#christ. same thing with journalism
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Wait Cam and Pal's notes on Nona are all still around somewhere. Unless the Building got burned down or something the tapes and letters to each other are there, the ass joke tally marks are still up, the six pages on Harrow's body kissing the mirror are kicking. Forget Harrow and Kiriona interacting with the gang, we need to swing by and pick those up for perusal!
#now I'm just imagining Kiriona listening to the section about how she and Harrow would be lucky to have reached melange state over and over#hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhggghghghhhghh#or Paul showing a bit of their correspondence to Pyrrha to try and prove that they thought it through...#Harrow finding out how transparent she was about hating herself (and loving redheads) to Pal#Need need need at least one of them to find the kissing notes though jesus christ#I keep thinking of these in the same vein as Harrow's journals like 'oh I'd love to see them too bad they got burned' (I do believe Ianthe)#but that's fully possible with these bad boys agh#imagine Pyrrha taking them all to get cleaned up in the apartment and Kiriona stumbles on just one of these things. dream with me#the locked tomb#tlt#Alecto the ninth predictions 🙏#griddlehark#Nona crew#NtN spoilers#Nona the ninth spoilers
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Infinite Impossibilities: A Pervert's Dream Journal
Day 1: Karina

You sit in the lecture hall, struggling to focus on professor Karina’s lecture. It’s not that the material is boring - you’re quite interested in the works of John Keats. But fuck, it’s nearly impossible to pay attention with a goddess like her standing at the podium.
Karina is weaning a tight-fitted blazer that hugs her curves in all the right places. The fabric stretches taut over her ample breasts, the buttons straining to contain them. Your eyes keep drifting to her deep cleavage, wondering if she’s wearing a bra and what kind. Lacy and sheer, maybe? Or something more functional and practical? Maybe she’s not wearing anything at all.
She turns to write on the whiteboard, and your gaze zeroes in on her ass. The skirt she’s wearing is just long enough to be appropriate, but it rides up enough to give you a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, toned thighs. You imagine hiking it up even further, exposing her plump ass cheeks and giving them a firm spank.
But you shake those thoughts away quickly, feeling your cock twitch in your pants. Christ, get it together. Karina continues speaking passionately about Keat’s metaphors and symbolism, her full, glossy lips moving hypnotically as she forms each word. You picture them wrapped around your thick shaft, sucking you off with the same enthusiasm and dedication to her craft. Your erection grows, straining against the confines of your jeans.
She runs a hand through her long, silky black hair as she considers a student’s question, and you fantasize about gripping that hair, holding her head in place as you fuck her mouth. Those dark, soulful eyes of hers would look up at you pleadingly as you use her throat for your pleasure, forcing her to gag and choke on your huge cock.
Jesus, you’re in trouble. How are you going to make it through this class without jumping her right here in front of everyone? The things you’d do to her if given the chance….you bet she’d be a quick learner. Eager to please. Such a good girl, desperate for a nice, hard cock.
You imagine bending her over the podium and hiking up that prim little skirt. Ripping her panties off and rubbing your hard cock between her ass cheeks. Spanking her when she begs too loudly for it. Teasing her pussy with the tip until she’s dripping wet and aching to be filled.
Maybe you’d let her suck you off first, giving a taste of what's to come. Making her swallow every last drop before shoving your cock in her soaking cunt and pounding her until she screams. Until she forgets all about fucking Keats and only remembers the way your cock feel splitting her open.
You take a deep breath, trying to will your erection away. The thoughts of Karina naked and writhing beneath you are not helping. Fuck, you need to get a grip. Think about something else. Anything else. Like Keats’ fucking Odes. Right. Odes.
You barely register the end of the lecture, just barely picking up your stuff in time before she dismisses the class. You follow the herd of students filing out, forcing yourself not to look back at Karina. She probably doesn’t even know you exist. Why would she? You’re just another horny student. Not worth her notice.
As you reach the door, you hear your name called out in a melodic voice. Your heart stops for a moment as you turn around. She’s looking right at you, her dark eyes intense and focused.
“Mr. Raphael, could you stay after class? I’d like to have a word with you”
Fuck. You swallow hard, nodding mutely as you watch her bend over the podium, rummaging through her notes. Oh god, you’re in deep now. She’s going to realize what a pervert you are. What you’ve been thinking about doing to her hot little body.
You approach Karina’s desk, hands trembling slightly as you try to think of an excuse. You didn’t do anything wrong….right? Maybe she just wants to discuss your grade or assignment feedback.
After a while, Karina takes her seat and looks up at you with a warm smile, her dark eyes twinkling. “ Mr. Raphael, thanks for staying. I wanted to speak with you about your latest assignment on Keats’ odes.”
You nod, feeling a bit awkward. “Oh, uh, yeah. What do you think?”
She leans back in her chair, the fabric of her tight blazer stretching obscenely across her huge tits.. “I think it’s excellent work. You clearly have a deep understanding of the material and a real knack for close reading”
You feel a surge of pride at her words, but it’s tempered by the way her gaze seems to linger on you just a moment too long. Is it your imagination, or is there a hint of something more in her eyes?
“That’s great to hear,” you manage to say, shifting from foot to foot. “I really enjoy the subject matter”
“I can tell,” she says, a small smile playing at the corners of her glossy lips. “I’m glad you appreciate it. I aim to be very….hands-on with my students. “
Your mind immediately conjures images of those elegant hands all over your body, gripping your ass, stroking your cock. You shift uncomfortably, feeling yourself grow hard.
“And I couldn’t help but notice how much you seem to…admire my tits,” she continues, toying with the buttons on her shirt. “The way you stare at them during class. Like you’re aching to free them and bury your face between them.”
“Professor Karina, I….” you start to protest weakly, but she cuts you off with a wave of her hand.
“Oh please, spare me the innocent act,” she scoffs. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Like a starving man eyeing a feast.”
She stands up and walks around the desk, hips swaying hypnotically. She comes to stand right in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating off her body. Her tits brush against your chest and you bite back a moan.
“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” she whispers, her breath hot on your ear. “You want to bend me over this desk and pound my pussy until I scream.”
You whimper, your cock now rock hard and straining against your zipper. “Yes,” you admit hoarsely. “Fuck yes.”
She grins wickedly, backing up slightly to give a good look of her body. “Then why don’t you show me what you’ve got? Fuck me like the horny little cumslut I am”
Before you can react, she’s unbuttoning her shirt and shrugging it off, revealing a lacy black bra that barely contains her massive tits. You gape at them, mesmerized by their perfect roundness and softness.
She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her tits spring free, huge and heavy and perfect. The rosy nipples are hard little peaks begging to be sucked.
“Touch them,” she demands, pushing her chest out invitingly. “Grab my fucking tits and worship them like they deserve.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You reach out and cup her massive breasts in your hands, marveling at their weight and softness. They overflow your palm, the warm flesh spilling between your fingers. You squeeze them gently, feeling the heavy globes respond to your touch.
“Mhmm, just like that,” she moans, arching into your touch. “Play with those big fucking titties.”
You pinch one of her sensitive buds between your thumb and forefinger, tugging on it and rolling it back and forth until she’s writhing against you with desire. Her other nipple is just as needy, begging for attention. You give it the same treatment, watching her face contort with pleasure.
“You like that, don’t you?” she asks, voice hoarse. “Feeling my big tits in your hands. Groping them like you’ve always dreamed of”
You lean down and capture one of her nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the rigid peak.
“Oh fuck, yes,” she cries out. “Suck my tits like a hungry baby. Suck them until I leak milk.”
You switch to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention as you palm and squeeze her breasts. The flesh is soft and pilant in your hands, yet firm with muscle beneath the surface. You could spend hours exploring those incredible tits, learning every inch of their curves and hollows.
But Karina has other ideas. She pulls your head back by your hair, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Enough playing with my tits,” she growls. “I need you to eat my cunt. Now.”
She shoves you down onto your knees and hikes up her skirt, revealing a skimpy thong already soaked through with her arousal. The scent of her pussy fills your nostrils, musky and sweet.
“Taste me,” she hisses, grinding her crotch against your face. “Shove your tongue in my fucking hole and lap up all my juices.”
You bury your face between her legs, licking and sucking at her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties. The taste of her is divine, heady and intoxicating.
“Pull my thong aside,” she pants, fisting your hair. “I want to feel your tongue on my clit.”
You comply, tugging the soaked fabric to the side and diving in with renewed fervor. You swipe your tongue along her slit, moaning at the first taste of her nectar on your tongue.
“Oh fuck yes,” she cries out, riding your face shamelessly. “Lick my cunt like a good boy. Make me cum all over that pretty mouth.”
You alternate between lapping at her folds and flicking her clit with the tip of your tongue, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves until she’s thrashing against you.
“Fuck fuck fuck I’m gonna cum!” she screams, her thighs clamping around your head. “Don’t you dare stop!”
You double your efforts, plunging two fingers as she squirts all over your face and mouth, gushing hot cum down your throat. You swallow it greedily, relishing every drop of her essence.
When she finally comes down from her high, she pushes you away and backs up, panting heavily. “Now get up and strip,” she orders, eyes dark with lust. “It’s time for me to return the favor.”
You scramble to obey, yanking your clothes off in record time. Your cock springs free, hard and ready and straining towards her.
“Mhmm, such a nice big dick,” she purrs approvingly, stroking it with one hand while unzipping her skirt with the other. She lets it pool at her feet before stepping out of it, leaving her in just her thigh high stockings.
She turns around and bends over the desk, reaching back to spread her ass cheeks apart. Her pussy glistens with juices, pink and perfect and so fucking ready for you.
“Fuck my cunt,” she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder with a challenging glare. “Pound me into this desk until I can’t walk straight.”
You grab her hips and line up your cock with her entrance, rubbing the head teasingly through her slick folds. She moans impatiently, wiggling her ass against you.
“Stop teasing and fuck me already!” she snarls. “Impale me on that huge fucking cock!”
You can’t deny her a second longer. With one hard thrust, you bury yourself balls-deep in her tight heat. She cries out in ecstasy, her walls clamping down around you like a vice.
“Oh god yes!” she wails as you start to move, sawing in and out of her with powerful strokes. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me!”
The desk creaks and shakes beneath you as you rut into her like an animal, driven by pure primal lust. She meets every thrust with the roll of her hips, slamming against you with wanton abandon.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, mingling with her high-pitched moans and your low grunts of pleasure. Your hands reach around to grab her tits, squeezing the soft mounds roughly. You pinch her nipples between your fingers, twisting and pulling on the sensitive buds.
“Ahhh! Fuck yes play with my tits!” Karina moans, arching her back to push her beasts further into your grip. You comply eagerly, kneading the pillowy flesh and rolling her nipples between your fingers until they are stiff peaks.
Your hips piston faster, driving your cock deeper into her sopping wet cunt. The head bumps against her cervix with each thrust, making her yelp and shudder. You can feel her getting tighter and tighter around you, her body tensing as she nears her peak.
“I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum!” she cries out, her voice high and breathy. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop!”
You double your efforts, pounding into her harder and faster than ever. Your balls slap against her clit with each stroke, the lewd sound making your cock throb with need. The pleasure is intense, building and building until it feels like you might explode.
“Cum inside me,” she pants, pushing back onto you with bruising force. “Fill me up with your hot seed. I want to feel you pulsing in my cunt”
Her words send you hurtling over the edge. With a roar, you bury yourself to the hilt and let go, spurting jets of cum deep into her waiting womb.
She cries out in rapture as she feels your release flooding her insides, triggering her own orgasm. Her pussy spasms around you as she comes hard, milking every last drop from your cock.
You collapse on top of her, both of you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of pleasure course through your bodies. She turns her head and captures your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with her tongue.
When you finally break apart, she smiles at you wickedly. “Mhmm, now that’s what I call a productive study session,” she purrs, giving your softening cock a squeeze. “But don’t think we are done yet. I’m going to drain those big balls of yours until you are completely empty.”
She strokes your semi-hard length, coaxing it back to full mast. You groan at the sensation, still sensitive from your recent orgasm. But your body responds eagerly to her touch, your cock hardening in her grip.
“I want you to fuck my tits,” Karina demands, pushing you down on the desk chair. She kneels before you, squeezing her breasts together. “Cum all over those perfect tits. Coat me in your juice.”
You can only nod dumbly, too turned on to form words. She takes your rigid cock and nestles it between her soft mounds, enveloping you in warm, pillowy flesh. Then she starts moving, sliding up and down your shaft with a steady rhythm.
“Oh fuck,” you groan, mesmerized by the sight of your dick disappearing between her tits over and over.
You can’t believe this is actually happening. The hottest professor on campus, the one you have fantasized about for weeks, is on her knees before you, her luscious tits wrapped around your aching cock. It’s like something out of a daydream.
As Karina works your shaft with her perfect breasts, you reach out to grab her hair, guiding her head down further. She takes the hint, hollowing her cheeks and sucking hard on the tip of your cock each time it pops out from her cleavage.
“Oh fuck, yes,” you groan, hips bucking up to meet her movements. “Suck that cock you dirty slut. Show me how much you love having my dick in your mouth.”
She moans around you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Her hands cup your balls, massaging them gently as she blows you. You are so close now, your thrusts becoming erratic and desperate.
“I’m getting close again,” you warn her, hips thrusting like a madman into her pillowy tits. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum soon!”
“Yes, do it!” she urges, squeezing her tits tighter around you. “Paint my tits with your hot cum. I want to be covered in it!”
Her dirty words push you over the edge. With a guttural moan, you explode, your cock pulsing as thick ropes of semen spurt out and splatter across her chest. She aims your cock so that each shot lands on her breasts, glazing them with your essence.
When your orgasm finally subsides, you collapse back in the chair, chest heaving. Karina releases your spent cock, admiring the mess you’ve made of her tits. She scoops some of your cum onto her fingers and licks it off with a moan.
“Mhmm, you taste even better on my tits,” she purrs, sucking the last drop from her digits. “Such a good boy, giving me exactly what I wanted.” She stands, leaning down to give you a deep passionate kiss, sharing your combined taste.
Before you can plead for more, she breaks the kiss. “Now it’s time for the main event,” she says, rolling onto her hands and knees. She looks over her shoulder at you, ass high in the air. “Come and claim your prize, tiger. Stick that big cock in my ass.”
Despite having cummed twice, your cock has already begun throbbing at the sight of her magnificent ass. You kneel behind her and rub the head on her slick folds, coating yourself in her juices. Then you notch it against her puckered hole and start to push.
“Oh fuck,” Karina gasps as you breach her tight ring of muscle, “You’re so big. Stretching me so good.”
You groan as her ass clench around you, hot and velvety soft. You grip her hips and start to move, slowly at first, letting her adjust to your size. But soon you are pounding into her, hard and fast, just the way she needs it.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Karina wails, taking your pounding like a champ. Her tits bounce and jiggle with the force of your strokes, the lewd sight spurring you on.
Unable to resist, you reach around and grab her melons, kneading the soft mounds and pinching her nipples. You use her tits to your heart’s content, tugging and twisting her sensitive peaks as you rut into her from behind. The dual stimulation has her writhing in ecstasy, her pussy clenching around nothing as her ass milks your cock.
“I’m close,” she warns, voice tight with impending release. “Fuck me harder! Make me cum on that big cock!”
Your hips snap forward like a piston, hammering into her ass with brutal force. Karina’s ass clenches even tighter around your cock as her lips spill a string of curses.
“Oh god, I’m cumming!” she screams, back arching as her orgasm overtakes her. Her ass spasms around you, her inner walls rippling along your shaft as she comes hard.
The feeling of her clenching and fluttering pushes you over the edge. With a roar, you slam into her one last time, emptying your balls into her ass.
“Fuck,” you growl as you erupt, painting her walls with your thick essence. Jet after jet of cum spurts from your slit, flooding her ass and leaking around your shaft.
You keep your cock buried in her for a moment as you catch your breath before pulling out, letting a waterfall of cum pour out from her now gaping hole.
It feels like every bone in your body has been turned to lead, your breathing ragged and shallow. You collapse, finally broken after three continuous fuck session.
As you lay there on the cold floor contemplating what the hell has just happened, Karina’s face hovered into view, looking too energetic for someone who has just gotten their asshole stretched loose.
She leans in, hinting at a kiss before pulling back with a wicked smile. “You know we are not done yet, right?”
-
In this series, I intend to focus purely on smut. There won't be much plot, just 99 percent smut. Some dialogues and sceneries might not even make sense. But that's the point. Because it's pure fantasy.
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First Impressions Are a Bitch -S.R
Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader
The moment you stepped into the BAU you felt eyes. They didn’t linger too long. You were used to being in the orbit of the most elite profilers in the country, after all—growing up with Aaron Hotchner for a father meant you learned early how to ignore the low hum of being constantly assessed.
Everything still feels eerily in order—except you. Four years away at Columbia had changed you. You were older now. Smarter. Less eager to please and more eager to challenge.
“Just a quick debrief,” he said earlier, as he led you into the BAU conference room. “Ten minutes, tops.”
Ten minutes, your ass. You’ve been sitting here for almost forty. “Paperwork. Then we’ll go,” Hotch tells you. The edge in his voice warns not to argue. You roll your eyes and sigh loudly on purpose.
“Fine.”
You push yourself to your feet and wander toward the murder board out of boredom.
You sat perched on the conference table now, bored as hell, flipping a pen between your fingers while your dad spoke to his team. You caught pieces—victimology, escalation pattern, geographic profile. Nothing you hadn’t heard a hundred times before over breakfast growing up. Still, you leaned back, letting your eyes wander over the crime scene photos on the board. Then something struck you.
All four victims—different backgrounds, different cities, different times—but their hands. They were posed identically.
Not randomly. Deliberately. You stood up, walking toward the board with your arms crossed, the gears turning.
You tilted your head. “These hand placements… that's the domestic violence signal, isn’t it? All four victims—same thing. The fingertips pressed into the opposite palm, hidden, subtle.”
Rossi, who’d been gathering his things, paused. His gaze followed yours to the board.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, stepping closer. “You’re right. That changes everything. It’s not just random targeting—this is symbolic. Personal.” He gave you smile—part impressed, part stunned—and disappeared out the door to find your father.
“Wait, wait, wait,” a voice cut in behind you, dry and irritatingly patronizing. “That’s a huge leap. You can’t just infer intent from coincidence.”
You turned, already annoyed before you fully faced him. Dr. Spencer Reid. Of course. He’d been recruited while you were away at college. Standing with arms crossed, brows furrowed like you’d just offended a stack of peer-reviewed journals.
You turn slowly, already annoyed. “Excuse me?”
“Correlation does not equal causation. Just because their hands are similar doesn’t mean the unsub has a domestic abuse background. That’s textbook confirmation bias. It’s a rookie assumption.”
You blink. “I didn’t realize I was talking to someone who’s never been wrong in his life.”
He doesn’t flinch. “Statistically, I’m wrong 8.7% of the time. But I prefer logic over emotionally driven guesses.”
“Oh my god,” you scoff turning, finally facing him. His mouth was already half open to speak, but you beat him to it.
“I mean, if we’re going to start off by insulting each other’s intelligence, at least let me get my turn.”
He looked stunned by your bluntness, blinking a few more times as he surveyed you. And then… you saw it. The moment it clicked. The slight parting of his lips, the tightening around his eyes as his gaze bounced from your features to the door your father had just exited through.
“You’re Hotch’s daughter,” he said, voice flat.
You gave a single, dry laugh. “Jesus Christ, this guy.”
His eyebrows climbed. “No offense, but I didn’t expect—”
“Oh, don’t say it. Don’t even finish that sentence,” you warn. “Do you have a PhD in mansplaining, or do they just hand those out with the degrees at Caltech?”
You stand your ground, arms folded across your chest, eyes narrowed like you’re sizing him up. You are.
He clears his throat, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying to decide whether to smile or keep frowning. “That’s not what I meant,” he mutters, voice slightly lower now. “I just didn’t think Hotch had kids who—”
“Had opinions?” you cut in again, voice razor-sharp.
“—talk like you,” he finishes carefully, eyes glinting with something unreadable.
You arch an eyebrow. “If you mean talk like I wasn’t raised in a Quantico textbook, you’re right. I was raised in a house, like a normal human.”
Spencer exhales through his nose, pinching the bridge of it like he’s in pain. “I’m not trying to fight with you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You’re inferring psychological trauma from a gesture.”
You fold your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize profiling also meant talking down to every woman who noticed something before you did,” you muttered, walking past him to grab your phone from the table.
“Wait—I didn’t mean—” he started, following you.
You turned back toward him with an eye roll. “No, no, go ahead, Doc. Tell me again why I'm wrong, so you can walk it back in five minutes when my theory turns out to be right.”
He looked…frustrated. You couldn’t tell if it was with himself or you. Maybe both.
“And for the record,” you added, pausing in the doorway, “I’ve read your thesis on eidetic memory and its correlations to trauma. It was good. A little masturbatory, but good.”
His face wears shock so well, goddamn him. After a beat, he clears his throat awkwardly and extends a hand. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”
You glance at his hand but don’t take it.
“I think we’re past handshakes.”
Your dad rounded the corner, oblivious. “We’re heading out. Ready?”
You turned, swallowing your racing pulse. “Yep. Let’s go.” But as you walked out of the break room, you glanced back. Spencer was still watching you.
You don’t speak to him again until two days later.
You didn’t plan on seeing him again, but apparently, fate has a sick sense of humor.
Your dad is too buried in casework to drive you home, so he sends Spencer instead—without asking you.
He shows up in that old Volvo like a goddamn librarian who got lost on the way to the archive.
You stand outside the BAU parking lot with your arms crossed.
“Seriously?” you ask as he pulls up.
“Apparently, I’m your ride.”
You open the door with a groan and slide into the passenger seat. The tension between you is immediate and electric.
The car ride is mostly silent—except for the soft hum of NPR.
You glance at him. “Let me guess. You listen to public radio for fun.”
“It’s informative,” he replies without missing a beat.
“You know,” you say, leaning your head against the window, “you really don’t have to talk down to every woman who disagrees with you.”
“I don’t—”
“You do. And I’m not intimidated by your IQ, so maybe try not treating me like a child.”
The tension only gets worse after that.
You keep running into him—at the office, on the phone when he calls your dad, and finally one night when you’re curled up with a book in your dad’s living room. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.
Preferably with your thighs.
You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”
He was so off-limits.
Not just because he was older. Not just because he was your dad’s literal subordinate.
But because he’d made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time: noticed. Challenged. Seen. Infuriated.
And the worst part? You couldn’t stop replaying it.
Well be careful what you wish for because a few seconds later he walks in, apparently dropping something off for work.
You look up. He freezes.
You're in short shorts and a loose sweater that dips off one shoulder. His eyes flicker there before snapping back up to your face.
“You can put it on the table,” you say, not bothering to move.
He sets the file down slowly, then clears his throat. “Tell your dad I dropped off the case notes.”
You smile. “Will do.”
He turns to go.
Then pauses.
Turns back.
“About the hand positioning,” he says quietly, “you were right.”
You raise an eyebrow. “That must’ve hurt.”
“It did,” he admits. “But I still think you’re incredibly stubborn.”
“Guess it runs in the family.”
There’s a silence thick enough to drown in.
You speak first.
“You always this annoying or is it just around me?”
He steps closer, just slightly.
“I think you bring it out in me.”
His eyes drop to your lips before flicking back up.
You smirk. “Careful, Dr. Reid. You almost sound like you’re flirting.”
He stares at you a second longer. Then turns and leaves without another word.
You should’ve ignored it. You should’ve walked away. But he’d left you with the notes and you weren’t anything but curious. Naturally, you looked. And it looks like Dr. Spence didn’t realize he’d slipped in his own journal accidentally.
You weren’t going to snoop. You really weren’t.
But the second you saw your name scribbled in Spencer Reid’s handwriting—small, neat, and underlined—you couldn’t help it.
Oh if only you’d minded your business. Instead, you skimmed. Then you stopped. Then you read the entire fucking thing.
Subject 18A – Observation Log: Behavioral Notes
Interpersonal behavior suggests innate confidence, possibly learned early via proximity to figures of authority. Uses sarcasm as a primary defense mechanism. Not submissive—challenges hierarchy intentionally. Habitual eye contact, even in conflict. Prone to intellectual baiting.
Unclear whether this is intentional seduction or simply a naturally provocative disposition.
Triggers observed: condescension, dismissal, over-explaining. Response includes lip twitch, physical proximity, and reactive statements.
Hypothesis: She likes to be challenged. She likes resistance. She likes to be overpowered—verbally. Wonder if it extends to other contexts.
Need to stop thinking about this.
Your hand is shaking.
You read that last line again. And again. The slanted scrawl is messier than the rest, like he wrote it fast—like he was already spiraling when he put the pen down.
Need to stop thinking about this.
Your thighs clench. You shouldn't be aroused by this. You shouldn’t.
But now… now you can’t stop thinking about him thinking about you. Not professionally. Not even academically. But… physically. Fantasizing about what you’d let him do.
You’re still standing there—practically vibrating with heat—when the door clicks behind you.
“I thought I left that in my—” Spencer’s voice dies in his throat.
Your back stiffens, but you don’t turn. You hear him step inside. The door closes behind him.
“I…” You swallow. “You wrote about me.”
He doesn’t respond. You turn your head slightly, enough to see him in your periphery. He looks furious. Embarrassed. Breathless.
“I was working through a theory,” he said through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t meant for you to see.”
“No,” you murmured, walking around the corner toward him. “But you wrote it anyway. You thought about it.”
“You’re Hotch’s daughter.”
You laughed under your breath. “That line gets so old.”
“I’m serious,” Spencer snapped, though his voice was barely above a whisper now. His eyes locked with yours, and you could practically feel the war behind them. “This isn’t a game. You reading that was a violation of privacy.”
“Oh, give me a break,” you said, stepping closer, your arms still crossed. “You accidentally left it in a file you handed me in my father’s house. That’s not a violation. You wanted me to see that.”
His jaw ticked. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then enlighten me,” you breathed.
You didn’t mean to step so close. Or maybe you did.
Either way, now you were a breath away from him. The tension coiled between you like a live wire. Your dad was upstairs, probably on the phone with Strauss. But none of that mattered in this moment.
“You think I want to think about you?” he said, quietly. “You think I enjoy imagining the kinds of things I’ve written down, only to wake up disgusted with myself?”
You tilted your head. “You don’t seem very disgusted right now.”
He inhaled sharply through his nose, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“I read the whole thing, you know,” you said, a little softer now. “The part where you weren’t sure if I was trying to seduce you… or just naturally provocative.”
His gaze snapped to yours, the heat in it unmistakable now. “And?” he asked tightly. “What’s your conclusion?”
You smiled, slow and unhurried. “I think you’re smarter than that. You already knew the answer.”
Spencer took a shaky breath, looking at the ceiling like it could anchor him.
“You’re off-limits,” he said, like he was trying to remind himself more than you.
You reached up and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, deliberately slow. His eyes followed the movement like it was a crime scene detail.
“You wrote that I like being overpowered verbally,” you whispered, the faintest smirk tugging at your lips. “Ever wonder if it does extend to other contexts?”
His breath hitched.
“That’s what you wrote,” you added. “So go ahead, Dr. Reid. Test your theory.”
You didn’t have time to prepare for what happened next. His hands were on you—fast, firm, and desperate—pulling you in by the hips until your bodies collided. His mouth crashed into yours like a dam breaking. Everything was raw. Pent-up. Starved.
You moaned into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his curls, tugging hard enough to make him groan. He tasted like coffee and fury and something forbidden.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he rasped, voice hoarse and raw, his forehead pressed to yours.
“No,” you agreed, your hand already sliding down his chest, nails dragging lightly over his shirt. “But you are.”
His hands were still on your hips, trembling slightly. “Fuck.”
“You can stop,” you whispered, fingers ghosting over his belt. “Right now. Tell me to stop, and I will.”
His head dropped to your shoulder with a groan. You slid down to your knees without waiting for a response.
“Jesus Christ—” he muttered, his hands automatically finding the counter behind him, gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.
You made quick work of his belt and zipper, eyes never leaving his face. His chest was rising and falling fast, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt.
You reached into his briefs and freed him, and he hissed through his teeth the moment you wrapped your hand around him.
“You okay, Doctor?” you teased, voice soft and mocking as you stroked him once, slowly. His eyes fluttered shut.
“This is so—fuck—wrong,” he breathed, already unraveling.
You licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, watching his knees buckle slightly. His hand flew to your hair but didn’t pull—just held, like he didn’t trust himself to move.
You moved slowly at first, savoring every reaction. Sucking harder with every strained noise he tried to swallow. His control—so absolute in every other part of his life—was fraying. You were undoing him in real time.
“Oh my god,” he groaned, his head tipping back. “You—fuck—you’re…”
He never finished the thought. You hummed around him, and his hips twitched forward just slightly, a low, broken sound escaping him before he could stop it.
And outside, the front door clicked open.
“Sweetheart?” your dad’s voice called from the hallway.
You both froze.
“Shit—” he whispered, pulling back, fast but gentle, tucking himself away with trembling hands while you wiped your mouth and scrambled upright.
Your dad’s voice rang out, muffled by the hall.
Spencer jumped up, grabbing his bag, running a hand through his hair to fix what couldn’t be fixed.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, your mouth still tasting like him.
“Act natural,” you whispered, grinning like sin.
“Hotch’ll kill me,” Spencer muttered.
You stood, leaned in, and whispered in his ear, “Only if you give him a reason to.”
Hotch’s voice cut through the electric silence as he walked around the corner. “I didn’t expect you to still be here, Reid.”
You both turned like you’d been caught with your hands in the cookie jar—or rather, your hands down each other’s pants. You were standing a little too close, the air between you charged enough to short-circuit every wire in the house. Spencer stepped back so fast you thought he might trip.
Hotch raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, he crossed the room, briefcase slung over one shoulder, tie slightly loosened from the day. You offered a quick, guilty smile and stepped toward him just as he opened his arms. You melted into the familiar embrace, the kind of hug that still made you feel like his little girl, even after everything.
“Thanks for dropping off the files,” he said over your shoulder, looking at Spencer.
Spencer straightened, clearing his throat. “Of course. I was just—”
He pulls back, glancing between the two of you.
“You looked into the files, huh?” he says to you, noticing the folder in your hand. “Can’t help yourself.”
You smile. “Guilty.”
“I was thinking we could order something in,” he said casually. “Unless you’re in the mood to cook.”
You shrugged. “Takeout sounds good. Thai?”
His lips twitch like he wants to smile too, but he’s still trying to figure out why Spencer looks like he’s about to pass out. His eyes drift to Reid again. “You hungry?”
Spencer blinked. “What?”
“I said, do you want to stay for dinner?”
Spencer’s eyes met yours—briefly, sharply—and you could see his brain short-circuit behind them.
“Oh—I, uh, I should probably head out,” he said too fast. “We’ll be back in early tomorrow and I still need to—uh—review some geographic patterns on the Kansas case. But thank you. Really.”
You tried not to smirk. He couldn’t even look you in the eye now.
“Suit yourself,” Hotch said, turning back to the kitchen like he hadn’t just unknowingly invited a man to dinner who had written the words she likes to be overpowered in his personal journal about his daughter.
Spencer moved toward the door, quickly and silently. You followed, just enough to stop him as he reached for the handle.
You whispered, “Coward.”
He glanced at you, startled—then aroused, and somehow furious with himself for both.
“I’m not a coward,” he muttered.
“No?” You tilted your head. “Then why are you running away?”
He hesitated, visibly torn. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his hand hovered over the doorknob.
“My restraint isn’t cowardice,” he said finally, voice low and sharp like a promise. “It’s the only thing keeping me from making a very serious mistake.”
You stepped closer, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Then maybe make it.”
“Good night,” he said, almost like it pained him. And as Spencer made his swift exit, he glanced back one last time—like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
Neither could you. But god, you hoped it happened again.
a/n: btw my loves, ALL of my fics that have Hotch’s daughter!reader are not connected unless specified. They all are the same reader idea but not connected in a storyline💋
⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆
#spencer reid#dr spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fan fiction#spencer reid x fem reader#spencer reid x you smut#spencer reid imagine#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x you#criminal minds smut#criminal minds spencer reid
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all the old tptm girl journal entries w the new (if anyone wants to see them again and compare them)
please proceed with caution as many of these could be upsetting to read
disposable girl (jordyn)
(old)
i cant fucking stand this. i try so goddamn hard to make friends, to be attractive to people, to be even somewhat appealing to them etc etc. it never works. i thought it would get better the older i get. thats what i was told. guess what! i was fucking lied to!!! im alwasy left out of EVERYTHING i never get invited to shit and my own friends ignore me all the time. everyone looks at me weird. i cant go in public anymore im so fucking terrified of everyone. nobody fuckinf wants me, man. im so close to doing something stupid i feel so gross and ugly and dumb i should actually just die id be doing everyone a favor LOL
(new)
man, i havent been on here in forever. the internet is kind of dumb. what is there to say? my friend group celebrated our outpatient graduation anniversary the other day, that was pretty nice. we’re all trying to figure out housing stuff, nora’s been helping with that. freyja + mayra + kairi found a place already (how are they so responsible??) and the rest of us are trying to find places near them so we can visit more often. i never expected to have such a big group of friends. if you told me 2 years ago that i’d be living like this, i wouldn’t believe you. it’s still surreal to me. i’m not sure what i did to deserve them. same goes for my girlfriends. i don’t wanna say who just yet, we’re still figuring things out, but i’m just so thankful for them. i feel so lucky to have a second chance at life. i really didn’t believe people when they said it would get better, and then it did. how funny…..
irreverent girl (kairi)
(old)
I do not want God to see me anymore. I do not want anymore eyes on me. This is near unbearable. I have no one to turn to. My mother is in the church. Many of my friends are in the church. They would tell me to find hope through Christ. They would tell me to pray to Him. They would tell me that He will save me. He must not remember He made me, and if He does, He simply does not care. I know this is unbecoming of me, and I don't mean to be dramatic. I am simply depressed, nervous, and I cannot tell what's real and what isn't anymore. I know I'm supposed to hear God speaking to me, but I do not, and I am tired of straining my ears. I just want to see a doctor. I want some kind of tangible solution. I do not want to pray anymore. Praying hurts. I only do it when I am afraid, but I am afraid much of the time. I don't want to be unheard anymore. I do not want to hold out hope for someone who does not act like they're there. I am hurting. I am hurting. I am hurting. Belief is hurting me. The idea of God is hurting me. I need an out. I am hurting.
(new)
When I have a job and money and I can move away from my shitty Mormon parents
splitter girl (tahira)
(old)
theres something so broken in me thats beyond saving. so i dont know why i keep trying to be saved. i meant to kill myself when i was 18. i didnt. all ive wanted to do lately is kill someone or something. i havent. im too much of a pussy to plan anything concrete, no matter how much i hate everyone around me. no matter how much i get off to videos of people dying or how much i love cutting myself i cant actually take action against other people. i am fucking purposeless. i was born from evil and i will always be evil and i cant even live up to that. i hate myself i hate myself i HATE myself and the universe hates me too. i dont know what to fucking do at this point. i talked to one of my friends about wantingto die and they said smthn about hospitalizing myself. maybe. i dunno. i dont know what else there is for me/. my eyes are fucking burning from lookign at my computer for so long adn not getting any goddamn sleep. i am not a good person. i dont think i can be helped but i just dont wanna fucking keep goign to school and being around people and pretending like everything is norma;l. i cant keep doing it. what the fuck is wrong with me whagt happened. why cant i be loved or feel love for other people when did something change in me that switched the aggression and affection parts of my brain. im hyperventilating ill be back. maybe
(new)
getting myself onigiri from this one good boba place 2nite bc im 8 months clean…… its the little things~ ^^
fainéant girl (freyja)
(old)
i know i dont hate being disabled... i just hate being disabled in a society that makes existing difficult... but sometimes i really just dont want to be disabled anymore. i dont want my family to lecture me about how i could be helping out more, or how i should get a job. i dont want teachers to keep asking me whats wrong or the fuckin uni counselor to try to get me hospitalized. i dont want to be in so much pain anymore, to feel so exhausted that i cant even do so much as prepare food for myself, let alone do anything meaningful or fulfilling. its not fair. i shouldnt have to stay inside and sit in the dark all day,. i should be able to have friends. to talk to people and to go out with them and to feel like i am alive. its lonely and traumatic to suffer through this and on top of that no one around me understands, and they never fully will. i am tired of trying to justify my existence to everyone, to explain the pain that i am in and why i shouldnt have to experience it. i know the problem isnt me. i know i live in a world that isnt built for me. but if the world cant change then sometimes i truly feel that i should just stop living in it. my lifespan is already shorter than everyone else's anyways. what difference does it make
(new)
my qpps didnt seem to appreciate me playing Alien Kids Alien Rap for them. Do they even love me
caliber girl (nora)
(old)
唉~It is 3 AM and I should go to sleep but I can’t. I have a work zoom meeting early in the morning and I gotta hit the gym also because I haven’t done leg day in like… weeks. Oh well, it doesn’t even matter. My value is depleting but I don’t think I care anymore. The turnaround date for my code is also in a couple of days and I haven’t made any progress. I keep getting the same error and I’m too tired to figure out what’s wrong. I might get fired at this rate LOL(笑). If that happens, I think I’ll just consider ending it all. Not that anybody will miss me. God I sound so weak and pathetic right now. When did it get like this. How did it get like this. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse before and this is nothing. Ugh, why is it so hard to breathe? My chest hurts and I feel like something is wrong but I don’t know how to make it go away. Should I call someone about this? No. No one is awake or around to help. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep it off. Shake it off… shake it off…
(new)
My Tamagotchi beeped during a meeting fml
chocolate box girl (morgan)
(old)
i thought i was doing better but i cant stop thinking about them. their touch, their interests, their smile, everything. the worst part is that i miss them, after all of what they've done to me. i was 13. i dont even feel justified calling it rape since our relationship was so muddy... they never yelled at me or was angry at me, they just got so sad when i tried to speak my mind, and got all my friends to hate me when we finally broke up. i never said no so i feel like im insulting actual survivors by feeling violated. i wasnt even trying to get into a relationship with them, it just happened... i feel like everyone around me wants me in the same way they did, even though im an adult now and i dont even try to make myself appealing. i wish i could trust people not to take advantage of me, and i feel disgusting and selfish for feeling like everyone has ulterior motives of getting me to fall in love with them, or worse. that's so self centered of me. i dont know how long i can keep doing this
(new)
girl help i cant stop looking at anime figures on japan yahoo auctions !!!!!
taxidermy girl (mayra)
(old)
I don't remember ever not having a sex drive, is that normal ? I was born and then it was all downhill from there, something happened to me sexually i think, I don't know what happened, because I don't remember much, but something happened and I was beaten for it and yelled at and my mother hated me, and now I am an adult and I try to have sex, and I'm not there mentally, even if my body is participating, I feel like I am in the past again, being beaten and yelled at . I want to keep trying, I want to have fun, to feel safe in someone else's arms, to reach the heights of pleasure, but my mind scares me so much, I haven't been able to eat anything today because I feel so horrified by my body . If I was good I would have been born as a nonsexual being, no parts, no desires, no instincts, a blank slate, too empty to be enjoyed . Do you know what it feels like, to have your mother tell you people want to sexually abuse you when you are a child, and then to be made fun of by your peers for being so ugly, to have your middle school and high school classmates joke about how much they don't want to have sex with you ? I am illicit and undesirable at the same time, I am everyone's last option, I am nothing and still too much, rotting deer meat on the side of the road . I wish I had been born as something beautiful and pure, I wish I could start over, that whatever that initial sin was had never been committed .. I want to start over
(new)
Went to a kink event the other night and everyone was so nice … The low lights were fucking with my vision so one of the hosts helped me navigate the place . I ❤️ you random disabled ally with a pup mask on
chemical girl (joy)
(old)
LMAOOOOO im too angry and miserable to be around. i think i just need to give up at this point because theres clearly like. something broken inside me that cant be fixed. that has 2 be it because i try to talk and i just sound cold, i try to make a joke and it comes out overly edgy and unfunny, i try to be like everyone else but its too much. i cant even be a collection of the positive traits i see in others, i try to replicate it and it comes out warped and wrong. im either fucking enraged or in abject misery or way too happy and nobody can keep up with me. the thing is i dont even blame them. i wouldnt want to be around me either. do u know what thats like? being someone you wouldnt want to know? i keep hoping that one day ill wake up and suddenly be normal, the mood swings will be gone and everyone will like me and i wont do stupid shit that pisses them off. but i know that day isnt coming. theres no hope for me and i want to say sorry to everyone who has ever had the misfortune of knowing me but i know it wouldnt do anything. theres nothing i could ever do to make myself right
(new)
i need to convince my gf to take me to Round One again soon
refraction girl (nataana)
(old)
i don't want to do this anymore. i'm going somewhere better
(new)
talked with my psych and i’ll be starting TMS soon, it’s some thing where they put magnets to ur brain and it’s supposed to treat depression.. trying to temper my expectations bc i’ve tried so many treatments that just do nothing for me, but i’d be lying if i said my hopes weren’t riding on this. i want to confidently say i’m glad to be alive. i feel like i’m getting closer to that
nurse parallel/machine girl (xiomara)
(old)
I am so excited... Tomorrow my experimental outpatient treatment plan begins!!! I'm beyond delighted. I have complicated feelings about my DID being in remission, but it's nice to feel stable enough to be in charge of something this big, and to not have terrible gaps in my memory anymore. I still don't remember everything that happened to me, but maybe I don't need to. At this stage of my life, I feel content. I can confidently say everything was worth it. I want to help others feel that way, too. I think I can.
(new)
I’m meeting up with a new friend tomorrow… I feel nervous, but it’s a good nervousness, I think!
#the post traumatic manifesto#tptm#refraction girl#weevildoing#splitter girl#nurse parallel#chocolate box girl#chemical girl#disposable girl#faineant girl#irreverent girl#taxidermy girl#caliber girl
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Let's say if our Songbird wrote songs like Bed Chem, Juno, 34 + 35, Nasty and Positions about Joe, how would he react?
───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────
songbird 🥺
as we know, her versatility and range when it comes to her music is one of the things she’s most known for! she knows what her sound is, but that doesn’t ever stop her from dabbling into different types of lyricism, instruments, productions, etc.
and she most certainly has a vault, so you just know some of the songs in there are pretty…straightforward. with reputation, she physically couldn’t stop writing and recording music—something which has never happened to her with previous albums. something about this record, this era, was extraordinarily different and she honestly felt so much more creative during this time. like she was unlocking a whole new level in her musical journey.
some songs in the vault that she didn’t put on the album, but wrote around this time were bed chem, guilty as sin?, and nasty.
however, only two out of the three were recorded. if she ever recorded nasty and let joe listen, hell even read the lyrics, she was sure that there would be an accidental baby on the way because…wellllll. like this song was not one she was playing about, it belonged in the confines of her journal and never to be heard or sang out loud.
ever.
she’d die.
he’d die.
the bed would break.
anyway, bed chem and guilty as sin? were recorded and joey did listen to them :)
she already had quite a few…spicy…songs and lyrics on reputation, but there were some songs she wrote that were maybe just a bit too bare for her to release right now (but who’s to say she won’t at some point in the future).
bed chem, for example, was so god damn straightforward. i mean, she was basically telling the world she thought her and joe would have great sex the first time she ever saw him. and well, she’d be lying if that thought didn’t cross her mind.
when he heard it, she was laughing her ass off at his reactions.
—
the moment the first chorus hit, joe froze like a deer caught in headlights.
his grip on his knee tightened, his jaw clenched, and he inhaled sharply through his nose, like he was physically trying to keep himself together. but the way his wide blue eyes snapped to her—like she had just flipped his entire world upside down—was absolutely priceless.
“baby,” he said, voice strained, like he was barely holding on. “what the hell is this?”.
she was already losing it, barely able to keep it together as she paused the demo. “oh, you know what this is,”.
he swallowed hard, shaking his head like he was in disbelief, but he couldn’t even get a response out before the next line hit as she hit play again.
“who’s the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes and the big bad mm?”
his breath hitched.
“oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face, his ears turning an alarming shade of red.
she smirked, tilting her head. “something wrong, joey?”
he sighed, shaking his head as his fingers twitched at his sides. “you did not just say that,”.
but she did. and she knew exactly what she was doing.
by the time she got to the bridge,
“and i bet we’d both arrive at the same time…and i bet the thermostat’s set at six-nine…,”.
joe actually groaned, dropping his head back against the couch, gripping his thighs like he was in physical pain. “jesus christ,” he muttered, eyes screwed shut as he fought the urge to drag her into his lap right then and there.
she bit her lip, setting her phone aside as she crawled closer, slipping her arms around his neck. “joey,” she whispered, her voice smooth as honey and laced with mischief.
a strangled sound left his throat as he gripped her hips, his fingers pressing hard into the fabric of her sweats. “you wrote that. you recorded that. about me. little ol’ me,”.
she giggled, pressing her forehead to his. “you inspire me, what can i say?”.
his hands tightened on her waist, his breathing uneven. “tell the police that this is my cause of death,” he murmured as he started to press kisses along her jawline.
she hummed, brushing her lips against his jaw. “i’ll put it on your tombstone, lover. don’t you worry,”.
joe groaned, flipping them so she was pinned beneath him on the couch, his lips ghosting over hers. “why are you so horny,” he muttered before finally, finally closing the distance.
she kissed him back with the same intensity, before suddenly pulling away to answer him. “well, have you seen yourself and that big bad…,”
—
then there was his reaction to guilty as sin?
joe’s entire body went numb the moment the song hit that line, “what if he’s written ��mine’ on my upper thigh, only in my mind?”. his eyes went wide, and for a second, he couldn’t even process the rest of the lyrics as his mind scrambled to catch up. his gaze flicked up to her, half in disbelief, half in a dazed trance. “wait…did you just say that?” he muttered, his tone showing his surprise.
she shot him a sly look, biting her lip, clearly enjoying the effect it was having on him. “what? don’t like it?” she teased, her voice light but with a hint of mischief.
the next line hit him like a punch to the gut: “one slip and falling back into the hedge maze, oh what a way to die,”. he leaned back, running a hand over his face like he couldn’t even believe what was happening. “jesus christ, Y/N. you really wrote an entire song about touching yourself to the thought of me?” he groaned, not sure whether to laugh or to pull her in and kiss the living daylights out of her.
but then came the chorus, and his face went even more maroon as the lyrics played: “my bedsheets are ablaze, i’ve screamed his name, building up like waves, crashing over my grave, without ever touching him, how could i be guilty as sin?”.
his jaw tightened, and he looked at her with a mix of lust and disbelief. “are you…are you really singing this about me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, like he didn’t quite know how to handle the intensity of it. “like that?”.
her gaze was fixed on him, and she didn’t even flinch. “what?” she said, voice a little too sweet for the kind of effect she knew she was having. “you didn’t think i was gonna write about you when i gave you the general idea of the song?” she chuckled.
joe let out a long, shaky breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to regain some sense of control. “i died. dead. deceased,” he muttered, but he wasn’t sure if he was joking anymore. all he could think about was her—what she’d written, what she was implying—and his body was burning with it.
“you…,” he started, but his words caught in his throat as he leaned forward, his hands hovering over her before he finally just caved and pulled her to him, his lips crashing against hers. the kiss was hot, needy, like he couldn’t get enough of her.
he pulled back only long enough to breathe, his forehead resting against hers. “you’ve got me fucked up,” he whispered, still trying to come to terms with just how much she had him twisted up in knots.
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first meeting








❤︎ Dean x Seraphine ❤︎
Warnings: I don't believe there are any.
Word Count: 1,919
Dean didn’t even bother asking where Cas had wandered off to. If the angel wanted to babysit another celestial tagalong, fine. Sam mumbled something about the library—“Don’t wait up”—and Dean just grunted, already halfway down the hall.
He was too tired for this shit. Too wired to sleep. His head was buzzing, full of angel politics and Heaven’s next screw-up. He needed a drink. A wall to lean against. Five damn minutes without a holy crisis or emotional minefield.
He pushed open the door to his room and—
Stopped dead.
You were standing there. Back to him. Head tilted. One hand drifting across the edge of his dresser—over old things he never let people touch. The worn leather of Dad’s journal. A photo of him and Sam, sun-faded and bent at the corner. That little carved charm Missouri gave him after she saved his life.
You weren’t touching them like they were trophies. You were touching them like they mattered.
And your hair—Christ. It caught the low light like metal kissed by fire. Rose-gold. The colour of dusk and devotion. Of copper turned soft with time. Your dress matched it, pale and sheer in places, clinging to your body like it had been spun from smoke and silk. You looked like something sacred. Something ancient pretending to be human.
Dean’s fingers twitched toward the pistol tucked in the back of his jeans.
“Alright,” he said, voice low and gravel-worn, like a threat spoken through a prayer. “I don’t know what the hell this is, but you’ve got three seconds to explain before I make you bleed glitter.”
You turned at the sound of his voice. And smiled.
God, that smile.
Like you were looking at something you’d been waiting forever to find. Like you already knew him.
“I was searching for my sister,” you said, voice wrapped in breathless warmth. “But I stumbled upon you instead.”
Dean blinked, slow. Frowned.
“What the hell does that mean?”
You tilted your head, eyes never leaving his. There was nothing sharp in your gaze. Nothing cold. Just a softness that felt like silk pulled across bruised skin. That should’ve made him flinch.
But it didn’t.
“It means,” you said, like you were telling him a secret, “I think I was meant to find you.”
He stared. Harder now. Like squinting might make sense out of all this glow.
“Are you… an angel?” He asked, instantly hating the way the word felt in his mouth—like it didn’t deserve to touch the same air as you.
You laughed. Soft. Distant. Like wind in chapel rafters.
“I was,” you said. “Long ago. Before they gave it a name.”
Dean stepped in then. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you might vanish if he moved too fast. And still—he kept one hand close to his waistband. Just in case. Just in reflex.
“What do you want from me?” He asked, quieter now. Less bark, more bite.
You turned your face toward him fully then, your gaze brushing over him like reverence made flesh.
“Nothing,” you said, as if the word hurt to say. “I only wanted to see you.”
That didn’t sit right.
People didn’t just look at Dean Winchester like that. Not unless they wanted something. Not unless they were trying to fix him or fight him. You looked at him like he was already whole. Like he was something holy in his own right.
Dean’s jaw tensed. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.
“I don’t do… cosmic soulmates, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Whatever kind of ancient love story you’re trying to sell, I’m not buying.”
But even as he said it, his eyes betrayed him. They trailed the curve of your collarbone. The shimmer of light catching in your hair. The way you stood in his room like you belonged in it.
You stepped closer. Bare feet whispering against bunker tile. And then—God help him—you reached out. Just your hand. Just the air between you. But it felt like a choice. Like the universe had tilted and this was the place it had landed.
Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t. Didn’t draw his weapon. Didn’t raise his voice. He just watched you. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a weapon.
He felt like a man. And that scared him more than anything.
You stepped closer. And closer still.
He didn’t back away. He should have. He always did. That was the rhythm—flirt, deflect, retreat. But you weren’t flirting. You weren’t teasing. You were looking at him like you meant it. Like you knew something about him he didn’t know himself. And when your hand rose—fingers hovering for a breathless second—then brushed against his jaw, featherlight and reverent—
Dean stilled.
His pulse kicked. His throat worked around a breath he hadn’t meant to hold. And before he could stop himself, before logic could drag him back into the armour he wore like skin—
He leaned into it.
It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t trained. It was reflex. Like something in him had been waiting for that kind of touch all his life and didn’t know it until now. Your fingertips skimmed the stubble on his cheek, soft as dusk. He could feel the chill of your skin and the heat beneath it. And then—he looked down.
And you looked up. Eyes wide. Luminous. Flicking between his own like you were memorising the colour of them. Like you didn’t want to miss a single shift in their shade. You scanned the whole of his face—his brow, his lashes, the faint scar near his temple—and whispered:
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Dean scoffed immediately. A sharp exhale through his nose, more armour than breath. He turned his head a fraction, pulled back just enough to frown.
“Yeah, okay. Time to shut that down, sparkles.”
But your expression didn’t change. Not the awe. Not the softness. If anything, you looked confused. Almost… pained.
“Don’t you see it?” You asked. Voice like a violin string, trembling with truth. “Don’t you see how good you are?”
Dean laughed. It was small. Bitter. A single note of disbelief that echoed too loud in the room.
“Lady, you’ve clearly got the wrong Winchester.”
But you didn’t move.
You stepped forward instead—just one, breath-close now, your frame nearly pressed to his. You were small. Delicate. You barely came to his collarbone, and his mind flickered—just for a second—to the thought that he could probably lift you with one hand. Cradle the back of your neck and hold you up like prayer. Carry you around the bunker just to feel your weight against him.
The thought hit him square in the chest. Uninvited. Hot.
Shit.
You tilted your face up again, and your voice dropped even softer.
“You are the brightest light I’ve ever been around.”
He blinked. Once. Twice.
“You’re kidding, right?”
But you weren’t looking at him like it was a joke. You were looking at him like it was the truth. Like you were stunned by the sight of him. Like you were witnessing something.
“I’ve spent my entire life around the First Light.” You smiled, soft and aching. “So that’s saying something.”
And that—that—was when it clicked. Dean felt the shift in his chest before his brain caught up. The words looped. First Light. The way Cas had said it earlier. The reverence in his voice.
His eyes narrowed. He stepped back half a beat, hands falling uselessly to his sides.
“…Wait. First Light. You said you were looking for your sister.”
You blinked, gaze never leaving his.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” You asked gently. “Aurelia.”
Dean swore under his breath. Low. Barely audible.
“Son of a bitch.”
You tilted your head again, that smile curving like you already knew what he was about to say.
“You’re her sister.”
“I am,” you said.
Dean stared. And you—standing in his room like a rosegold daydream—just smiled like dawn and destruction were the same thing.
“You’re her sister,” he said again, trying to anchor himself in something that made sense.
“I am,” you murmured. “But I’m not just her sister.”
He ran a hand down his face. “Okay. Cool. More cryptic angel crap. Awesome.”
That got a little laugh out of you. Not mocking. Just amused. Like watching a toddler throw a tantrum in a cathedral.
He dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes at you. “You got a name, or should I just start calling you Hallmark?”
You tilted your head slightly, curls slipping over your shoulder like poured light.
“My name is Seraphine.”
Dean blinked. Like the name had a flavour. It did. Something sweet. Something ancient. It felt like the breath before a kiss.
He scoffed again, trying to get the air back in his lungs. “Of course it is.”
You didn’t take the bait. You just looked at him. Like he was already something you loved. And that was the problem.
He could handle desire. Lust. Hell, he’d spent half his life wrapping himself in it. But the way you were looking at him now—like he was known, like he was chosen—that cut deep. That crawled under his ribs and stayed there.
He crossed his arms. Defensive now. Annoyed at how warm his chest felt.
“Well, Seraphine,” he said, all dry bite and bravado, “you want me to take you to your sister or what?”
You blinked once. Slow. As if you had to pull yourself back to the question. Then—softly, like petals hitting marble—you shook your head.
“No,” you said. “I want to stay with you.”
Dean froze. The words hit harder than they should have. Simple. Gentle. True. And it rattled him.
“…You just got here,” he muttered, looking anywhere but your face.
“I know.”
Dean’s arms crossed tighter.
“You don’t even know me,” he said again, gruff, like saying it enough times would make it true.
But you didn’t argue.
You stepped forward again—slow, deliberate—and stood fully in his space now. Flush. Close enough that he could see the faint shimmer clinging to your skin, like you’d been dusted in starlight and hadn’t noticed. Close enough that he could smell roses and honey and something older—something like the air just before a thunderstorm.
“I do know you,” you said. Not in defence. Not in plea. Just quiet certainty. “Because I knew what you were made of before you were ever born.”
Dean flinched. Just a twitch of his brow. His breath went still.
“…You wanna explain that one?”
You tilted your face up to him. Eyes wide, shimmering. And this time, you looked at him not just like you knew him—but like you remembered him.
“I told you I was once an angel,” you began, voice like silk dipped in gold. “But that was a long time ago. Before angels had wings. Before language had names for things like me.”
Dean swallowed.
“Aurelia,” you continued, “was the first spark of light. The beginning of all things. She is the start of the song.”
Your hand hovered over your chest, gentle.
“But I came after her. Not to follow. To balance. I am not light.” You paused. “I am what light aches for.”
Dean’s heart thudded. Too loud. Too fast.
“I am the first embodiment of love,” you said softly. “Not the kind you speak of in vows. Not the safe kind. The true kind. The kind that creates galaxies. That breaks empires. That bends gods and men alike.”
Your voice grew quieter with each word. Not weaker. Just closer.
“I’ve burned with it. Wept for it. Watched it tear the sky apart and mend it with a kiss.”
Dean couldn’t look away.
“I was the first emotion. The first ache. The first prayer whispered into the dark.”
You met his eyes again, and this time your smile was almost shy. Almost human.
“And somehow, after all this time… you make me feel it again.”
It hit him like a gut punch. Dean stared at you, jaw slack, throat tight. He didn’t have a box to put that in. Didn’t have a wall tall enough to keep it out.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
You tilted your head, smiling softly. “No,” you whispered. “Just Seraphine.”
A/N: I love her. I absolutely love her. She's so soft and she's gonna piss Dean off so much, but he's gonna love having someone who only sees the good in him, eventually. When he finally realises that, yes, he deserves that.
@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @liiiilsss <3
#pfiahc writes#my writing#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester fic#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x female!reader#dean x female!reader#dean x you#dean x fem!reader#spn x you#spn x reader#spn fanfic#spn x fem!reader#supernatural x you#supernatural x reader#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural x female reader
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The Eye of the Hurricane [25] - Steps
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️
Summary: Some plans require patience.
Word Count: 2500
Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.
Series Masterlist

Attending couples therapy while there was an unofficial war in the city was quite strange but then again, this whole marriage was strange.
“Before we end our session,” Dr. Raynor said. “How are the intimacy journals going?”
You and Bucky exchanged glances before you both turned to her.
“They’re going well,” you said. “Mine is more detailed than Bucky’s, I also created a whole system to make it easier for you to read, would you like to read it now?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I think I’ll wait for you two to feel more comfortable with writing it down for a while. When you said a system…?”
“She gives it stars,” Bucky said helpfully and you nodded.
“I also got like, a color system,” you added. “I categorized it by each color like, how I feel, how I think he feels, how did we communicate before, during and after—”
“I can’t believe we didn’t consider your teacher fantasy,” Bucky muttered and your jaw dropped.
“I do not have a teacher fantasy!”
“Then why are you trying to get an A in therapy?”
“I’m glad you brought it up Bucky,” Dr. Raynor said and you gasped.
“But I don’t have a teacher fantasy!”
“No not that,” Dr Raynor said. “We said you would try a fantasy within the week. Did you?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
“How was it?”
“I think I’ll let Bucky describe it,” you said, shooting him a look and his eyes widened.
“Charm!”
“What?” you said. “Think of it as revenge for that teacher student thing. Go on, tell her.”
You and Bucky had decided on what you would tell her before the session but judging by the look on his face, Bucky had assumed you would be the one who would do the talking about that. You tried to bite down your smirk and cleared your throat, motioning at Dr. Raynor.
“Go on.”
“We uh…” Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah, we tried a fantasy.”
“Which was?”
“We did the public thing.”
“Public thing,” she repeated and Bucky sat up straighter.
“Had sex in the back alley of the club,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and you nodded, smiling at her.
“The thrill of getting caught,” Dr. Raynor commented. “How was it?”
“Charm?”
“She asked you, not me,” you said, still smiling and Bucky cleared his throat again.
“Yeah it was great.”
“And Y/N?”
“I gave it five stars,” you said. “And used my purple glittery pen while describing it on the journal.”
“Your guess is as good as mine about what the purple glittery pen means,” Bucky told her and you heaved a sigh.
“Afterwards on the other hand,” you said. “Yellow pen, three stars.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky said, running a hand over his face and Dr. Raynor frowned slightly.
“Why is that?”
“I happen to think aftercare is important. Bucky disagrees.”
“I don’t—that’s a lie,” Bucky pointed out. “Charm, to repeat, I cannot give you pillowtalk in the back alley of a club.”
“See?” you motioned at him while keeping your eyes on Dr. Raynor. “Three stars.”
Dr. Raynor smiled at you before checking her watch.
“We’ll continue next week,” she said. “Keep writing on the journals.”
You nodded and stood up from the couch, Bucky doing the same.
“Have a nice day Dr. Raynor,” you told her and walked out of the office with Bucky following you. When you stepped outside, he let out a breath.
“Well that was something,” he said, checking his phone and you grinned.
“See? Told you she’d buy it.”
“Did you have to give me three stars?”
“It wasn’t for your hypothetical performance,” you reminded him. “And you said it yourself you’re not a pillowtalk guy.”
“Yeah that whole thing is bullshit.”
You arched a brow.
“I feel sorry for every girlfriend you’ve ever had,” you said. “Lunch?”
He shot you an apologetic smile.
“I have a meeting,” he said. “What with the attacks lately, can’t be too careful.”
“Ah,” you said and waved a hand in the air. “Sure, yeah. I’ll see you at dinner then?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll drop you off. Home or Becca’s place?”
“Becca is busy, I’ll just walk around for a bit,” you said and he hummed, then motioned at the bodyguards waiting by the car. You rolled your eyes at him.
“Seriously?”
“Yes seriously,” he told you. “Told you, can’t be too careful.”
You groaned. “I hate you so much right now.”
He let out a chuckle, then pressed a kiss on top of your head.
“See you at home princess,” he said and walked to the car to get in. You offered the bodyguards a small smile and started walking, fishing your phone out of your pocket in the meantime.
It rang only twice before Sarah picked up.
“You do realize that you calling me every two hours is a bit of an overkill?” she asked and you grinned.
“I’m worried about you, sue me.”
“Y/N…”
“I just want to make sure you’re okay!” you defended yourself. “I mean, after that night.”
“Everything is fine,” she assured you. “I’m alright. Besides, Sam is already pulling that overprotective bullshit, please don’t start as well.”
“Fine, fine…” you grumbled. “But you are being careful?”
“I will hang up on you.”
“No!” you protested, making her laugh.
“How was therapy?”
“It was alright,” you muttered. “Went as expected. Do you think I have a teacher fantasy?”
Sarah hummed. “Nah, you just have a praise kink.”
You stopped dead in your tracks, your jaw dropping. “Sarah!”
“What, you asked!”
“I do not have—”
“Please, it's very obvious,” she said and you let out a breath.
“Unbelievable,” you said. “I was going to ask you out for lunch but…”
“Does the lunch include me telling you what a good girl you’ve been?”
“I will hang up on you right now,” you said, making her laugh.
“Can’t do lunch, I’m busy,” she said. “Things are insane at the hospital lately, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you said. “I guess if no one is meeting me for lunch, I have no choice but spend a bunch of money on bunch of clothes.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yep, be careful!” you told her and hung up, then turned to the bodyguards to let them know you would be going shopping but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar black car pulling over. The bodyguards stepped closer to you but you heaved a sigh when your gaze fell on the plate of the car.
“It’s fine, it’s my dad’s men,” you told them as two men stepped out of the car.
“Ma’am.”
“Luke,” you said. “Brian. Long time no see.”
“Your father would like to talk to you,” Luke said and you pulled your brows together.
“My father is aware of the fact that phones exist, no?”
They didn’t reply and you threw your head back, then motioned at your bodyguards.
“Come along then,” you told them, approaching the car. “We’re paying a visit to my dear father.”
*
Of course you knew your father wouldn’t approve of you going to the Wilson territory right after it got attacked but even you had to admit, you hadn’t expected him to send his men to pick you up to take you to the company. As you walked into the familiar skyscraper, you could feel the nervousness spreading over you but you frowned to yourself, rolling your shoulders back.
The days of you doing anything and everything for his approval was behind you.
After taking the elevator, you walked past the waiting room and your father’s assistant smiled at you.
“He’s been expecting you.”
“Lovely,” you said and knocked on the door.
“Come in!”
You opened the door and stepped inside.
“Father,” you said. “Your phone is broken or something?”
“Or something,” he said sternly, giving you a reprimanding look from where he was sitting behind his desk. “Sit down please?”
You bit inside your cheek, then made your way to plop down on the seat across from his desk.
“Nice to see you too,” you muttered and he let out a breath.
“Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?”
“You mean other than getting picked up off the street by your people?” you asked. “I was shopping.”
“No, the other night,” he said. “I hear Bucky took you to the Wilson territory after the attack.”
“Bucky didn’t have to take me anywhere considering I’m not a goddamn pet,” you said tersely and he shot you a glare.
“Y/N.”
“And I’m a grown woman, father,” you reminded him. “I don’t have to explain to you where I go or when.”
“You’re my daughter,” he reminded you back. “My daughter who seems to love walking into danger.”
“It wasn’t dangerous.”
“I don’t know what Bucky has shared with you so far about these attacks but—”
“He shared more with me than you did,” you couldn’t help but point out. “HYDRA was the one who attacked the Wilson territory just like other territories.”
He ran a hand over his face.
“Sweetheart,” he said. “The city is very dangerous lately even without you rushing to places under attack. What if something happened on the way there? What if they weren’t done with the attacks? What if there was an ambush?”
“What am I supposed to do?” you asked back. “Stay at home?”
“You’re supposed to stay safe,” he insisted and you crossed your arms, leaning back.
“I am safe.”
“Are you though?” he asked you. “Because that right there was reckless. Your aunt agrees.”
“Of course she does,” you murmured and he drummed his fingertips on the desk.
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “So does she. So does Ian.”
“Ian doesn’t give two fucks about me much like his mother,” you said, making him run a hand over his face.
“Language.”
You licked your lips, not even commenting on it and he let out a breath.
“Do you still carry a gun?”
“Of course I do,” you said. “What am I, an amateur? Ian is the one who is too cocky to carry a gun, everyone knows—did you seriously call me here just so that you could reprimand me?”
“I called you here because I wanted to see you,” he said. “Can you blame me? You’ve been angry at me for a while now, we barely had the chance to talk just the two of us.”
You rolled your eyes, averting your gaze. “I’m not angry.”
“Aren’t you?”
You swallowed the bitterness at the back of your throat.
“You’re the boss of the family,” you forced yourself to say. “Who you pick as your heir is up to you.”
“I’ve never wanted the business to get between us,” he insisted. “You know that. Family is forever, business is just business.”
No.
Not really.
That wasn’t what you heard growing up, at least. Family and business were inseparable, everyone in this line of work knew it.
You pursed your lips together and shrugged your shoulders.
“I know,” you lied through your teeth and a silence fell upon you before you stole a look at him. “And…are you being safe? What with these attacks and everything?”
He smiled at you softly and waved a hand in the air.
“Always am.”
Worry churned your insides as you nibbled on your lip, your eyes darting over his face.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” he assured you and took a deep breath. “I’m not dying before you and Bucky give me a grandchild.”
A small laugh escaped from your lips and you shook your head slightly.
“I thought you said that’d make you look old?”
“I could be a young grandfather,” he pointed out. “I’ll hire a stylist and all that nonsense. Perhaps get a tattoo as well, or dye my hair.”
“Dye your hair to—”
“Sir,” the assistant knocked on the door. “Your one o’clock is here.”
You looked over your shoulder, then pushed yourself off the seat.
“That’s my cue to leave,” you said. “By the way, is auntie back because she had another breakup?”
He rolled his eyes.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” he said. “But apparently they had quite the fallout.”
“Meaning?”
“She burned his car before coming back here.”
“Figures,” you said after a beat. “Well, I gotta get back to shopping. I’ll see you later then?”
“Please do,” he said. “And pick up my calls so that I won’t have to send people after you, hm?”
“I’ll think about it!” you said, and walked out of his office to go to the elevator with the bodyguards following you.
*
Judging by the personal bodyguards patrolling the hallway, Bucky was already home by the time you returned home. You smiled at Hannah as you made your way through the hallway, then opened the door, peeking your head in.
“Buck?”
“Hey babe!” he called out, no doubt for the bodyguards to hear as well and you bit back a smile, then stepped in and closed the door behind you.
“Hey,” you said, “You’re home early?”
“Yeah, one of the meetings got cancelled,” he said as you stepped into the kitchen, then gasped at the brand name on the takeout paper bag.
“Yay!”
He chuckled and came closer to kiss you on the head, making your heart skip a beat.
“Yeah, your favorite.”
“Did you also get the—”
“Chocolate souffle from the same place, yes,” he said. “In the fridge.”
You grinned at him. “Five stars.”
“Yeah keep that in mind,” he said, grinning back before pulling your seat. You let out a laugh and fixed yourself in an exaggerated manner before sitting down and pulling the bag to yourself, then took out the box.
“I really don’t think it’s as good as you claim it is,” Bucky pointed out and you glared at him as you grabbed your fork.
“You take that back about my sweet and sour duck.”
Alpine jumped on the counter and you clicked your tongue.
“Alpine, no it’s bad for you.”
“You know you don’t have to explain that to her every single time we eat, right?” Bucky asked and you shrugged your shoulders.
“It’d be rude,” you said as you put Alpine back on the floor. “So, how was the meeting?”
“It was good,” he said. "Talked to Sam.”
“How is he?”
“Pretty pissed off,” he said. “Can’t blame him.”
“Me neither,” you muttered and he nodded.
“And now we know what shipment your father put Ian in charge of.”
Your head shot up. “What?”
A lazy smile pulled at Bucky’s lips.
“And it’s coming next week,” he said. “The perfect time for him to prove himself, or…”
“Or fuck it up,” you finished his sentence and he shrugged his shoulders.
“Or that.”
You bit inside your cheek, your heart pacing in your throat.
“Bucky,” you said. “It’s going to be dangerous.”
“Mm hm.”
“I mean it,” you insisted. “Are you sure about this?”
He tilted his head, that mischievous light still playing in his blue eyes.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to, Charm,” he said. “You know that already.”
You could feel the happy fluttering in your stomach and you let yourself smile back at him, then took a deep breath.
“Alright,” you said. “Let’s show the city who the real heir should be then.”
Chapter 26
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#mob!bucky barnes#mob!bucky#mob!bucky x reader#mob! bucky#mafia!bucky barnes x reader#mafia!bucky barnes#mafia!bucky#mafia bucky barnes#mafia bucky x reader#mob bucky barnes x reader#mob bucky barnes#mob bucky x reader#mob bucky#mob boss!bucky#mob boss bucky barnes#mob au#mob!au#bucky barnes x you
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could you write "i know i'm a monster, but you treat me like a man." from your prompts with shay cormac/f! reader? I discovered your profile recently and been loving your writing🫶🏻
( all credits to @bankaizen for this delicious gifset! )
✠ | of monsters & men ; shay cormac
summ. Your secret is revealed. The Captain of the Morrigan doesn't seem to mind. w.count. 2k. a/n. f!reader , but reader is pretending to be a man , james kidd who? , slow-burn , mutual pining , friends-to-lovers , just reader & Shay being love-struck idiots . (I also understand that traditional sloop-of-war’s much like the Morrigan wouldn’t’ve had a crow’s nest due to her size, but for the sake of the fic, allow me to wave a magic wand over canon!)
ST. ANTHONY’S RECEIVES the Morrigan with loving arms.
With the ship lain to, and half the crew offboard, the Northern squalls billowing downwind into the dank, creaky port does little to stifle the riots of songs livening taverns and inns. All this, yet—
“Birdie!” calls a voice, floating high somewhere by where the topsails have been furled secure. “Haven’t frozen y’toes off there, have you, lad? Be a shame if I lost the finest Navigator the seas have yet to offer.”
Sitting slouched in the crow’s nest, you let out a snort. “Aye, lost ‘em all to scurvy just yesterday, I fear,” you lament, voice timbre. "Go away!"
Shay’s delighted laugh fills the air—
And you quickly tamp down that flutter you feel in your chest before it could get too treacherous.
“Also,” you note, once he hauls himself from the mainmast and lands with a perfect perch at the nest’s guardrails, “I’m the finest Navigator the seas will ever offer you, Captain, thank you very much.”
“Aye, that y’are. Dare I say the finest Mariner there is—”
“Oh-ho?”
“—right after me, ofcourse—”
“Little Irish bastard,” you scowl, failing miserably at hiding your grin, and swatting childishly at him when he scoots to settle into a comfortable seat next to you. “So. St. Anthony’s women not t’your fancy? What’re you doing all the way up here, Captain?”
“Funny that. Was going to ask y’the same thing after I saw y'run off. An’ Christ, call me Shay. I’m beginning to forget my name after all these months sailin’.”
“Well, I was drawing, Captain,” you deflect, easily. Better than confessing you don’t want to be stuck in a stuffy room brushing shoulders with rowdy drunkards, and feeling your own heart bleed out watching pretty ladies bat their lashes and sidle up freely next to Shay.
Your answer is hardly a lie, anyway. The only reason the crew had taken to calling you Birdie in the first place is because you bide your time up in the nest scratching away in your papers (or dozing off one too many times, as Gist so likes to point out). That, and the fact it proves easier with your slightly build to pull your weight in the lines or riggings up above.
“Rum?” he offers, and sets it by you. It feels alot like a peace offering, even if it's unintentional.
Shay’s gaze falls on your tattered, leatherbound journal. A curious trinket; he’s never seen you an arm’s length from it, nor the pencil you keep tucked on your ear. He’s seen you sketching away into its water-logged pages more oft than not, cheeks stained with graphite and a furrow between your brows. “S’that your woman, birdie?” he says, glimpsing the unfinished markings of a face. “Now I see why you're not tasting the local cuisine. She’s a beauty.”
You can't help but break into a knowing, private smile. “Aye… Something like that.”
"How mysterious."
"She's my sister," you lie, if only to chase him off your scent.
"Oh? Well, does she have a man?"
"Fuck off," you bite, though without heat. The chance compliment settles nicely in your cheeks. "She’ll only be a trouble t’you. She's not your type, anyway, Shay.“
"Isn't she?" he hums cannily, but doesn’t broach the topic further. He’d never dared to ask to look in the book— isn’t exactly his business, after all— but you shrug and trade it for his drink. “Y’sure, birdie? I don't pry.”
“Go on, then, 'fore I change my mind.” There isn’t anything damning written about you in there; You know better than to risk that.
“So?” you take a swig, just as Shay begins parsing hrough the pages. "What is it? Surely you didn't climb up here t'keep warm. Come t'bother me?"
“Is it a crime for a Captain to want to spend time alone with his good friend?” he muses, distracted by the drawings— nay, Masterpieces, these are masterpieces, birdie. Y’ve a future in this, y’know?— of intricate horizons, coasts, constellations and isles on the weathered pages.
Shay recognises them all: Asian archipelagos and spits of the lesser Antilles or the Caribbean reefs you’ve both voyaged to, dated and signed; alongside notes of headings and longitudes penciled under stipplings of navigational celestials like the North Star, the Dipper.
“If the Captain is you, Shay,” you answer, “Then any man with sense.”
“Oh, I mean the Morrigan, birdie,” he teases, only to earn a sharp smack at his knee.
“Ha-ha. I reckon all your good friends are women, aye?”
“So it seems,” he agrees absent-mindedly, and you wonder if the sideways glance at you had been your imagination.
Shay turns to the still-lifes. Breaching humpback whales and dolphin pods arcing over whitecaps; a bird’s-eye-perspective of the crew on a sunny day aboard the Morrigan, and countless, bustling ports across the world you’ve visited. There are portraits of the crew too: of deckhands, gunners, or of Gist, and even a stern profile of Haytham Kenway looking portside in the distance.
And in-between it all—
Him. Captain Shay Cormac. Immortalised in blink-and-you-miss-it moments: manning the steer while holding conversation, or perched at the bow afore the setting sun, or peering through his spyglass from the sail riggings. “I ought to commission’ you. These are bloody incredible.” He traces a finger over one of the more detailed portraits of him, looking serene despite the menacing scar splitting his face. “Y’ve done me a justice, lass.”
You choke on the rum.
“—Aye,” you cough, willfully ignoring his mistake. Or had you misheard? “Perhaps, ah, one day.”
(Regardless. He couldn’t possibly know, surely. You’ve been careful for this long.)
You clear your throat. Shake your head. “You haven’t properly answered my question, Captain.”
“Right,” he relents, and closed the journal before handing it back to you. “I was just curious—”
You steel yourself for the worst.
“—why’ve y’stuck around for so long?”
Oh. “You mean, aboard the Morrigan? With you?”
“Aye,” he nods, levelling your curious, critical look. “I’m sure y’ve heard rumors an’ chatter about me, birdie. Isn’t hard t’miss. Master Kenway, Gist, an’ I’s line’a work, that is. I’m here to confess it isn’t all hearsay, that what I do isn’t a pretty thing.”
“Didn’t fancy you the type t'care about what other people think, Shay.” No one needs to earwig that to know it’s true. It’s quite known that Captain Cormac is an unflappable creature who’s earned his place in the world both on and off-land, to toe the thin line between confidence and arrogance wherever he goes. Though you suppose he’s just a man, at the end of the day, if he’s this consumed over a little mud-slinging to his reputation.
“I don’t,” he agrees, truthfully. “But I do care what you think.”
Something soft curls in your heart. Damn you, Shay Cormac, you curse. You handsome, quick-witted—
“I know it isn’t pretty. And fortunately for you, I’m no priest, and we’re not in a confessional, so,” you sniff. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”
He huffs out a polite laugh. “Well said.”
“Listen,” you sigh, more serious now. “Other men may have come and gone with the tide, but I’ve voyaged with you the longest because I wanted t'stay, Captain.”
“Exactly. You’ve seen what I can do. I know I’m a monster, birdie, but y’treat me like a man, an’ noble men don’t— do what I do.”
Ah. So there’s the root to all of this banter, then. A crisis in faith, somewhere. “Shay,” you narrow. “I’ve never met someone who’s a stout heart as you; Kept every word like bond, and never traded honour for prestige. Now, most monsters are men, and it’s all the same to the likes of me—”
(To the likes of me, Shay catches the slip.)
“—but I think you need to ask yourself: do you kill without cause?”
“No,” he says, affronted. “I fight for the people.”
“Then you’re twice the noblest man any could ever dream to be.”
A beat.
Shay drops his head back to the mast with a glittering look in his eyes you can only describe as fond. (Perhaps, if you dared to indulge, affectionate—) “You’re a bloody gem, birdie, y’know that?”
The cuff of his sleeves brush against your pinky, and you can feel the toe of his boot against your own. You try not to focus on either of it, try not to focus on the proximity. “Aye, most women call me a diamond in the rough.”
He doesn’t laugh and take the bait this time, much to your surprise. “My Da once told me, birdie: It’s not enough to give people what they need to survive, you need to give them what they need to live.”
“Aye,” you nod, after a subdued moment. “I’ve stayed because you’ve given me that, Shay: purpose. Sailing the seas on the Morrigan is the freest I’ve ever been.”
“Y’ought to sail with your true self, birdie.”
You seize. Feel your blood run ice cold. “My… truest self is by your side.”
“Is it?”
“Isn’t it?” you bristle, and you are cutting now, Shay can see, because you’re frightened. “Captain, how much have you had to drink—?”
“I’d make a poor Irishman if half a bottle’a rum is all it takes to end me. Now take it easy, lass—”
You scowl, and move to sit up. “I’m not a—”
“It isn’t a fret to me at all, birdie,” he says, firmly, the back of his hand nudging your shoulders to lean back. “At ease. I’ve known you’re a woman for ages, now.”
This time you can’t school the look on your face.
“How long’ve you known?” you swallow, after you gathered your wits.
Shay cocks his head in thought. The confirmation now only pieces together what he’d always had a sneaking suspicion of, sensed even beyond his own second sight. Your gear, your mild stature, your peculiar mannerisms; nimble-handed at the riggings, fleet-footed in every brawl. But, if he’s to put a time on it—
“Singapore. When y’knocked that Portuguese sap’s teeth right out his head an’ put the heart crossways in him after he fretted the poor barmaid. Looked right personal t’you. I gathered then.”
A pause. Careful calculation. You’re trying to piece your reality back now that it's been shattered: the moonlit hush, the whistle of the winds, the lap of the tide against the Morrigan. Finally:
“Pretty sure he was Peranakan,” you correct, uselessly. Your hackles aren’t raised anymore. Shay would’ve acknowledged the look of defeat in your eyes had he not been so captivated by hearing your voice— real voice— for the first time.
(It’s gentle. Beautiful. If he’d been any more loose-lipped he might’ve pleaded you sing for him.)
“Captain, Singapore was… a long time ago.” It’s a loaded sentence, and had he not known you well enough he might’ve missed it: Why didn't you say anything?
“Aye. Like y’said earlier,” he waves, dismissively, “Doesn’t change a damn thing. Only, what’s your real name, lass?”
You tell him. It’s been unspoken for so long, that for a moment it sounds near foreign to your own ears when he rolls the syllables back to you in his accented tongue. “Lovely name. I’m guessin’ the woman in your journal is you, aye?”
“To be a dame in a boatful of men is a death sentence, Shay,” you laugh, distant. It isn’t pleasant. “Ill omen to have a woman onboard, you know? Or so they say.”
He knows what you really mean.
“An’ yet here we are, after all these years, alive an’ well,” he challenges, raising his and your shared rum to the pale moon. “Besides, y’know I make my own luck, lass. So don’t think of leavin’ the Morrigan now, aye? Would be a right shame if I lost a sailor fierce as you.”
Another stumble in your heart. You bite your tongue. Shay’s trying to get a laugh out of you, you realise. To lift your spirit.
“Your secret’s safe with me, birdie. The Morrigan doesn’t discriminate, an’ you’ve earned your place on this ship a long time ago. Tell y’what, if anyone lays a hand on my finest Navigator, y’have my word to unman them yourself.”
That does it. Now you do laugh. Bell-like. Bright and sunny and warm—
And it knocks the wind right out of his lungs.
Aye, you'll be trouble indeed, birdie.
#shay PINING has me at a chokehold actually#OAOAAOOARGH#anyway. yeah. im sooooo normal about shay cormac haha#can you tell?#thank you for requesting!#Comments & feedback is greatly appreciated!#send in requests!#shay cormac#shay cormac imagine#shay cormac x you#shay cormac x reader#assassin's creed#assassin's creed imagine#ac#assassin's creed rogue#ac rogue#shay patrick cormac#shay cormac x y/n#assassin's creed 3#ac3#🪶 ; ac
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yandere young sabastian/glam? maybe before and during Chive? if not, that's okay!
Why is Chive the only name thing that's capitalized 💀

Before Sebastian/Glam met Chive/Ches
You knew Ches before you met Sebastian, but you also met Sebastian before he met Ches
It was by accident, you both happened to be at the same place at the same time doing something you weren't supposed to
He's rude and snippy with you
He treats you like you're white trash and he's Jesus Christ
He loses his mind if you are even slightly better than him at anything he does. Even something as simple as walking
He does eventually slightly warm up to you, but nothing to serious
He might passive-aggressively compliment you
^ "You did a pretty good job. I mean, I still did better, but you did alright"
You have a sibling rivlary kind of relationship
Always trying to do better than the other
He writes about you in a diary/journal
^ At first it was to vent his frustrations about you and the feelings you made him have, but then it went into how he doesn't mind you so much anymore. In fact he thinks of you as a friend
After Sebastian/Glam meets Chive/Ches
When he meets Ches, you're just happy Sebastian's directed his hatred for you towards Ches
Ches takes it like a champ tho [Unlike you]
"Of course you two degrades know each other"
"You know this guy, Y/n?"
"Yep. And he's always like this"
Not going to lie, Sebastian was a little jealous at first
He didn't know you had another friend, especially a guy
It might show in his little remarks about how hates Chives
But, it slowly dies down, just like he did with you, because he realizes Ches isn't a threat
He desperately craves your attention when you create the band
He needs the affection from another human and he so desperately wants you to tell him that he's doing a good job
You help him with his hair and make up and he helps you do yours, though he's not very good at doing women's hair [He sure tries]
Glam is obsessed with you in the same way Chive is obsessed with drugs
He looks at you in the same way you look at someone you've loved your whole life
He doesn't know when he started loving you, but he doesn't mind
He never gets tired of you and he swears he loves you more every day
The hole his father built in his heart is the perfect spot for all the love he has for you
#metal family#yandere metal family#metal family x reader#yandere metal family x reader#sebastian schvagenbagen#sebastian x reader#yandere sebastian schvagenbagen#yandere glam#glam metal family x reader#glam x reader#glam metal family#yandere sebastian
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So truly as his song proclaimed, on one sunny day (A heat index of literally 97 degrees and climbing) I once again met with our old friend Bill Cipher by purchasing The Book of Bill.
And I gotta say.
It was like a WAVE of nostalgia.
I had forgotten how GOOD and WITTY Gravity falls had been. Not to mention the book in itself is SMART. We as a community were ENTHRALLED with the evil tortilla chip-an absurd thing to vote Tumblr's most sexy man 2013-and the book knew that and was like 'here is more of the chip man.' Like obviously there's codes and treats and what have youse for the smarter folks. But just the energy of the whole book, the fake ADS, the amazing design work, the missing pages, GATSBY, the LORE Bill gives that fills in so many blanks for us while callously poking more holes with a pencil at the same time. You read it perpetually bouncing back and forth questioning how reliable a narrator Bill is and more importantly, how much of it do you REALLY want to believe in?
It's a narrative that explores Bill as a person-at least how Bill Perceives it and with missing journal pages from Ford, how FORD perceived Bill.
The whole book in itself is a BREAK UP story, between a Man and the Monster who he unknowingly let into his life. A monster that pushes him to the brink, that makes the possession trope EXCITING AND NEW to me as he is horribly aware and actively communicating with the monster who is actively threatening his very LIFE if not given obedience and compliance. And it's not one sided yelling into the void convos-they can actually communicate and it makes the disregard so much more terrifying. It both makes you empathize with our favorite villain while not cheapening it so much to redeem him.
Reading this book validates the mania we see Ford with when we get the flash back episode of the Portal Incident. The sick sort of Paranoia that he's developed because every waking moment of his life has been ruined by someone he let in, trusted and opened up to.
The Book of Bill doesn't pull punches. There are parts in this book that go from 'comical horror' that jacks it up to 'Jesus fucking christ'
The Book of Bill does what the original show was not allowed to do-which is go further with how DAMAGING a relationship Ford had with Bill. How it was an addiction, feeding off each other. Ford in finally having someone who could in essence-REFLECT his own intellect back at him and Bill, a creature that demanded an audience to be witnessed by constantly.
Regardless, this was a FASINATING read. 110/10 totally work the trip in the 97 degree heat I made to 3 towns over JUST to get the Barnes and Noble EXCLUSIVE Copy that will now sit very proudly on my shelf. Go Buy it, Go Read it, It is WORTH it.
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Re: Who Came up With NBK
One of my mutuals reblogged and pointed out a common problem with those defences of Eric posts, and mentioned that they often demonize and then completely throw Dylan under the bus in the same way Cullen did to Eric “eric not to blame, both boys were responsible…but heres all the dumb ways im gonna demonize dylan and blame him for everything” type of shit. (I lowkey see more people doing this than people demonizing Eric these days, despite the fact that you have someone in your ear every 5 minutes reminding you of how bullshit Cullen’s theory is)
And honestly? Yeah. I’m lowkey fucking sick of seeing that shit and i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for awhile so;
First off. And short and sweet. It doesn’t matter who came up with it. It only matters if you point the finger and place blame on one boys shoulders, and suggest that there is something indicative in that. You can absolve Eric of leadership and coming up with the damn thing without demonizing Dylan for christ sake.
Long winded:
I do think people inadvertently place blame and subsequent resentment onto Dylan’s shoulders for Cullen’s mischaracterization of Eric, causing them to demonize Dylan in the same ways as a punishment. Intentional or no.
Its not Dylan’s fault. Its Cullens, but its also Eric’s. He wanted to be seen in this stupid way and he succeeded. Dylan wanted to be seen this way too but didn’t seem to realize people would see his “journal” (and had the benefit of living in one community the entire time so more people saw the real him, not what he became in his anguish)
And also Harrises parents for not coming forward about him to humanize him (even though you brain dead dorks whine about that while simultaneously whining about how Sue she should’ve shut the fuck up lol. Talk about retarded. Make up your fucking mind)
Thats not to say I think they’re evil mind you. In fact I think they get too much shit in this community. Its funny to joke but I couldn’t imagine doing that myself in their predicament. They were heartbroken and traumatized. Anyway…
You need not sling the whole responsibility onto Dylan to emphasize Eric’s humanity.
It is highly probable after the van arrest and after the tampon incident (which indeed was in January of 1998), they were commiserating in rage, and they came up with it at the same time. Neither boy was seriously plotting a massacre by themselves.(as a fantasy? Sure but seriously nah)
All those meetings they carpooled too? What do you think they talked about.
We don’t know who brought it up first. Many will say “oh dylan mentioned it first in his journal therefore HES THE EVIL MASTERMIND) but that means absolutely nothing.
Dylan just so happened to start his journal wayyyy before Harris. Eric only starts writing after they started planning. This does not mean Dylan came up with it, or was the leader.
I think you’d have to be pretty naive to believe eric (who had a very long standing anger problem) didn’t entertain the idea in private before. He was getting picked on way before 1997-98. Again. He had anger issues. If he wrote a journal back then I guarantee he would have wrote extensively about how he wanted to hurt the people that hurt him.
Not to mention the shit he mentioned to Sasha Jacobs about setting a bridge on fire in Plattsburg (?) or if we believe ex girlfriend Valerie Lage’s accounts..yeesh.
Again. Ultimately it doesn’t matter. It only matters when people try to point the finger and use it as a way to demonize. Which is why I’m responding to it. Otherwise again, i wouldn’t even be bringing it up. it wouldn’t matter.
Both boys at the end of the day agreed to shoot the place up.
And as far as the whole claim dylan was the leader..reallyyy? Disorganized apathetic dylan? That makes more sense to you? More than a collaborative project? Sure. Both boys wanted to impress each other. Both boys wanted to punish a world they felt rejected them.
I could just as easily be nitpicky and point the finger at Harris for a variety of things that would push blame on to him and suggest he wanted it more.
For supplying 70% or more of the funds for NBK (Dylan wasn’t working for a good while until December of 1998 when he got rehired at blackjacks, and had to pay car insurance/gas with the little he had, he was also paid less.)
and the place to build the bombs as it seems they were over at his place 90% of the time.
Or, and someone pointed this out to me today, the fact that Dylan if you look through their journals, he was still looking for a reason to stay up until January of 1999. (You could make the claim that he wanted to find a girl to do it with but i doubt he’d ever bring it up if he got a girlfriend unless she too had open anger issues and was toxic. Noo. Far too risky. What if she tells mom holy shit!)
Or that we have statements from the people who knew them that said Eric would yell at Dylan and Dylan would just take it and listen, etc.
Or this indicating hesitant resentment towards the idea of accepting that yes, this is how it has to be (yes im aware people interpret it differently) interesting how they always cut off that bottom part huh.

Or this possibly indicating dylan planned to off himself way before nbk could happen

But i’m not going to. Don’t take this as an actual serious argument for why Eric was to blame because he wasn’t and it means nothing. It serves no other purpose other than to cement my point, because again it’d be fucking stupid and nitpicky.
Both boys were perfectly capable of making decisions on their own.
I know we joke about Eric being retarded but he wasn’t he was very smart. I think had he gotten the opportunity to stay in one location to grow up he would have been designated as gifted too (maybe.)
—-Even in the basement tapes, Eric says this regarding the shootings:
“Do not think we’re trying to copy anyone. We had the idea before the first one ever happened. Our plan is better, not like those fucks in Kentucky with camouflage and .22s. Those kids were only trying to be accepted by others.”
We have far more reason to believe they were airing their frustrations and venting their rage regarding their arrest and realized they had a homicidal tendency in common with one another.
As for dylan hooting and hollaring more then eric..does it fucking matter again? Harris also taunted people. They both killed.
I think both boys respected two different forms of violence to some extent. Eric with the cold calculated professionalism of a solider, Dylan some confident crazy loud and in charge asshole. A complete opposite of who he had been his entire life.
Idk. We are so permissive of Eric’s little rape fantasies but not Dylan’s romanticism clearly inspired by NBK (the movie). Yes one actually happened but I don’t think it matters. To me even actual NBK was a fantasy for both until it happened. And often times the line between fantasy and reality is very..very thin imo.
Eric was not some angel. neither was Dylan. Ppft far from it. Big shocker I know. Both wanted to hurt people that day. Both killed people. Both wanted to blow up that fucking school and were okay with their friends dying in the process.
Well..maybe not okay but they didn’t want to dwell on it. (I dont think they actively spent too much time thinking about that part)
You think we’d know better than to demonize one boy over the other by now but no apparently not.
Even if Dylan came up with it it wouldn’t change anything or make them less equal in responsibility or cruelty. They both had to PLAN for it after the initial “hey lets do this”
The same goes for Eric.
Is it strange to think that the line between complete normalcy and what they did is also thin? Most boys i’ve befriended have admitted to fantasizing about murder in some capacity, either in a heroic way, a suicidal way, or in a villainous way. The only difference is that they don’t have the means or boldness to actually act on it.
Eric and Dylan found each other and that made them obtain both of those two things that tipped the scale.
I understand the goal is to recognize that Dylan had homicidal tendencies alongside Eric, but we’ve gone past that and completely turned Dylan into the evil mastermind behind everything.
We can like.. examine each boy compassionately instead of being brain dead and subverting an incorrect narrative. It doesn’t automatically correct itself just because you pulled the whole uno reverse thing.
C’monnnnnnuh.
Thank you for coming to my horse Ted Talk. No i will not be taking questions, argue amongst yourselves I just wanted this out there blahhh.
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Chapter 2: I didn't have it in myself to go with grace
series masterlist previous part || next part
pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 2.0k words
Warnings: period-typical gender roles, negative self-talk (Colin bby🥺🤏), a small part of the dialogue is in French
Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?
April 16, 1816 – And of course, one cannot forget to mention Lady Y/N Montclair, who looked like a vision in her emerald dress at the Danbury Ball last night. Her presence seemed to cast a spell over the gentlemen in attendance, and they were practically lining up to engage her in conversation. It was a sight to behold, watching them swoon over her. However, one can hardly blame them, given how effortlessly graceful she was. It appears Lady Montclair will have more than enough gentlemen to choose from this season…
Eloise scoffed and rolled her eyes, the newest Whistledown in hand as she sat on a couch in the tearoom. “My word, if she hadn’t been in Tuscany last season I would think Lady Montclair herself was Lady Whistledown! She’s only been here two days and she’s already been mentioned more than most of the ton.”
Benedict chuckled from his seat across the room, shooting a look at a disgruntled-looking Colin who was trying very hard to make it seem like he wasn’t listening to Eloise reading Whistledown’s account of the ball.
“I’d wager that Colin is Whistledown, actually. I’m convinced after today’s column,” Benedict said teasingly, taking a bite out of an apple as he analyzed the sketch in front of him.
“First of all, I don’t even write like Whistledown, which you would know if you read the letters I sent while I was in Greece,” Colin shot back, irritated. “And second, even if I were, I certainly would not have spent two full pages talking about Lady Montclair. I’m sure I have no idea why Whistledown thought she warranted such a large portion of the column today.”
The words felt bitter and unpleasant in his mouth, and he regretted them instantly. He knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn’t help his defensive tone after last night. Eloise, catching onto Colin’s tone, cocked her head toward Benedict and raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“She didn’t want to dance with him,” explained Benedict, sounding highly amused about what was one of the more embarrassing things to happen to Colin.
Eloise burst out laughing. “No! A woman who didn’t want to dance with Colin? Something must be incredibly wrong in the world! How could she have said no to London’s golden boy? And on his first day back! Shall we call for a medic?”
Colin felt the blood rushing to his face and his cheeks warming, not particularly pleased to have to deal with his sister's teasing today. He knew he was being ridiculous, that much was clear. You were only one person who hadn’t wanted to dance with him. But you had just looked so beautiful, and the way your eyes had lit up when you laughed with your brother was so enchanting, that he fashioned himself half in love with you already.
It was slightly gut-wrenching to know you didn't feel the same way. He must have done something, Colin reasoned. No one had ever not liked Colin simply because of who he was, and he was more than a little concerned that you seemed to be the first.
Eloise had been joking, of course, when she called Colin London’s golden boy. But it wasn’t as much of a joke as he would have liked. Anthony was a viscount, and Benedict was a successful artist with a painting in the national gallery, but what did he have to offer? He was just aimlessly traveling the world, documenting his travels in a journal no one would ever read. His own family didn’t even read his letters, for Christ’s sake. He was a third son with no talents, and the only thing he could do was lean into his charm and good nature and hope that people liked him anyway. And he had been relatively successful thus far. Except for with you, it seemed.
Noting Colin’s uncharacteristic grim mood, Eloise briefly panicked, wondering if she had gone too far. With a far softer tone, she added, “Maybe her dance card was full, Colin. It doesn’t mean she didn’t want to dance.”
But Colin shook his head, placing his chin on his hand. “I highly doubt it.”
He knew better than to assume the best. He was remarkably skilled at reading people, but even without that, it had not been difficult to tell that you were full of contempt. For him or someone else, he couldn’t be completely sure, but the way you had been laughing and smiling with everyone except for him was a particularly useful hint.
Before he could dwell further, Violet entered the tearoom. “We’ll be going to Hyde Park to promenade today, darlings.” It was far easier to coerce her children into doing her bidding when she didn’t give them a choice.
Ignoring their grumbling, she left the room, calling out over her shoulder, “Be ready in one hour!”
---
Colin had barely been at the park five minutes before he spotted you, and he drew in a sharp breath. God, it was infuriating. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, chatting pleasantly with your mother, and he wanted to scream. Of course, you looked completely breathtaking. It was exactly what he needed when he was already nervous about approaching you.
During the carriage ride, he had decided to try to speak to you again. To be your friend, at the very least. Perhaps you did not want him as a suitor, but the thought of someone in the ton actively disliking him was nauseating.
So, he steeled himself, staring longingly at you. Now was as good a time as any because, for some miraculous reason, there seemed to be no men hounding you at the moment. You had separated yourself from your family slightly, silently observing who he could only assume was one of your older sisters and her husband.
He made his way over to you, hands fidgeting behind his back nervously. Swallowing down his fear, he cleared his throat as he approached you, a soft smile on his face.
“Lady Montclair, it’s lovely to see you here today. I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot at the ball last night, and I wanted to offer an apology.” Your face was completely blank, not giving anything away, and Colin found himself a tad more nervous than he was when he first walked up to you. “Perhaps we could promenade?” he finished weakly.
An apology? What on earth was Colin Bridgerton on about? There was no way he’d seen you in the hallway, right?
“An apology, Mr. Bridgerton? Whatever for?” you asked carefully, not giving anything away.
Colin cleared his throat awkwardly. He wasn’t quite sure himself, to be honest. “Well, I’m afraid I might have offended you by asking to dance so suddenly. It might have been a bit brash to ask for a dance without a proper introduction first.”
You almost sagged in relief. Your reputation was safe. Though now you seemed irrationally angry, despising Colin for no apparent reason. However, it wasn’t in your nature to make nice with someone who viewed women simply as breeding stock.
Curtly, you responded, “I can assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, that that did not offend me. Had we been properly introduced, my answer would have been the same.”
“Oh,” he said softly.
You stared at him blankly, with no hint of warmth in your gaze. Sensing your hostility, he promptly turned away from you, returning to his family. Anger burned in his chest. What the hell was your problem with him? He’d barely spoken two words to you, and you had acted like he had offended your entire bloodline.
When his anger subsided, Colin had a sobering thought. For the first time in his charmed life, someone simply did not care for him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even caused it. Colin, who prided himself on his charm and wit, found himself in the position of being disliked without cause.
He suddenly felt very inadequate. It was a foreign feeling, and it settled quite uncomfortably in his chest. If you were determined to hate him, so be it. But to hate him without reason? That, Colin could not agree to.
If you insisted on casting him as the villain in your narrative, then he would play the role with ease. If you wanted a reason to dislike him, then a reason you would have.
You stared after Colin, eyes narrowed. His ability to act like a complete gentleman would have been impressive if it wasn’t so disturbing.
“Ma grande,” your mother called, coming to your side (My dear). “Did I just see you being rude to Colin Bridgerton? He left fairly quickly,” she scolded gently.
“Non, maman. Ne t'inquiète pas,” you assured (No, Mom. Don’t worry). Upon seeing her unimpressed look, you switched to English. “It was just a misunderstanding.”
“Well, you don’t seem to like him very much,” she observed.
You let out a nervous laugh, waving her comment away. “I don’t know him well enough to dislike him, maman!”
You needed something to distract her from this line of questioning. Your mother knew you well enough to tell when you were lying, and she would be positively furious if she uncovered the real reason why you despised Mr. Bridgerton.
Fortunately, a distraction arrived by the name of Lord Arthur Barlow.
“Lord Barlow,” your mother called out excitedly. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing my daughter, Y/N Montclair.”
“Lady Montclair,” he smiled warmly, stretching his hand out to you. “A name as lovely as its bearer, I daresay.”
“Lord Barlow,” you answered shyly, placing your hand in his. You felt your cheeks heating up as he kissed the back of your hand, and you were taken aback. This entirely charming man had disarmed you completely in a matter of seconds.
"Lord Barlow, the Duke of Monmouth," your mother announced with a flourish, her eyes bright with approval at the budding acquaintance. "Shall we take a turn about the park? I would be delighted to chaperone."
Subtlety was not her specialty. Or perhaps not her priority. Though you couldn’t really be upset with her, given how good-looking the Duke was. He nodded graciously at your mother and placed your hand at the crook of his elbow, smiling down at you as you began to stroll.
You were so enthralled you barely registered him speaking. “I hear you’ve got a knack for languages, Lady Montclair,” he remarked, prompting your attention.
“Yes, your Grace. I speak five languages, and read Sanskrit,” you answered dutifully. Such accomplishments were no small feat in the circles of the ton, and you knew it put you at an advantage in the marriage mart.
“Most impressive, indeed,” he answered, his gaze thoughtful. “My brother’s wife is from Prussia, and I’m sure she would love a chance to speak in her native tongue.”
The Duke's boldness caught you off guard, the suggestion of speaking with his sister-in-law a surprising turn. "Oh," you murmured, slightly taken aback by his directness.
“And what else do you like to do?” asked Lord Barlow, smoothly transitioning the conversation.
A well-prepared response rolled off your tongue, a practiced smile gracing your lips. “I am well-versed in needlepoint, and enjoy playing the pianoforte,” you smiled. It was what was expected of a young woman of your stature, after all.
Lord Barlow nodded appreciatively, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “And how do you find England? I’m certain you’re missing the Tuscan sun,” he said, pushing the conversation to lighter topics.
The Duke's engaging manner, paired with the approval of your mother, had utterly charmed you. Engaged by his charisma and easy conversation, you found yourself giggling during your conversation, utterly captivated.
Unbeknownst to you, Colin Bridgerton observed
from afar, his gaze sharp with a mixture of irritation and something deeper brewing beneath the surface. Each laugh, each shared glance between you and the Duke, stoked the flames of his simmering displeasure.
—
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#bridgerton#colin bridgerton#colin bridgerton x reader#enemies to lovers#colin bridgerton imagine#colin bridgerton fanfic#colin bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton fanfic#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton imagine#bridgerton x reader#colin bridgerton fluff#colin bridgerton angst#colin bridgerton x enemy!reader#bridgerton x you#colin bridgerton x you#bridgerton fluff#bridgerton angst#lost in translation#lost in translation: writing
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{ Tips for † Becoming Christian }
ᶠᵒʳ ᵃⁿʸ ᵈᵉⁿᵒᵐⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ
🕯 This is probably obvious but get a bible. If you can't get a physical bible for awhile or at all, get an app version. YouVersion is the best choice for a digital bible, it has a lot of features and versions.
🕯 Even though this should already be in practice, try humbling yourself. This can be very hard to do because it is hard to control thoughts and emotions sometimes but struggling while trying is better than not trying at all.
🕯 Pray everyday. This doesn't have to be extreme if you don't want it to be, at least make a rountine of praying every morning and night. If you struggle to pray out loud, try starting a prayer journal.
🕯 Focus on the present. Worrying about the future too much can cause a lot of anxiety and loss of faith in God's work, God is already working on your future and you can work through it with Him. Don't feel bad if you catch yourself worrying though, everyone goes through it so don't feel ashamed. The same goes for the past as well, the past has already gone by and there is nothing you can do about it, let it go and focus on what God has in store for you now.
🕯 Learn about saints, even if you're Protestant. Saints have amazing stories which can inspire and teach you how to grow closer to God and live a more holy life. Saints were people too so they can be relatable as they experienced the same struggles we experience.
🕯 Be modest. This doesn't mean you have to get an entire new wardrobe, modesty can come from actions as well. Honor and represent Christ in your behavior. Choose kindness and respect over anger and recklessness.
🕯 Work on not being lazy. It's ok to rest from time to time but don't revolve your life around it. You achieve more by doing things even if it's as simple as doing chores, reading, cooking, drawing, etc. This is a big thing to remember if you have a job or attend school, do not slack at either of these. You don't gain wisdom by laying around.
🕯 Engage in spiritual media. This can include books, videos, podcasts, etc. These are great sources of education on theology and learning how to live a more holy life. A book that I have been reading that I would recommend is The Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism.
🕯 If you are looking to become Catholic, buy a rosary. For Orthodox, buy a prayer rope. These help you start getting the hang of meditating during prayer.
🕯 If you can, set up a prayer corner. This will give you a space dedicated to the Lord, as well as a visual reminder to pray. It doesn't have to be super fancy but make sure you respect the space.
🕯 Make sure to practice gratitude. Sometimes we can forget how lucky we are when we see others with things we want or when something goes wrong. We must remember that the situations we live in and the belongings we possess, is a dream to someone else. Do not be greedy for the belongings of others because whatever it is that they have, belongs to them. Give to the poor and to the ill and also pray for them so that they can get the help that they need.
#catholic#christian#folk catholicism#catholic witch#christian witch#witch#witchcraft#god#yahweh#jesuschrist#god loves you
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Hi! I know this is kinda a big/complex question but could you talk a little bit about what bridal mysticism means to you and how you, like, got into it I guess? There's been a few things that have made me feel like I might be called to it, but it's confusing and overwhelming and I'm a bit scared of, like, the perceived 'weirdness' of it, and I'm trying to figure out what it all means...
Please don’t ever apologize for asking big and complicated questions! Especially not about this.
There’s a lot of this ask that I wrote before realizing you were asking about what bridal mysticism means to me, so while I’m going to probably stick it on the end because I think all of it’s important to talk about it’s not really relevant to the core of what was being asked.
Bridal mysticism, to me, is about a number of things. It might not be about those same things for you, and that’s fine, because other people who’ve been in my shoes across history have vastly different experiences and perspectives. But strictly speaking about my own experiences? Bridal mysticism is about looking outward and inward at the same time. About choosing a religion based first and foremost on personal loyalty to a God who proved She was worth that loyalty a thousand times over. About examining my own flaws under a microscope because each one is a death sentence not to some abstract figure but to my wife whom I love personally. About struggling with submission, and finding confidence in myself because of what I can do for Her. About self-acceptance and self-esteem, about complete and total transparency with someone I love regarding my limits and my dreams. About religion as a relationship. Christ died for me specifically, and I didn’t really understand or appreciate that until I was in love with Her, you know?
In practice it’s a lot of finding stolen moments. Looking for God everywhere and being delighted when I find Him. Learning to open myself up to being loved, which has been the lasting struggle in all this. I’m very very willing and able to throw myself completely into loving and pursuing and offering up everything in a relationship. I’m very resistant to letting myself be loved. It’s probably the biggest wedge between us now, because She’s so damned insistent I let myself be loved and desired and wanted and appreciated and I am very uncomfortable with that. It’s a work in progress. We talk, and I do a lot of those things that pagans with godspouses talk about doing – devotional playlists, nature walks, meditation, journaling – because the ways you bond with a god are kind of the same all over, because He made the mold and creation follows. (I’m more of a monolatrist and a henotheist than a strict monotheist – I believe beings that call themselves gods exist, and weren’t imagined or invented by humanity. I just don’t think any of them except my Spouse is worth my time and attention, and I worship and follow my God as my God has explicitly requested to be worshiped and followed. There is a version of me who would be an incredible witch. I am banned from practicing magic. She’s been real clear about that.) I sit with Her, and talk to Her about everything from theology to pop culture, and sometimes there are visions and insights and supernatural experiences in the physical world, and sometimes there aren’t.
How I got into bridal mysticism… well, I sort of fell into it and didn’t have a name for it until after I was already doing it. I was thirteen and I asked Jesus Christ to be my Lover because I was deeply depressed and socially isolated and in possession of barely any friends (and those friends were people I’d never understood or meshed with). I was already a victim of abuse of multiple different kinds, and I was diagnosed with several different mental illnesses and yet to be diagnosed with several more, and I was horribly, impossibly lonely. I didn’t really know if this was “allowed”, exactly, but I knew I had a heart that ‘might have held the empire of the world’ and I was not about to content myself with an opera cellar. It was probably the bravest thing I’ve ever done, because I knew it wasn’t strictly approved and supported by my (then-Protestant) church, but I wanted it anyway.
From there it was a question of continuing to chase Him. You… you feel the intimacy, the closeness, the contact. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I wanted more, needed more, and I was willing to do whatever it took to continue to get it. That meant walking away from maladaptive daydreaming, and letting go of some delusions that He told me were false, and obeying when I was told to find real friends and real reasons to be alive and connect with the world here and now. It meant caring more about daily life and thinking about my future and developing ambition. It meant turning myself into someone who could do His will, which was a lot of work. And I just sort of kept going, following where I was led. We still talk. She’s still ridiculously funny. It’s become a comfortable marriage instead of a tumultuous adolescent fireworks show, and it’s been worth staying alive for.
There’s a lot I could say that’s essentially “the greatest hits of being married to a god”, and I’ll talk about that if you want, but it’s a lot of repetition. I find Him in the Homeric epics, in my people’s traditional stories, in other indigenous mythologies, in pop culture and classic literature, in nature, in the love of the people around me. And very often in Yellowjackets, to a surprising extent.
That’s kind of the whole of it, and below is my long ramble.
Bridal mysticism, or nuptial theology/bridal theology, is kind of the black sheep of the family when it comes to Christian mysticism, and that makes a lot of direct writing about it kind of hard to track down. Not impossible, not at all, but the weirdness factor is high, and a lot of people either don’t have the language to effectively describe what they mean (this is what happened in the Protestant-authored book Captivating, in which they encourage women to picture themselves as the heroines of romance scenes in fantasy films and period dramas while picturing Jesus as the male leads, or discuss a woman who was “called to minister to the heart of Jesus” and prioritize Him in her devotion and her religious focus) or they dismiss the bridal mystic elements of someone’s writings or life. That’s more likely in Catholic spaces, where you’ll be reading some saint’s accounts of their visions or a hagiography and they’re like “Jesus told me I was His bride” or “Jesus was keeping [saint] as a bridegroom for Himself” or “and then I stuck my tongue in the side wound while Jesus was dressed like a woman, haha, wild”. There are some saints whose mystic marriages are really famous because they’re essentially unavoidable when discussing their lives, and then there are other saints and various lay Catholics whose writings touch on these themes of deep and intense yearning for matrimonial bliss with the Most High as a casual aside or a recurring theme that never gets talked about seriously in broader scholarship.
(Or else they just call us crazy. Historically in written record, in contemporary academic contexts, and in person, to our faces. It’s common to dismiss Margery Kempe’s writings as purely reflective of her mental health struggles, or her records of her conversations with Jesus as her essentially selfshipping with a fictional character to cope with her less than satisfactory marriage, even if the writer is Christian themself. I’ve also faced some pretty intense hostility from people who assumed that the only reason I thought I was hearing from God was because I was in psychiatric crisis… despite the fact that I was at a spiritual retreat with the explicit purpose of encouraging participants to hear from God. That is, unfortunately, something that I and various nuns from the 1200s have as a shared experience, and something that potentially you and I will have as a shared experience. It doesn’t make your calling any less valid or real, but I feel obligated to point out that following it will lead to at least a few people thinking you’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.)
The writing is scant, but it’s there, and that’s important, because one of the first things that I experience as a bridal mystic is deep and intense loneliness. It’s a more inward-focused practice than a lot of the other kinds of Christianity, by necessity, but that I think makes connecting with other people all the more vital. I started this blog because I wanted to find other people like me, other people who were deeply religious and took their faith supremely seriously but were left-leaning/leftist and queer and marginalized on multiple axes that Christianity hasn’t always been good about supporting, and people who maybe had the same kind of relationship with my King that I do. We’re encouraged to isolate ourselves and make ourselves less present in current Church and broader Christian culture, because we’re weird creepy quasi-psychics who walk half in the physical world and half in the shadow of the Sacred Heart and we intimidate people who think that religion is a coat to be put on and taken off again. We’re messy and often a little crazy and our first and foremost priority is usually not “what does existing as a religious person look like” it’s “hey You give me some advice about where You want me”. We aren’t here because of cultural pressure or family expectations or long-standing tradition, we’re here because that’s our Spouse up there on that altar.
Yeah, it’s weird. But it’s weird for good reason. I’d like to talk more about this, with everyone, really, because I am desperate to talk up my very cool awesome wife, and even more desperate to connect with others who know Her as I know Her.
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Danny 'Jed Olsen' Johnson x pregnant reader
You
You met the ghostface regularly, or rather, it went to your home. You had sex many times, at first you felt guilty about the fact that it is the ghostface and the same hands that satisfied you and touched you are the same ones that kill innocent people.
Most of the time he did not use a condom. But it was okay because you are taking pill, but now, the unexpected happened, your mestruation has been late for 2 weeks, you thought it was just because of the stress of work unitil it started to feel alot of nausea and your breasts were well sore, you refused to take a pregnancy test, for fear, fear off what will happen if you are pregnant, pregnant with a serial killer, not just a serial killer, but the ghostface, or rather, Danny, at the least that was the names he gaves you.
You just woke up from a party that your friend Jessie called you, you are not much of parties, but you were a little away from your friend because of your little case with the largest serial killer in the United States of America, and was scared of what he can do about people close to you, Danny is a little jealous, the last time a guy screwed me, he cut his throat the next day...
I felt guilty for days, but the guy ran a hand on my ass, so on a second thought, i don't feel guilty at all.
RING RING RING
The alarm sound tuck tou of you thoughts. And them the desire of vomit again, i think i will really have to do this...arriving in the bathroom, you took the small box were there was the pregnancy test from the courter where you have you things. After doing the whole process, you let out a sign and them start to despair when you look at the results, positive, "Positive, a fucking positive, of couse, the pill was no use shit any" you talk softly "Jesus Christ, what do i do? Abortion? Tell him? Cry?scream? Oh my god, oh my fucking god, i have to run away? Just go?" You start crying softly, looking at the little staff in your hands, and finally, thrown on the trash.
Danny Johnson/Jed Olsen
I woke up early to play the perfect american citizen Jed, the dear Jed, who all love and no one even suspicious. I passed my gel on my black hair I observed my body toned on the mirror, despite some scars, and them my suit and tie, all perfect.
I arrived at gazette journal, greeted the receptionist and secretariats until i arrived at my office. I was trying to make my new article, John Smith, my last victim, but i couldn't have her out of my head, the woman i find myself, me, Danny, not the Jed. Then my mind dive to her body curves, her breasts, her ass..."Damn" i have to stop thinking about her, i have to do this article, and a can't to it with an erection, it would spoil the perfect Jed, no one can think Jed is a pervert that get hard at work, but damn, i still remember our last night, the last time we saw each other, because unfortunately i was too busy with John shit Smith, at least it was a good death, but nothing, nothing make me forget her, my bunny, she's too perfect, her body, her face, i remember every little bit about her body, you can't forget a woman like that, not even if i wanted to, i still remember...our sweaty bodies in that bed, her breasts swaying as the rhythm increased, her nails digging into my back, her legs whapped around me as if she didn't want me to leave, her sly moans in my ears as you told me to go deeper, harder, more...more, the creaking of the bed, the wet sheets, your room smelled of sex, and the only sounds heard were our skins slapping together, you sweet moans. Only her, only she can do this to me, she holds me and i can't let go, she was the only woman, who entered my thoughts and i can't take it away, i can't.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
A knock on the door brought me of my thoughts. "You can come in" Soon Jeff enter "Olsen, here is some informations that the police gave us, we need this article sent today" Jed gives him a small smiley enough to Jeff "Of course sr, it will be ready before you remember it" Jeff nodded "I knew a cold count on you, Olsen" Then Jeff left the room eating his disgusting greasy donut in his hand, Danny wanted to kill this man, but he know's he can't, he realized that he can't kill anyone at work that would bring suspicion, and he really doesn't want to be seen or have problems with the police.
You
I'm at work talking to my boss about a state transfer, it was my decision, i going to leave, i going to run away and I'm not going to tell anyone, not my friends, anyone. I really have to go, what would he do if he found out I am pregnant, and worse, with his child. I can't, i can't take it, I'm terrified, we don't even have a relationship, i don't even know if a know him well, of course I know that he is the ghostface, the most wanted serial killer in Roseville, Florida. But at all, I never saw his face, at least not all of it, we kissed so much times, we had sex but I was blindfolded most of the times or remaining wearing a mask. My boss said there was a transfer to Utah, and i accepted. And about Danny, he hasn't come for a few days, probably busy with new victims, and we are not dating ou anything else, We just fucked, a lot of times. Whenever we fucked i would wake up alone in the sheets, wich still had his cheap cologne on, he would stay with me until I fell asleep and leave late at night so he wouldn't be seen. He always leaves a post it saying something like: See you, Darling. That's why I know he cares about me, but a child? A child of ours? A mini us? I'm definitely scared if he finds out before I can leave, it's for the best for us, because he is a fucking serial killer, and yet, I slept with him and not just once. Okay, i have to leave today, I'm not taking any furniture, nothing, just some clothes and essential objects for my work so that he doesn't get suspicious before I can leave. I told my boss not to tell anyone about where I went , no matter who. I took the first taxi to the airport and just let myself go. "Goodbye, Danny."
Danny
After work, I got ready with my ghostface costume and went to see her, i parked far from her house, in the darkest part, where no one could see me. I watching trying to find her, but nothing. I decided to go in, i looked in every room, and i waited for her to arrive, hour passed and i tried to call her on my spare number that I use for ghostface calls, but she wasn't answering, I ran to check the drawers and nothing, there was no nothing, i decided to go back the next day.
The next day, i went to the hospital where she works, I ask the receptionist if you was there, and she told me that you don't longer work there, i asked to speak to your boss, he told me that you request transfer. Why? I asked him where, but he said you asked him not to tell anyone, no matter who. Shit. At night, i went to your house, pissed, angry, that's all l fell. Why? You think you could get into in my head, and just...leave, like it's was nothing? I started to break down everything, thrown everything on the floor. "FUCK"
You
It's been 2 years, 2 years since I left, 2 year I've been in Utah and a year since my baby was born, a strong and healthy little boy, he has the same grey eyes as Danny, and the face is similar, it's been exactly 2 weeks since he turned 1 years old, I made his day the most especial. My mother helped me with everything since I arrived in Utah, she helped me with the move furniture and my house a large two-story with 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, my son's room is fully of toys, painting notebooks and very colorful for my baby.
I was preparing his food while he has coloring with crayons, when the news on television caught my attention, i was paralyzed. ALERT: 26-YEARS-OLD MAN FOUND DEAD THIS MORNING. On the television was the photo, the ghostface over the censored corpse, my son was entertaining himself with some building blocks, for wich i thank the gods. It took a while to reason, he...he's here, in Utah. He knows? Does he knows I'm here? Did he come after me? Did he come to kill me for leave? No, I just paranoid, there no way he was discovered at all. "Damn, stop worrying, everything will be okay, he will not find me, I hope..."
Two weeks after the first ghostface murder
Danny
I was crouching in a bush watching a house, and that's when I saw her. There she was cooking and dancing to the sound of a song where I couldn't identify. But... she was not alone, squeezed my eyes and managed to see, was a baby, a boy, apparently 12 months or 1 year. Smiling without teeth right. So he made the calculations, 1 years that the baby appears to have and 2 years she left, she was still meeting him, wasn't she? Or she was having sex with another guy while sleeping with him..or is his baby?. That's why, why is she gone? Is the baby really his? A fruit of them two? I was dipped in my thoughts. I need to see right, I need to see the boy well.
You
I was holding my son on my hip while we danced to the sound of (f/v)
And I prepare a food for both of us. Until I observed a movement outside. I put in (y/c/n) in the Feeding chair and headed toward the window, watched and found nothing. Maybe it was my head, or not. When I and (y/c/n) we finished eating, it was a little late and put him in the crib, I sang a song until he fell asleep, when he slept, headed for my room that was near him to be easier to Listening to crying or meeting your needs, put a nightgown and tied my hair awkwardly with a little hair in front and lay down. A few hours or minutes maybe I heard a wooden noise, I took a bat and went towards the noise came from.
It came from my son's room, walked fast towards a totally dark room, I stared at the crib and he wasn't there when I looked at the armchair that is located in the corner of the room and was there. Danny. Holding our son, in his arms, was the small figure sleeping peacefully with his little hands playing lightly in the white mask, Danny who looked at him, suddenly changed his gaze to me, the only lighting in the room was the moonlight brightness, Until then the silence was broken. "Hello Darling"
"What are you doing here?" "What? I can't visit my lover? Or rather, my son's mother"
He said getting up carefully as he snuggled (y/c/n) in the crib. "It's my baby, isn't it? So you left?" He says approaching slowly until he was centimeters from you, the difference in visible height and the small space that could only be heard the breaths of each other, he put his hand gloved in his chin and raised stop his eyes through the mask. "Answer me, honey" He speaks so low that he sounded like a whisper. His lips separated to speak, but nothing left. He raises a little from the mask and gets closer, you finally wave your head."Yes..." he then gets millimeters from you and collides the lips against yours. When you leave it, he looks at you eyes with a predatory gray look at yours and says "our son, and you are mine, sweetheart, just mine, and we are a family. We and our little boy. I love you, bunny"
He said with his head now without the mask touching yours. with your lips almost touching
"I love you too, Danny".
#danny jed olsen johnson x reader#danny johnson x reader#dbd killer#pregnant reader#jed olsen x reader#ghostface#dbd ghostface#danny jed olsen johnson#danny johnson#x reader#fem reader#reader insert#jed olsen#mother#mother and son#dead by daylight#pregnancy#pregnant#father#father and child#father and son
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Statistically Speaking, I Think I'm Fucked

Modern AU | Ellie x Fem!Reader | College setting | On a journal
Eyes Without a Face by Billy Idol
Chp 1: "if I can swim in a pool then I can swim through college"
Saturday, August 16 07:43 PM Last day in bedroom…kinda
So basically, I’m gonna do this thing. I’m gonna FUCKING do this, and it’ll be fun and easy and it’ll be everything I ever dreamed of. Or whatever. If college is even something I actually dreamed of doing (news flash: it’s not).
Joel ordered pizza, said this all not-so-casually, “We can just eat one last time and watch your favorite movie. Is it still Curtis and Viper?”
First of all, YEAH Joel, still one of my favorite movies.
Second, I’m not DYING. He makes it so hard sometimes to act like me moving into the dorm isn’t such a big deal. It’s just fifteen minutes away. I’m literally twenty-three, I can handle it. It’s just one more empty room upstairs. Maybe then Tess will actually stay longer and not make some bullshit excuse about me being home.
Which was awkward every time she did it.
At first it was easier when Sarah was here, because she’d call them out. But Tess…not that she SCARES me or anything but when she looks at you like that? Eyes narrowed like she’s ready to aim for your head, and her eyebrows furrow a little while she does that. I can see how she makes Joel shut up.
Shit – pizza’s here.

Later, same ol’ later than my bedtime/11 ish
So it wasn’t that bad. Kinda feel bad for the way I wrote about Joel. He’s just a big softie that doesn’t know how to say he’ll miss me. And rather say things that sounds like I’m about to be blasted into space (wouldn’t that be nice?) and never return.
Dina texted me earlier when I was watching the movie with him. Didn’t look at it till now. Kinda wish I did, Joel would’ve gotten a kick out of it. She’s with Jessie and his family, out at their farm. Didn’t peg her for the type. Not that – yeah. Anyways.
It’s a horse wearing a cowboy hat in that 0.5x zoom that Dina always likes to take pictures in. It’s fucking cute. I’ll just show him tomorrow.


Sunday, August 17 Joel’s truck at the buck ass crack of dawn
I knew I should’ve waited to piss.
Now I’m in his truck, waiting for him to come out so we can go to Home Depot. He wanted to get some screws for the cabinet in the kitchen. The same one me and Sarah broke two months ago when she came to visit from Illinois. I’m honestly surprised that he just noticed, but Sarah and I did a pretty good job at stitching it up. Does he have any clue it was us?
Nah.
Told me he opened it to get his coffee mug (like a fuckin’ GIANT apparently). I asked him why he didn’t just use the ones that are in the garage. He had like, a gazillion of them. He just STARED at me like he was trying to decide what my pros and cons were.
Sorry for being practical and wanting to go back to sleep?
“Go get the truck started.” Was all he said before he walked away like I didn’t even have a say in what I do.
So yeah, sitting here, freezing my ass off. Listening to his old country music, somethin’ about should’ve been a cowboy or whatever. Fuck, I forgot my earbuds inside.
But not my journal?

Monday, August 18 0900, sitting in my own row GENERAL CHEM LECTURE
Well, this is it. Here in class. Waiting. Hoping I don’t get bored to death.
This girl keeps turning around to look at me from the front. Unless there’s someone behind me?? I just turned around and nope – oh she smiled. FUCK I JUST WAVED BACK, jesus christ, I should’ve just smiled why did I WAVE?!!?! It’s whatever, I don’t even know her. Why am I freaking out?
Joel insisted I start learning how to read military time, since, apparently that’s all they use in the medical field. Can’t believe I’m doing pre-med. Is this even me? Yeah!!! I’m totally capable, that quiz online told me so. And Joel seems to think I’d have a knack for it.
Shit – professors here.

Later, same 1345 in statistics
So far it’s not bad, we’re just going over the syllabus. Easiest class I’ll ever take apparently. THANK YOU GOD definitely needed that break.
Dina’s been texting me non-stop. She won’t stop freaking out about the nursing program shit. I’m so fucking glad I’m not in that, it sounds like torture. Something about a dosage exam.
She’s also getting upset that I haven’t answered her, but I literally texted her like a couple of hours ago. What am I gonna say to gun emojis and crying meme reaction pics??!!!

Later, same SAME DUMB ASS CLASS
GROUP PROJECT DUE AT THE END OF THE SEMESTER?!?!
That’s absolute bullshit!!!! Oh my FUCKING GOD.
Might as well just shoot my brains out with Tommy’s rifle!!!!!

Later, same same stupid class I guess
I just have to clarify in case someone reads that. I’d never do that.
Also, Dina texted me again to hang out after class. And honestly, I don’t feel like doing that. Shit, it’s just the first day, I have to CHILLAX while I can.
Plus, the Nintendo switch is calling my name. Breath of the Wild anyone? Whatever.

Super later, still the same day In my dorm (dormmate isn’t here yet, hope it’s not a fucking asshole)
I ended up hanging out with Dina, and we were just talking about our classes. What we’re doing, and all that jazz. It was actually kinda nice so I’m glad she insisted on coming over to my dorm. She wanted to check it out, since right now her and Jessie rented out an apartment a couple of blocks out of the campus. And his PARENTS are helping them.
That’s so nice isn’t it??? I mean, Joel’s also helping me but FUCK I don’t want him to, he’s already done so much by taking me in and including me in his life – now this?? I REALLY have to pass, I really have to go through with this so I can just stop –
Anyways. I did get a scholarship for this so I just need to get my grades up and that’s me basically helping him out with the rest.
I guess Jessie’s enjoying his classes so far. Weirdo.
But back to Dina, she was talking about what her professors were saying. And she had this look on her face, and I fucking knew it the second the spoke that it was one of those ideas that she already had me included in. She proposed a study group, which is something her professor encouraged everyone to do. Okay? I guess if y’all all wanna hold hands and cry.
And then she asked ME if I wanted to go.
Actually, she didn’t ask.
She’s MAKING me go. As if I didn’t have my hands full at this current moment!! “It’s on Thursday at five. I better see your ass there, Williams.” And then she walked out of my dorm like nothing. As if I was gonna do whatever she wanted me to do. I already have one guy doing that, don’t need to add someone else.
I have a missed call from Joel. But I don’t feel like calling back yet. It’s like eight, he’s probably sleeping right now. I’m just gonna play my switch a little bit.

Thursday, August 21 Cafeteria
I’m just waiting for Dina and Jessie right now. I have my lunch, just a sandwich and some chips. Groceries Joel helped me pick out on Sunday, when he was helping me move into my dorm. Damn, which reminds me, I have to tell him that he forgot to get milk for the house. Why does it feel like there’s so much shit to do????
FUCK FUCK it’s not a big deal but why does it feel like I’m in a sea, alone, with just a fucking door to lay on top of while the sun IS BEATING ME UP “Can you do it? Can you do it?”
Yeah I fucking can asshole!!! And I just KNOW Dina is gonna ask me if I’m gonna go to the study group today, but I really don’t feel like talking to anyone right now. I already spoke to Joel before I got to the cafeteria, and he asked me how school’s going.
This is literally the third time this week he called me to ask. It’s starting to get on my nerves. And I feel bad about it, but damn can’t the old man just let me do my shit? I’ll be fine, I always have been!!
Here comes Jessie. No Dina yet.

Friday, August 23 Dorm
Alright, so that wraps up the crazy first week of class. I talked to Dina about the study group. I mean, not that I WANTED to do it but seeing all my assignments listed down? There’s no fucking way I’m doing that on time without some help!!
I just have to admit it, I procrastinate like it’s my fucking job. And I CANNOT do that this semester, especially when my grades depend on how much help I get. I need to finish this, there’s no other way around it. DO IT ELLIE.
Dina had a grin on her face, too smug for her own good. I KNEW she was gonna do that, “We added another day. Twice a week. Monday and Thursday.” She said it so simple, but I already knew that she was doing a celebratory dance inside her head.
“Seriously, Els, come. It’ll help.” That’s what she said after, and she looked so serious then. It kind of fucked me up and hit me straight in the chest. Did she see?
No, she couldn’t have.
She had me write down my assignments on my calendar on my phone, put reminders on. The whole thing took like about an hour. Mostly ‘cause we were just fucking around. And then Jessie called her, so it took EVEN LONGER. Guy sounded out of breath—turns out he’s been running almost every day for ‘stress relief’.
“Since when did you start running?” I just HAD to ask, and I didn’t mean to sound surprised when I did. Okay, well, more than just surprised. (probably hurt his wittle feewings).
“Uh, since I needed an extra dose of dopamine after seeing you so DEPRESSED for a week.”
“Okay, dude, what the fuck!?”
But Dina interrupted the conversation before it could even go on. What an asshole!! But the thing is, really???!! Have I really been acting that way???? No I haven’t, I’ve just been super concentrated. And that’s it. There’s nothing more and nothing less to it. My assignments are on my phone, I’m in that study group now, and I’ll be fine. Everything’s good. I got things under control.
I guess I can call my old man this time.

Monday, August 26 Dorm, being pushed in two directions
UGHHHH should I go? I should, I REALLY should. It’s a couple of minutes past five, I don’t know if I should. Would being late be rude? It’s going to be rude. I’m going to walk in there and INTERRUPT A GOOD STUDYING SESSION.
Fuck it, I need to do it. I need to go. ‘Cause if I don’t, I’m going to FAIL.
Also my dorm mate is here. She’s chill. Talks to her boyfriend on the phone a lot. Puts on a lot of perfume and likes to listen to Sabrina Carpenter. Sarah also likes that singer. So I knew a couple of songs.
Fuck, I gotta go. She’s talking to her boyfriend again and I’m sick of hearing the word ‘babe’.

Same day, later Library and feeling stiff
I did walk in there as casually as I could, and I saw Dina and them almost instantly. The library was nice, open, the kind of place I’d like to be in when doing homework. Which was the plan.
I clocked like six people, including Jessie and Dina. They were REALLY focused, and of course when I went over to the table they all had to look up and just STARE. Except this one girl, she just glanced at me really quick and then looked back down at her laptop. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail. It was cute.
But then of COURSE as I put my backpack down by my seat –which happened to be next to Jessie and in front of this girl – Dina gave me SHIT.
“This is Ellie. Always late to stuff.” And she pointed her stupid pen at me. Like I was some kind of exhibit to fuckin’, I don’t know, POINT AT.
I just rolled my eyes at her and took out my shit from my backpack, trying not to feel FLUSTERED just because of this one chick in front of me. Which, by the way, I BARELY know her???
“Whatever, I’m here aren’t I?” I ended up saying back, and it wasn’t even like, cool, or anything. It sucked.
But she looked at me and gave me a smile. But it was one of those ‘hey-i-see-you-please-don’t-think-I’m-weird’. Unless I’m projecting?? Because I’m pretty damn sure that’s what that smile was about. And I smiled back at her before we went back to our respective positions. Studying and whatnot.
And then JESSIE HAD TO SAY SOMETHING TOO, ‘cause why not?!
I saw him shift in his seat a little next to me and said this with that stupid grin of his Dina insists makes her melt, “Don’t let her intimidate you, she’s scrambling as much as the rest of us.”
Okay, intimidate?! Why are we only talking to this ONE girl in front of me?? That’s when she told me her name, like she was sorry that this was even happening. Which, honestly, okay, made me feel a little better.
At least another person sees how UNFAIR they – shit, Dina is giving me that look. Gotta go and actually study.
Author's Notes: I'm literally nervous about posting this because I CARE SO MUCH. I was gonna say something else in the middle of posting this but I totally forgot. -- masterlist <- current chapter -> chp 2
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