but respectfully, you’re wrong. I can’t begin to imagine the pain you’re carrying around with you, the kinds of marks that bastard left on you, but you know what I can imagine? Today, I remembered that time you first came over to this apartment. I warned you that Andi doesn’t do well around other people and that she was hurt too many times to trust them right away.”

“And I told you that cats just seem to like me.”

“Because you’re kind, and you understand,” Spencer continued gently to get to his point. “You never forced her to be in your lap. You gave her space and when she came to you, there was a moment where you looked at her with so much love in your eyes. I didn’t know a person could love an animal that much before ever knowing them.”

When you didn’t answer, Spencer continued to talk. He’d talk until you were ready, he’d talk until he grew hoarse, if that was what you needed.

“My apartment was always quiet before you. Then you moved in and you filled it with so much life. You’re always listening to music or singing some song stuck in your head. I come home and you’re always there for me, even when the cases are too hard to talk about. You just love me because you can, cracks and all.”

“I see your point,” you sighed, chewing on your lower lip.

“I will always love you, scars and cracks and all. You’re allowed to have bad days, you don’t have to hide that pain from me. I’ll be here for you, ready to hold you until you don’t need me anymore,” Spencer promised, braving a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll always need you,” you admitted, smiling for the first time that day.

“Then I’ll always be here.”

“Even when I can’t get out of bed? Even when it’s too much?” Despite the situation, Spencer couldn’t help but notice how innocent you looked then. Eyes as wide as possible, lower lip jutted out just slightly as you worried over his response.

“Especially then,” Spencer insisted. “You will always be enough for me, just as you are.”

“I think I’m pretty hungry now,” you whispered, pulling a grateful smile from Spencer. Though he would’ve respected your decision if you couldn’t have eaten, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that you were able to now.

“Then let’s get you something to eat. Can you get to the kitchen or do you want to eat here?” You watched him for a minute, taking in every single facet of his expression. On any other day, he might have shied away but instead he sat there, allowing you this one moment—because there was a time in your life where someone hadn’t given you that choice, where you had to fight for any ounce of autonomy in your life. So if he could sit here and allow you to read if he was being genuine or not to put you at ease, he would a million times over. “There’s no right answer, it’s your choice.”

“I want to eat in here,” you told him finally.

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” he answered, climbing out of bed with the same care he’d crawled into it with. 

With shaky hands, Spencer pulled the now cooling food out of the plastic bag. He willed his hands to steady, to hold that little container with more surety than he’d felt all evening. How could he possibly know if he was doing the right thing, if he was helping you rather than making all of it worse?

“Spencer.” The voice was soft, barely there, but Spencer still heard it. He still heard you. Abandoning all attempts at rewarming your dinner, Spencer turned to face you where you were standing barely in the living space, leaning against the frame separating the hallway from it for support. You were bundled up in as many clothes as possible, making him wonder how you weren’t sweating through the summer heat.

There were fresh tears sliding down your face, lip quivering as you fought against them. Your arms wrapped tightly around your middle in an attempt at self-comfort, but soon were spread out to your sides as if you weren’t quite sure what to do with them.

“What do you need, what can I do?” Spencer asked, dropping everything in his hands in favor of crossing the room. He still gave you a wide breadth, stopping just short of arms reach until he knew what you wanted to do.

You didn’t answer for a long time, simply standing there and watching the way Spencer nervously paced in place. Then, finally, you whispered what he’d hoped you’d say the second he walked through the door. “Hold me?”

Spencer rushed forward, wrapping careful arms around you and holding you close. The second he grabbed you, it was like your marionette strings were cut. Every ounce of physical strength wept from your body as you seemed to collapse into him, holding tightly to the back of his shirt and shoulders heaving with the force of the sobs that escaped you.

“Make it stop,” you sobbed and Spencer had to blink back his own tears at the proof of your pain. “I keep—I keep feeling him.”

“He’s not here,” Spencer told you, gently rocking the two of your bodies in the dark whisper of a dance. He moved his hands, always holding onto you but pressing soft touches in the places that used to carry bruises. It would never fully erase those harsh touches, but he hoped for now it would temporarily replace them. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, not ever again.”

Spencer held you until the sobs eased, until your feet were moving in time with his dance. You still looked exhausted, barely hanging on just like the last inklings of the sun setting through the window behind you. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” he whispered when the room grew eerily silent as it had been when he’d first gotten home.

“You’re the one trying to dance with me in a dark living room because I needed you,” you answered, even cracking something resembling a smile, “you’re here.”

“Are you okay?”

You seemed to consider the question for a moment before sighing and admitting, “No, but I will be. Right now, I just need you. Please don’t go.”

“I’m here for you, Sweetheart,” Spencer promised, “I’ll be here for as long as you need me. In the good days, and the days when everything hurts too much, I’ll be there, I promise.”

You wrapped yourself around him even further, closing any possible distance between you. No words needed to be said after—the two of you simply relishing in each others’ company. Spencer never wanted to let you go, never wanted to break that one barrier keeping you from any further hurt. He wished he could take those memories away, could take away the nightmares you both knew would keep everyone up tonight. 

But he couldn’t, so instead Spencer would simply walk with you. He would hold you, and promise to comfort you through everything that still hurt you. 

He would be there, and for you, that was enough.

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