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liightsout · 2 months

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fresh out the slammer - daniel ricciardo x reader

(part one)

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✯ pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader ✯

✯ word count: 2.2k ✯

✯ content warnings: swearing, abusive/unhealthy relationship ✯

✯ now playing: fresh out the slammer - taylor swift ✯

✯ this is part two in my ttpd series, you might want to read this first ✯

✯ masterlist ✯

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“Now pretty baby, I’m running back home to you. Fresh out the slammer I know who my first call will be to”

You didn’t have much of a plan, or even a rough idea where you would be staying for the foreseeable future as you stood on the pavement outside your now ex boyfriend’s apartment.

It should have terrified you, but it was the first time you’d felt free in years.

It was Danny who had suggested that you call Rosie and ask if you could stay with her. He had offered for you to stay in his apartment while he was out of the country, but you didn’t fancy being alone. That, and the idea of staying somewhere so surrounded by Daniel seemed like the wrong choice to make right now.

Rosie had been more than happy to welcome you with open arms into her home. She had been over the moon to hear from you, and even happier to hear that you had ended things with Evan. The second you’d arrived on her doorstep she ushered you inside and enveloped you into a bone crushing hug.

Yes, she was happy that you had finally escaped the clutches of your shitty boyfriend, but she was human enough to know that the whole ordeal had been incredibly overwhelming for you and that you were craving comfort.

Later that evening the pair of you were curled up on her sofa, wrapped in blankets and sharing a bottle of wine. Rosie hadn’t asked you a single question all day about the break up. She had allowed you time to breathe and get yourself set up in her spare bedroom. It was hours later and you just knew she was going to explode if you didn’t provide her with some answers.

“So, what happened after you left?” she had asked with curiosity in her eyes. You knew what she was hinting at.

You had seen Danny’s name flash up on her phone earlier that day while she was helping you unpack. She had tried to hide it, but you’d seen it nonetheless. You expected he was checking in with her to make sure you had actually made it to her place and hadn’t turned around and gone crawling straight back to Evan. You couldn’t blame him, you were shocked that you hadn’t as well.

“I called Danny” you said with a small smile as you recalled the conversation you had shared with him earlier that day.

“Hey pretty girl,” his voice sounded like liquid gold pouring straight from your phone and into your ear. “Hey you,” you replied with a shaky breath. You could sense he was about to start talking, you knew he would have questions as to why you were calling.

“I did it. I left.”

A beat of silence passed between the two of you, as if neither of you could quite believe the words coming from your mouth.

“For real?” his voice was quieter, less confident than you’d heard him before. It was unlike him to be so hesitant.

“For real” you whispered back. The sound of the busy London street echoed out around you, but seemed to fade away the longer you waited for Danny’s reply.

“Are you alright?” he said, his tone filled with concern. You felt your heart swell. It was such a simple question, yet it carried such weight. Were you alright?

Was it wrong that this was the most ‘alright’ you’d felt in months?

“I think so, or at least I will be.”

You didn’t need to see him to know he was smiling.

“Yeah, you will.”

“Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder, he don’t understand me. Splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter. He was with her in dreams. Gray and blue, and fights and tunnels. Handcuffed to the spell I was under, for just one hour of sunshine. Years of labour, locks and ceilings, in the shade of how he was feeling, but it’s gonna be alright, I did my time.”

As you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling fan, you found yourself lost in the memories of the last few years.

You hated how easy you found it to scold yourself for how long you had stayed in such a toxic relationship. The voice at the back of your head told you that it was easier said than done, leaving your partner, but you still felt angry for how much time you had wasted.

It was only now that you were on the other side of it that you could pinpoint all the times you should have left. The fights. The arguments. The shitty comments thrown in your direction. The gaslighting. You realised that you had spent the last few years of your life dictated by Evan and the mood he decided to be in that day.

You could recall the times you would walk on eggshells around him, scared to provoke him when you sensed he was in a foul mood. The exasperated sighs and slamming doors. He would storm out of the apartment declaring that he was going “out”. He’d come home smelling of beer, cigarettes and ladies perfume. Or not come home at all.

You’d wake up the next day to a picture perfect boyfriend. Breakfast in bed, flowers on the counter, extravagant gifts and invitations for weekends away in foreign countries.

Evan had a way of convincing you that whatever terrible thing had happened the day before was just a one off. That he was sorry for his behaviour and he would never do it again.

It made you laugh now. It was a shame that he had inherited his wealth. He would have made such a good con artist. He had the ability to fool you into believing whatever he wanted, and you ate it up every single time.

“Camera flashes, welcome bashes, get the matches, toss the ashes off the ledge”

It had been Rosie’s idea to throw a party. She had declared that you needed a “celebration of freedom” as she curated a group chat full of the usual suspects to invite round her house that weekend. You weren’t sure it was the best idea, you still felt hesitant about being around your old group of friends after such a long time away.

“Have I missed anyone off? Or is there anyone you want to invite that I’ve missed?” Rosie said as she handed you her phone. You could sense her eyes carefully watching you as you scrolled through the list of names. You tried to be nonchalant as you looked for his name. You didn’t care who came. You just wanted to see Danny.

It had been radio silence for the last few weeks since you’d moved in with Rosie. It wasn’t his fault. You knew he was busy with a double header and a new Enchante launch. You also suspected he was being a gentleman and giving you the space you had needed to clear your head. He wanted you to make the first move so that he knew you were ready.

And you sure as hell felt ready.

You found his name at the bottom of the list and smiled while handing Rosie her phone.

“Yeah, looks good to me, I can’t think of anyone else. I don’t really have many friends anymore” you said with a nervous laugh, which earned you a playful shove from the girl sitting next to you.

“Oh shut it, you’ve got loads of friends, you just don’t realise it. And don’t think I didn’t see you searching for Danny’s name, you’re not sly” she said with a laugh.

“As I said in my letters, now that I know better I will never lose my baby again”

You tried hard to hide your disappointment, but you had really hoped he would show up. He hadn’t directly responded to Rosie’s invitation, only offered a thumbs up in response to her message about hosting a party this weekend, but you had thought he would be here.

You had chalked it up to his busy schedule, but you couldn’t help the doubts slipping into your mind.

Four hours into the party and still no sign of Danny.

Rosie had sent you a few reassuring smiles each time she caught your eye as you searched round the mass of bodies in her kitchen and garden.

You knew she was being kind, but you could feel the sympathy radiating off her from a mile away. It made you feel pathetic. A feeling that you’d hoped you’d left behind in Evan’s apartment.

You didn’t know why you kept checking your phone. You hoped he’d send you a message, apologise for why he couldn’t make it. But he hadn’t reached out to you since the day you’d left Evan. Why would he message now?

It was now nearing 1AM and the majority of the party had left, with only a few of Rosie’s closer friends opting to stay a bit later and help tidy up, as well as share a nightcap or two. You had decided to steer clear of the noise and opted for unwinding in the garden alone.

The twinkling stars covering the night sky and crescent moon illuminated the garden. You’d spent the last 10 minutes staring up at them, hoping a shooting star would cross your path and grant you just one wish.

You’d never been lucky before, why would you be now?

Your phone felt like a dead weight in your hands. The idea of messaging Danny was flying around in your brain like a gnat you just couldn’t catch, the buzz getting louder and louder the more you ignored it. You were a little tipsy, you couldn’t stop yourself from typing, even if you knew texting Danny was not the best idea right now.

Hey you

Hi Danny

We missed you tonight, sorry you couldn’t make it! Hopefully see you next time!

Why didn’t you come?

Did I do something wrong?

FUCK

I’ve already lost so much, and wasted so much time on someone who didn’t care about me, I can’t do that again, not with you

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind you sent your phone flying out of your hand and tumbling onto the patio floor. A hand reached for the phone at the same time yours did, the 3 etched onto the pinky finger forced your eyes upward.

At first you thought you might have imagined him. That you had actually fallen asleep outside and this was a figment of your imagination sent to mock you. But the smell of his cologne combined with the heat pouring off of his body confirmed that you were in fact definitely awake.

You couldn’t speak as he held your phone in his hands. You knew he’d seen the message you had typed out from the way his eyes had darted from the screen to your face as you stood in front of each other.

Sad. He looked sad. You’d never seen him like this before and it broke your heart.

“I’m sorry” the words passed his lips and you fought hard to stop yourself from cringing. You tried to remind yourself that Danny was different from, you hoped. This wasn’t like those times with Evan, the meaningless apologies and shitty explanations.

“My flight got delayed, and then cancelled, so I ended up flying into Manchester instead of London and then had to get an Uber down here, got stuck in fucking traffic and only got to my apartmet like 30 minutes ago” he rambled as he handed you back your phone, which you accepted with shaky hands. You hoped he didn’t notice.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I should have text you, but I had in my head that I was going to surprise you and it was going to be all romantic and shit, which I now realise was totally dumb and I should have just told you I was running late.”

The frustration in his words was palpable, the desperation in his voice earnest. Both were something you hadn’t heard from Evan, ever.

“If you want me to go, I will, I just wanted to tell you in person that I was sorry and that I know I’ve fucked up and probably ruined it.”

“You haven’t” your voice trembled as you spoke. You searched within yourself for the bravery you’d had those weeks ago. You didn’t want to lose this. You needed this. You needed Danny.

“You haven’t ruined it,” you shook your head as your hand reached out for his. His eyes seemed darker under the night time sky. “You defintely fucked up,” you said with a laugh as your hand laced with his larger one, “but you haven’t ruined it”.

Danny’s hand squeezed yours and released as you took a step closer to one another. His arms wrapping around you and pulling you close against him as yours went around his waist. Your head was against his chest, his racing heartbeat echoed in your ear and matched your own. His head went to the crook of your neck, rough facial hair tickled against your sensitive skin and sent shivers across your body like lightning.

You would have missed the words that he mumbled against your skin between soft kisses had he not been so close to you.

“You’re not wasting your time, I do care about you. I think that you’re it for me.”

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✯ authors note: soooooooo... it's been a while

i'm super sorry about how long it's taken to get this out, and it's only half of this part, but my motivation for writing has been super low.

hope this is ok and you guys enjoy!!!!

thanks for all your support, it means the world to me ✯

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charliemwrites · 10 months

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Rudolfo time!!

(Slightly more kidnap-y but not entirely through his fault. Also, this character is mute, I hope i portrayed it well but please let me know if I’ve used any words or phrases that aren’t correct)

You aren’t actual cartel. Not a single one of them would protect you or have your back or even spare you a sip of beer. No, you’re just a runner. Transport messages, mostly. Code words that aren��t usually that clever, USBs sometimes. Once a shitty flip phone.

You don’t want to be cartel. Even tangentially as their messenger. But your family needs the money, badly, and they pay well. Especially when you’re good at what you do. And you are. Perks of a messenger who can’t speak your secrets.

In the end, you don’t even think it’s your fuck up. Just wrong place, wrong time, and a very important thing that you’re carrying for the cartel.

You don’t resist Los Vaqueros. Go along quietly and politely. When they ask you questions you just shake your head, hands trapped behind your back and unable to sign an explanation. No matter how they shout and threaten and explain how much trouble you’re in (and oh don’t you know it) you can’t answer beyond over-exaggerated facial expressions and weird half-gestures.

They drag you to their colonel and his second. The colonel is scary. Scarier than any cartel lieutenant you’ve faced. The more he yells and gestures, the more scared you get. You don’t know these men, after all, don’t know how far they’ll go in pursuit of stopping the cartel.

It’s Rudolfo that steps in, something in his face curious. He squats down in front of the chair they’ve sat you in, expression easy and calm.

“Can you tell us your name?” he asks.

You sigh softly and shake your head.

“Can’t or won’t?”

You swallow, blink once. Thankfully, he gets it.

“You can’t speak?”

Relief floods you as you shake your head, shoulders slumping.

“If we get your hands free, can you find some to communicate with us?”

You nod, leaning forward a bit. He clicks your cuffs loose and you’re quick to begin signing but he puts his hands up.

“Wait, wait, it’s been a long time since I saw LSM. Let’s get you an interpreter.”

They bring in one of the other Vaqueros, who speaks as your hands move. You tell them your name, where you’re from, answer their questions.

Please, I’m scared. I don’t want work for them anymore but my family…

Even the colonel has softened as you’ve cooperated, softens further at that last message.

“We’ll secure your family. In the meantime, write down everything you can remember. Locations, names, messages, packages. Anything and everything,” he explains.

He leaves Rudolfo in charge of you. You… don’t mind. He’s patient as you find a way to organize things, carefully written index cards organized in groups. Names accompanied by physical descriptions, where you saw them, what you brought them. Vehicles, code words, and anything else you saw while delivering.

Rudolfo is surprisingly kind to you. He offers you food and water, updates on your family. (They won’t speak to you for working with the cartel. You understand… but it hurts. Rudolfo is gentle as you cry into your hands).

He talks to you. You don’t understand why, but he does. Tells you about Los Vaqueros, Alejandro Vargas, himself. Waits patiently for while you write out answers about yourself.

When it gets to be late and you’re just entirely wrung out, you finally ask, why are you being so nice?

“I don’t blame you for trying to help your family. The cartel prays on the vulnerable. You made a mistake, and now you’re trying to fix it. That’s what matters to me.”

You’re not allowed to leave. Even if you were, you wouldn’t want to. The world seems even bigger and scarier than before, now that your former employers will mark you as a turncoat. You are, of course, but it’s frightening. It wears you out.

Rudolfo clucks after your health, asking if you’ve slept or eaten. You hardly ever have. He’ll cart you off for a meal or a nap, promising to stand watch, that no one will bother you. You often end up in his clothes, few of your own as you’ve got.

He’s also learning to sign. The first time he says, good morning how did you sleep, you start crying. He gives you a big hug until you stop.

When he has time you help him practice. He’s teaching the others too. They’ve learned how your hands form “Rudy” to help you find him.

One day, he and Alejandro sit you down. You’ve long exhausted what you can actively remember from being the cartel’s messenger. It was only a matter of time, you think. Your usefulness has ended.

“You’ve been granted a full pardon given the circumstances and your cooperation,” Alejandro explains. You’ve warmed up to each other quite a bit since you first arrived. “You’re no longer detained here.”

You nod, trying to blink away the stinging in your eyes. You should be happy, relieved, grateful. They didn’t have to pardon you.

But all you can think about is having to leave. You’ve come to feel safe here with Los Vaqueros. With Rudy.

“You don’t have to,” he blurts.

You blink at him, a bit startled by the unusual outburst. He runs a hand down his face, starting to flush.

“You don’t have to stay… but you don’t have to leave,” he explains. “We’ll keep you safe here.”

You stare, throat thick with emotion. He takes that to be hesitation and leans forward, taking one of your hands in both of his.

“Let me keep you safe. Please.”

You stay. How can you not?

You don’t actually know what your official job is on base - except that it’s a lot of following Rudy around. So, nothing to complain about.

He keeps a close eye on you always. That the others are at least cordial given your past. Has squared up with one or two others for questioning your loyalty. He’s not an easy man to anger but people quickly learn that you are the exception.

The first time he brings you a flower, you fawn over it before making him place it in your braid. After that, your hair is often adorned in dahlias and roses and honeysuckle. He swears that you smell like them even after they’re gone.

You’re in love with him, can’t imagine any other conclusion you could come to. It hurts when you see new recruits flirting with him, or women out at the bars. Can’t blame them either, really.

“Why the long face?” he asks after politely declining an offer to dance. You were hoping you hid in your drink fast enough. “No, no, not on my watch, flower.”

He stands and gently urges you to your feet, guides you out onto the dance floor and sweeps you into the rhythm of bachata. You fluster, hide your face against his chest as he laughs.

“There we go,” he chuckles, “that’s better than looking sad.”

You huff, caught between longing and enjoying the moment. He leads you through two more songs before taking you outside for fresh air, a hand on the smell of your back even once you’re leaning on the balcony.

“What is it?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

You try to figure out how to explain without ruining everything. His eyes dart between your hands and your face, trying to decipher a garbled message that just won’t form.

I just…. like you too much, you admit finally.

He tilts his head, but pauses to consider that. Then shakes his head and crowds close. Your hands press against his chest, feel his heart beating hard and strong against your palm.

“Impossible,” he replies. “You can’t like me too much when I love you.”

And he says it so simply, like the desert is hot or the sky is blue. You stare at him, mouth parted. He grins, swoops in to kiss you, little more than a peck compared to what you crave.

“C’mon, let’s go home. We have a lot to talk about I think.”

Home brings clarity. It brings promises. It brings you a man that massages your hands when they get tired from writing, who teaches you his grandmother’s tamale recipe.

Home is a man who laces flowers in your hair. Who teaches you to shoot and how to pick handcuffs. He brings a life where you’re always pointed in his direction, or he in yours. Safe inside his base, with his soldiers.

#thoughts™️#cod #keeper/kept au #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #keeper rudy

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sunsetsimon · 10 months

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experience.

older price x reader

mentions of alcohol and drinking, takes place at a bar, tiny bit ooc

i've been giggling and swinging my feet to this fucker all god damn day so here's the first part of my older boyfriend price fic. and yes i wrote this on my lunch break im fucking crazy

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your face twists into a grimace, gulping the shot of whiskey that didn't seem to be going down any easier. the liquid moves through your body, allowing your tense shoulders to slouch. you chase the dark liquor with water, rinsing your mouth to rid of the bitter taste that lingers on your tongue.

a low chuckle vibrates from the man next to you, "havin' a rough night?"

you finally look over, having been absorbed in your own little world the whole time. the man beside you is definitely older than you, a full beard and light blue eyes. he's extremely well built, broad shoulders and strong arms are obvious even through his thick black hoodie.

"more like a rough week," you reply, huffing a sigh. he nods, a knowing look on his face as he knew exactly how you felt.

"n’ i buy you a drink?" he offers, taking the last big swig of his own cup, the ice clinking against the glass as he places it back on the counter.

usually you'd say no, turning down any attempt for mingling, uninterested in the typical men trying to get in your pants. but this time you agree, enticed by this mysterious british man beside you on a friday night.

"m' john," he reaches his hand out to shake yours, nearly engulfing yours. his hands are warm and rough, but still soft enough to desire his touch. shaking your hand gently, he repeats your name once you introduce yourself, "beautiful name."

john orders another round of the whiskey you'd had, tapping his shot glass against yours in cheers. you watch as he downs the brown liquor down easily, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. fueled by confidence, you throw yours back and swallow it in one gulp, the bitter taste less intense this time around.

"atta girl," he nods approvingly, eyes lingering on the drop that fell from your bottom lip, trailing down your chin. before you can reach up to wipe it, his thumb swipes across your chin, grazing your lip. your eyes are glued to his, watching as he raises the pad of his thumb to his own lips, sucking the droplet off.

you gulp, taken aback by the boldness of this man you'd just met. your heart thumps in your chest, butterflies threatening to erupt and fly around your stomach. bashfully you turn away, a sudden heat on your cheeks. it's just the alcohol.. right?

john continues to talk with you for an hour, only ordering another drink, making sure you drink more water in between. from what he’d seen, you were working to catch a buzz, wanting to ease the stress of the day. he can tell you’re younger, less experienced with being able to handle alcohol, a sway to your small body now.

the drinks were hitting you, your eyes heavy and voice a pitch lower. your bar stools were pulled closer, thighs against each other as you leaned against the bar, completely enamoured with john. his big hand is on your thigh, fingers lightly squeezing the plump skin. he's tipsy, but rarely does he drink himself to the point of drunkenness.

"so what are you doing around here?" you ask, only slightly slurred, "obviously you're from the UK, y'know with the accent and everything."

he nods, rubbing his hand across his beard, smoothing the long, full hairs down. the fresh smell of his cologne drifts to you as he moves around, and you swear to yourself to never forget the scent.

"just spendin' some time 'ere, a break from everythin," john shrugs nonchalantly, vague with his answer on purpose. though you'd talked about yourself tonight, john was closed off, preferring to talk about topics that weren't personal.

all you knew was he's british, single, works out a lot, and reads. he professionally dodged your question about his job too after you explained your shitty one. he intrigued you, but part of you knew you needed to go home, the buzz turning into a light headache now. taking a deep breath, you finish the rest of your water before sliding off of your chair.

"well, i had a great night, john. i've got to get some sleep, though," you laugh, sliding your jacket back on and grabbing your bag.

"let me walk you out, it's too late for you to go alone."

before you can protest, he pays the tab, shoving his phone and keys into his sweatpants pocket. you realize how tall he is as he leads you outside, his body seeming to tower over yours.

the night air is cold on your body, shivering as he walks you to the uber parked just outside of the bar. john opens the door for you, leaning down to kiss your cheek, his facial hair tickling your soft skin.

"g'night love. get home safe."

"night john. can i see you again?" you ask as you climb into the car, setting your bag down on the seat.

"won't be 'ere long, love," he shakes his head, "i'll think about you."

john closes the door, stepping back and watching as the uber drives off. he wishes he was in your hometown under better circumstances, not just killing time on his mission. he thinks about you the rest of the night, replaying your conversations in his head.

he really wants to see you again soon.

#.wbm #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader

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suzukiblu · 11 months

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Day eight of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon.

"Um," Tim says, like an idiot. Kon looks back to him and he feels flustered and warm, like an even bigger idiot.

"You should probably sit down, man," Kon advises. "People usually get a little wobbly after the adrenaline wears off."

"Right," Tim says, pretending that that's actually a concern, then looks down at the little clay goat still in his hands. "I need to give this to somebody first, though. Ideally somebody with latex gloves and a lot of experience handling fragile relics."

"Why don't you just put it back on its display stand?" Kon asks with a puzzled frown as he cocks his head.

. . . Tim is never living down a single thing about this stupid field trip.

"Or I could do that," he says like someone who isn't a total fucking idiot, then takes the little clay goat back to said display stand and carefully sets it back where it came from. One of the guards turns off the alarm, and the cops show up and arrest the thieves and start asking questions, and Kon immediately looks bored and takes the excuse of the thieves all being fully in custody and his own ability to fly to bolt without answering any of said questions himself.

Tim hates him for not taking him with him, frankly. Metropolis PD asks him a thousand absolutely useless questions and Tim suffers through it all and then gets jumped by clamoring reporters the moment he steps outside.

Metropolis is so annoying. Who even cares about one lousy museum robbery?

Also the school is totally going to tell his dad and Dana about this, isn't it. Ugh.

Fortunately the field trip chaperones save him from the reporters before he has to work out an escape that doesn't involve any Robin-related skills, and they get him on the bus with everyone else, where he immediately gets razzed by everyone else for getting saved by a Super. Tim resigns himself to a few weeks of that and settles in for the ride back to Gotham.

And he thinks about his nucleus of an idea.

Kon would never accept Robin coming up to him out of nowhere, judging his shitty employers, and offering to fund his entire life with the Bat-budget. Besides, Bruce would want that all itemized and explained on top of that.

But . . .

Well, Tim Drake isn't Robin, is he. Not as far as Kon knows. All Kon knows is he saved some random guy in a museum from getting shot in the head by an idiot with no trigger discipline. He doesn't have any idea who Tim actually is or what Tim knows about him.

Specifically, what Tim knows about his living situation.

So no, Kon won't accept Robin judging his lifestyle and trying to buy him out of it.

But Tim Drake isn't Robin, is he.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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alice-after-dark · 5 months

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Something That Has Been Bouncing Around in My Brain

This is one of those little things that has just lived rent free in my brain ever since I saw episode 2. So from what I have seen, people generally think that Vox is a terrible toxic boss who abuses his employees. While I'm not gonna say that this is not true, the one interaction we see between him and his staff (his assistant) was very telling to me.

TW for discission of abusive work relationships, physical/mental/emotional abuse, and other canon-typical triggers.

Look at what we have seen from the Vees as bosses so far.

Valentino is highly abusive in every capacity and cruel to his employees. His employees fear him and his wrath. They are reluctant to disagree or argue with him. They don't talk back. We see this specifically with Angel Dust and Travis. Angel Dust is pretty self-explanatory, but with Travis, when Valentino says that no one cares about the script and for Angel to just improv the scene, he looks directly at Travis who looks scared shitless as he hurriedly agrees with Valentino.

Velvette is a very strict boss with high expectations and an even higher approval bar. She flat out fires someone for not meeting her standards. She is very much the boss from Devil Wears Prada. She is verbally abusive to her employees and accepts only the best of the best. I definitely think she is a better boss than Valentino, but she's also not sunshine and rainbows. She does have the benefit in her corner that she at minimum recognizes that physical abuse is counter-intuitive to her bottom line and calls Vox in for backup when Valentino is going on a rampage and harming her employees. Her employees might not be emotionally or mentally safe from her, but at minimum they are physically safe.

And Vox? Well, here's where things get interesting in my opinion. Because the only interaction we see between Vox and an employee is that employee questioning him. His assistant walks right up to him and essentially says "I have no idea what is going on" and Vox doesn't get pissed or verbally berate him or anything. He answers his question and then immediately launches into a plan and distributes marching orders. And it can't even be argued that he is controlling his temper for the media crowd because they're all so hypnotized at that moment that he is openly talking about how this is a last second bullshit plan for profit right in front of them. The point I'm trying to make is that Vox's assistant literally has no fear of questioning his boss, something that would be 100% out of the question with Valentino and Velvette. His assistant had no idea if this was a new idea or if he had just somehow let something fall through the cracks, but he felt safe enough to ask that question. Like think about it. For all the assistant knew, he could have completely dropped the ball on something that was supposed to be long in production and he still felt safe enough to bring it to Vox's attention that he didn't know what Vox was talking about. That says a lot. And in turn, Vox has zero interest in hiding that this is a last second scheme. He straight up tells his assistant as much. This tells us that, at minimum, Vox has favorites who get more privileges than others in how they can interact with him as we only see him interact with a single employee as opposed to Valentino and Velvette who interact with multiple employees.

Now, I'm not the type of analyzer to ignore the elephant in the room for the sake of my bias because frankly where is the fun in that? Something that does lend itself to the Vox being just as toxic a boss as the others is the fact that he does offer up the lowest earners to Valentino to shoot. That is definitely a shitty move. The one fact that I will point out here is that this isn't done just for shits and giggles or over a tantrum (like Valentino tearing apart Velvette's model). Vox does this in order to satiate Valentino's bloodlust and keep him from being in a bad mood, causing more collateral damage to the company (again, Velvette's model) and their image, and going after the hotel. It's a calculated move to appease Valentino. And Vox specifically goes for the people who would be the least loss to the company while they regenerate. It's still shitty to offer up your employees to get shot up like a demented carnival game, but I think it's fair to say he wouldn't have done that if Valentino wasn't being a big baby about the whole Angel Dust situation. It's not even his first go to. He plays every card to talk Valentino down first before resorting to the sacrifice of his employees when Valentino insists on being petulant about the whole thing. And what do we see? Valentino's mood abruptly goes from petulant to pleased. He is officially sated and appeased, which was Vox's goal from the beginning.

So what do I think this ultimately says about Vox as a boss? I think that he has high standards/expectations and definitely plays favorites and will absolutely throw you under the bus if it comes down to the protection of his company and image, but on average he's not a terrible boss. I think as long as you do your job, do it well, and make him money, he is perfectly fine to work with.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin velvette #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel vees #the vees #vees #alice rambles #vox's assistant #hazbin eeliot #hazbin papermint

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steventhusiast · 1 year

Text

this ramble of words was inspired by new girl because i am binge watching it at the moment. this is kind of shitty writing but i needed to get this idea out somehow. ahem.

robin squints at the four men sat in front of her, and then looks around the open-plan apartment. she only knows one of them (jonathan) and even then that’s only because the girl she regularly sits next to in her photography lecture is dating him.

“i’m sorry,” she starts, gesturing a little around the room generally, “this apartment has four bedrooms, and there are four of you, and no one is moving out, but you’re...you’re looking for a new roommate?”

the four men exchange looks with each other, and then the one with long curls nods kind of frantically.

“yes.” he offers no other explanation, and robin crosses her arms over her chest.

“something’s not adding up here.” she says and leans back into the couch.

“sorry, how did you find out we’re looking for a roommate?” the one robin’s pretty sure is called steve asks. he looks a little defensive. interesting.

“nancy.” she offers.

“and how do you know nancy?” steve continues.

“we go to college together.” she tells him, and steve exchanges a look with jonathan, almost like he’s checking something with him.

“steve and i are going to be sharing a room.” the one with the curls says, and steve looks like he wants to punch him.

“eddie!” he kind of whisper-yells, and robin mentally notes his name.

“what!?” eddie leans back from steve, and then gives robin a brief once over and nods, “she looks safe.”

“i look ‘safe’? what the fuck is happening here?” robin looks desperately at the other long-haired man who has not said a single word since she got here but looks vaguely stoned.

no one answers her, but jonathan kind of nods his head in agreement and steve squints at her, studies her.

“you know dorothy?” he asks her, and the guy who hasn’t talked yet kind of giggles to himself at that for some reason.

robin suddenly feels as though she is either in a very safe situation or a very dangerous situation. four strangers asking her if she’s gay? in the midwest?

“what’s it to you guys?” she keeps her arms crossed against her chest, now more protectively.

“we know her too.” steve explains, and then pointedly looks at a bracelet he’s wearing, and robin notices that eddie is wearing a matching one.

“oh. oh! ohhhhh... okay, yeah on second thought nancy was very enthusiastic about me talking to you guys about moving here and that suddenly makes a lot more sense.” robin rambles a little, and steve seems to deflate with relief, leaning his head back on his chair.

“although..” she ponders, and looks toward the hallway with four bedrooms, “can i see the two rooms you guys currently have? i want to choose between them which one i get.”

steve and eddie stare at her for a second, and then start moving like they’re about to get up.

“welcome to the apartment, birdie.” the stoned one says out of nowhere. robin doesn’t know how she feels about the nickname, but she’ll allow it for now.

“look who can talk now. what’s your name, roomie?” she questions.

“argyle.” he answers, and offers a very very stoned smile. “i hope you don’t have problems with indoor smoking.”

#this concept made me giggle #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #jonathan byers #argyle #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie au #mywriting

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robynlilyblack · 2 years

Text

Forever then

Remus Lupin x fem! shy! reader

Summary: Remus wakes to find the girl he can't stop thinking about at his door

Warnings: swearing, friends to lovers, first kiss, mutual pining, mentions of sex and slight sexual tension, fluff, one bed trope, one proofread

A/n: 2k words, thank you for the request, enjoy xx

Navigation | Remus Lupin Masterlist

“What can I do for…you”

Remus opens the door to his hotel room a little stunned, slightly by the hour of the knock but more so by the person on the other side

“Hi love” he gives you a warm smile, voice soft as it always was around you

“Hi Rem” you chew on your bottom lip, breathing out slowly as you try to form an answer, an answer you had practised a million times but had since forgotten the moment he opened the door

“Do you need something? Do you need help?” he asks, stepping forward a little during the second question but tries to mask how concerned he was over whatever was wrong, even if it was something tiny

“Well I…you see…” you look down, shying away at what he realises must have been rather intense eye-contact “I was getting into bed…”

Remus’ heart picks up, were you laying in bed thinking of him just as he was sitting with his unopened book thinking of yourself?

“But when I opened the covers there was this big old stain in the middle…it freaked me out a bit” you cringe, looking back up and frowning

“Oh” he snaps out of his slight disappointment yet is still overjoyed you came to him first…even if you were one of his closest friends “Well if you want t…” he stops himself

There were spare sheets in the wardrobe, he could easily give you them and send you on your way back down to the, quote, tiny shitty room Marlene had described to him earlier or…

“You can take my bed if you want” he offers instead, loving the way your face lights up, but then you tilt your head

“Where would you sleep though?” you pout ever so slightly

His eyes linger on your lips, so kissable, wait no Remus stop “Umm…” he looks around the room the back at you “I can sleep on the floor, or that chair” he gestures to it

You eye the chair “Rem you can’t sleep on that you’ll fuck your back” you say without thinking, eye widening at your own swear and volume

He chuckles sweetly “Then what would you suggest I do love?” he wonders, purposefully saying the pet name in a lower tone

You let out a noise he’d thinks not only you could describe yet it’s the single best thing he’s ever heard

“The…” you look around the room “The bed is…there” you note a little awkwardly

“The bed is there” he nods to it, nerves beginning to grow with where you’re going with this

“We could…we could share it” you suggest looking anywhere but him

Remus stays quiet for a moment, analysing your body language, you’re certainly nervous, in fact he can hear your heart racing, but he also knows you well enough to know you aren’t uncomfortable

“If you’re sure” he replies softly knowing you most likely wouldn’t sleep if you refused, giving you a smile that you return shyly with a nod “You can get in then. I just need to get changed” he tells you, watching you nod once more and slowly walk over to the bed while he heads to his small travel case

Fiddling with the zip he flips it open, rummaging through it when he curses “Shit”

“Is everything okay?” he hears you ask behind him

Remus looks at you then his case, he’d forgotten a shirt, sure, he was wearing one now but it smelt like a bar and was all smokey. If you weren’t here he’d probably not even bothered to get changed just crashed but now he was panicking. He wouldn’t submit you to sleeping next to him smelling like this, nor being shirtless which would most definitely make you uncomfortable, and as much as he knew you knew of his condition, he didn’t want you to see how ugly his chest was, then he’d really have no chance

“Remus?”

He turns back to find you looking beyond nervous, you think he’s changed his mind

“I forgot a shirt for bed” he states and your shoulders relax “I’m sorry” he apologies but you only look in thought…and then start unbutting your night shirt

“Y/n” he rushes over to the bed, grabbing your wrists to stop you “What are you doing?” he asks frantic, trying his best not to look down

“I…” you shrink into yourself and he realises his rougher hands are engulfing your own a little tightly and he lets go was an apologetic whisper “It’s okay Rem…I was going to…” you let out a shaky breath “…going to give you mine”

He shakes his head confused, a pink tint appearing on his cheeks “Love that’s awfully nice of you but then you’d be…shirtless” his voice wavers, merlin you made him weak

Your eyes widen at that, letting out a small bashful laugh “I have a vest on underneath” you tell him

“Oh” he smiles, letting out the breath he was holding “Sorry…mind out of the gu…” you tilt your head so he stops talking, not wanting you to know he was thinking anything but the purest of thoughts “Thank you. You only have to give it to me if you’re one hundred percent comfortable. I’m happy to shirtless” he lets go of your hands “Or again the floor if that…makes…you…” whoa

His words slow down and trail away as you resume your previous movements, revealing a little black vest under your shirt, and it’s clear you’ve got nothing underneath that

Minds running down the gutter now

“Here” you slip it off and hand it to him before turning around to get into bed, to which Remus scandalously watches you crawl in, gulping as your shorts ride up

He then quickly moves into the bathroom, getting changed into his checked trousers and then your shirt. Slipping it on it smelt just like you, fabric soft against his skin just as he imagined yours would be, yet he chuckled at how it looked rather comedic on his frame compared to yours

Exiting the bathroom he sees you looking confused in the centre of the bed “You alright there?” he asks as he approaches

“I was…” you stop and do a double take at him, a light smile playing on your lips

He grins, licking his lips “You can laugh” he grants permission and series of small giggles escapes you

“You look cute” you tell him, still giggling yet your eyes tell him it’s nothing but the truth

His cheeks warm “Speak for yourself bunny” he approaches the bed “You gonna take up the whole bed or what” he pretends to shoo you over

Your giggles die at the pet name and compliment, eyes lighting up at it before you quickly shuffle over “Sorry” you needlessly apologise and then again as you fail to pull the cover up but it’s tucked in too well

“Let me bun” Remus continues to use the name, loving your reaction far too much to let it go now

He only needs one yank of the sheets and they are released, allowing you both to pull them up and over your shoulders as you move onto your sides, facing one another

“Hi” you gift him a shy smile, nose nudging into the covers in a way he finds all too endearing

“Hey” he smiles back, heart picking up at how close you were, your small breaths ghosting his own

“Thank you for letting me stay” you shuffle a little closer, the smallest and cutest gasp escaping you as your legs graze his

“Of course, I am a gentlemen after all” he smirks, deciding against calling himself your friend as the reminder would hurt him too much, and little did he know it would have wrecked you too “Are…” his words lose him as you shuffle closer, hands moving to his sides but hovering whilst you seek permission

“Can you hold me? You’re really warm” you ask looking slightly terrified you’ve overstepped a boundary

Remus couldn’t feel the cold, in fact, he was pretty much a hot water bottle. A perk of his wolfish side, and a perk that was going to get him cuddles from his favourite person

“Course bunny” his arms wrap around you, guiding you onto his chest as he rolls onto his back, one hand firmly around you, caressing the small of your back while the other can’t help but brush away the baby hairs that have fallen over your face

Your eyes flick up to meet his, but it’s brief as every stroke of his hand causes them to flutter beautifully. Everything about you and this moment was perfect. Like something one imagines in your head, yet this was real, and it was the moment Remus needed to ensure you never became a what if in his life

“Bun?” he gains your attention, hand slowly gliding down to your neck then back around to your chin, gently pinching it before he cups your cheek

Your eyes open, humming in reponsonse as your mouth parts as his movements, body leaning impossibly closer as a result “Rem…” you whisper as his thumb trails down your cheek finding your lips, gently running the pad along before his hand cradles your jaw and pulls you in

Remus’ heart was thumping, terrified you would jerk away but you don’t, actually he’s sure before his eyes close you’re smiling. It’s confirmed when your lips meet in the sweetest kiss, pulling back only to tilt your heads before you capture them again yet this time it’s deeper, all the feelings that had been floating around for years coming to the surface.

Remus’ hand falls from your cheek to slither around your back, pulling you flush against him and causing a small gasp to escape you. He chuckles as he recontects your lips, feeling your burning cheek against his own

He kisses you for what feels like forever. When you do finally part you’re both breathless, but as he opens his eyes he finds you smiling so wide your eyelashes kiss your cheeks, shining brighter than the sun and he falls all over again, wishing he had done this sooner

“I always liked you” he confesses, and your eyes widen, mouth agape “Can’t be that much of a surprise” he chuckles at your honest to merlin bewilderment

“I wasn’t sure you…liked girls” you confess quietly, looking embarrassed for not knowing but he could never blame you, looking at his history anyone would think that

“Maybe that is true in a way…” he starts and his heart aches at the pout up wear “...because I don’t like you, I love you” your hurt deepens until he says those final three words,

“You love me?” you confirm, eyes glistening

He nods “How couldn’t I? Have you met you?” he nudges his nose into yours, revelling in the giggle it produces “Prettiest bunny in the whole world, inside and out”

You shy away at that, hiding your glee in his chest as you mumble “And you’re my pretty wolf, inside and out” causing his heart to burst in a way he didn’t know possible, not even minding the reminder when it comes from your lips “Rem” you tilt your head up so your chin rests on his chest

“Yeah?” he looks down at you, doing his best not to just cut you off with a kiss

“I always loved you too” you confess, kissing his now exposed chest as the shirt's buttons had come undone during your previous make out session to which his hand drifts up from your hip, tilting your head back up for him to place a chaste kiss “You’re mine now right?” you check “Only mine?” you add with a hint of possessiveness yet in the softest tone

He smiles, melting into nothing as he lets out the smallest chuckle before saying “Yes and yes” he kisses your nose “For as long as you want me” he guides you back down into your previous cuddling position, and just when Remus though his heart couldn’t get any fuller you say

“Forever then”

Thank you for reading ♡

#remus lupin and reader #remus lupin and you #remus lupin and y/n #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin #remus and reader #remus x reader #remus and y/n #remus and you #remus x you #remus x y/n #young remus lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fluff

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dawninlatin · 1 year

Text

Crying in the IKEA parking lot

a feysand modern au one shot written for @officialfeysandweek2023

Feyre is having an emotional breakdown in the IKEA parking lot, but luckily a handsome stranger comes to her rescue

Words: 2,2k | Masterlist | AO3 Link

Feyre had experienced many low points in her twenty-two years, but crying in the parking lot of IKEA had to be one of the lowest.

To be fair, she was having a pretty shit day, a shit year, even, but that didn’t make her feel any better as she stared at the scratch on the shiny, expensive-looking car parked next to hers.

A scratch that was one hundred percent her fault.

She let out a pathetic sob as her mind replayed the moment when she’d been too busy cursing at the furniture she couldn’t fit in her trunk to notice that her cart was rolling away from her, straight into the other car.

There was no way she could afford to pay for the repair, especially not now, when she’d just spent the little money she had on a dining table and a single chair for her mostly empty apartment.

Feyre gave the package still sitting on the ground a kick in frustration. «Fucking useless piece of shit!»

«Are you okay? Do you perhaps need any help with that…?»

The voice startled her, and Feyre whirled around, suddenly facing the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked at her with a mix of concern and curiosity, his eyes so blue they almost seemed violet.

«I’m fine,» Feyre answered a little too quickly, plastering on a fake smile and pretending her face wasn’t all puffy and red. She’d gotten so used to telling this lie lately, it came on autopilot.

Unfortunately, the stranger wasn’t a complete idiot, and didn’t buy her lie. The few tears still running down her cheeks probably didn’t help either. «So crying in the middle of a parking lot is just something you do for fun?» The question was accompanied by a perfectly raised eyebrow.

Smile dropping, Feyre replied, «No, it’s just-»

And that’s all it took for the floodgates to open once more.

«I’ve had a really shitty time lately, and I just needed to get a table because I don’t wanna eat every meal sitting on the floor for the rest of my life, but then I came out here and I can’t get the fucking box in my car and then I accidentally scratched the car next to mine and I know I should be the better person here and leave a note but there is no way I can afford to pay for it to be repaired!» She was full-on sobbing again, choking out the words.

When she’d managed to calm down a little, the crying reduced to sniffling, she looked up, surprised to find that the man still stood there. Feyre had expected her little mental breakdown to scare away the stranger, he’d only asked if she needed help, after all, but there he was, offering her a soft smile and a tissue. «So a really shitty day then?»

«Yeah,» Feyre replied weakly, wiping her tears.

«I wouldn’t worry too much about the car, though.»

«Why?»

He smirked, and it made Feyre want to kiss his handsome face and punch it at the same time. She really should see a therapist or something. «Because if they can afford a car like that, the asshole can probably afford a repair as well.»

This time, when Feyre smiled, it was real. It felt good, after all this time.

«So, did you need any help?» the guy asked, gesturing towards the package still on the ground.

Feyre had barely nodded before he strode over, and in a single, seemingly effortless move lifted it into her car. It annoyed her to no end, but she was also grateful, because it meant she could get out of here and forget this completely mortifying experience ever happened.

«Thanks, uhm…» She didn’t even know his name, she realized.

«Rhysand, though my friends call me Rhys,» he offered, grinning.

His name was Rhys, and he had dimples. How was it possible to be this attractive?

«I’m Feyre,» she replied, completely cool, calm and collected…probably.

«Well, it was nice meeting you, Feyre, darling. I have to go and brave the hell that is IKEA to get something for my stupid cousin, but I hope the rest of your day is better!»

Feyre actually chuckled this time, giving him a wave and a «Good luck!» as he walked away. She watched him in a totally non-creepy way until he’d fully disappeared into the large store, relishing the way she felt kinda good right now. One encounter with a kind human didn’t fix all her problems, but it gave her back some of the faith she’d lost in humanity long ago.

Still smiling, Feyre got into the driver’s seat, but she didn’t start the car. Instead, her attention was pulled to the passenger seat, and the abandoned sketchbook that’d been lying there for months now.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden urge to draw again. The familiar itching in her hands could have brought her to tears if she’d had any left. Maybe she actually could feel like herself again, someday in the future…

Glancing at the car next to hers, Feyre contemplated her choices. There was no way she could afford the repair bill, but no matter how she thought about it, the only right thing to do was choose kindness. What if the rich asshole was having an equally shit day?

That didn’t mean Feyre couldn’t make them feel as sorry for her as possible, though. Maybe if they knew what a mess she was, it would get her out of paying.

So she rummaged around in her car until she found a pencil, then she picked up her sketchbook and started drawing for the first time in months.

Feyre groaned for what had to be the hundredth time as she struggled to assemble the table. Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?!

She knew she should just go to bed and try again in the morning, but she wanted to do this, wanted to show the universe she could manage on her own.

Who knew leaving your abusive ex when you had no job, no education, no friends and no contact with your family would be so difficult?

Just when Feyre was about to give up, her phone suddenly chimed, alerting her of a new text.

Anxiously, she picked up the phone, her stomach flipping as she read the text from an unknown number.

Is this Feyre Archeron?

It had to be the owner of the car, Feyre thought. After all, she’d ended up leaving a rather creative note describing what had happened, signed with her full name and number.

The note had consisted of eight comic panels, first showing an overly animated Feyre looking miserable in her empty apartment, then her looking miserable in IKEA, her emptying her pockets at the register, then swearing as she tries to get the package into her car. Next featured a few panels very dramatically portraying how the cart had rolled into the car completely on it’s own, ending with Feyre drowning all of IKEA in her tears.

To be honest, she was kind of proud of it.

Chewing her lip, Feyre typed back a simple «Yes».

Mere seconds later, it started ringing, that same number appearing on the screen. She nearly dropped it in panic, and honestly wanted to just chuck it out the window. She did not want to buy a new phone though, especially not if she had to spend thousands on repairing an ugly-ass car that wasn’t even hers.

Hands shaking, she pressed reply, bringing the phone to her ear. «Hello?»

«That comic is the best thing I’ve ever seen. I’m seriously gonna frame it and hang it on my wall.»

Feyre’s heart promptly stopped as she heard the deep, silky voice. She would recognize it anywhere, if only from the things it did to her body.

«Rhys?!» she choked out.

«I told you to not worry about the car.» She could hear the smirk in his voice, and for some reason it filled her with rage.

«That was your car?! Why the hell didn’t you say so? I made a complete fool of myself in front of you-»

«No you didn’t,» Rhys interrupted her. «And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to stress you out even more. I’m sorry if that was wrong of me.»

Well, that was awfully…charming of him. Feyre didn’t know what to do with all these feelings swirling inside her. Especially not after living on autopilot for so long.

«Just tell me how much I owe you,» Feyre sighed.

«How about you let me help you build that furniture, and we’ll call it even?»

«What? That’s ridiculous!» There had to be something seriously wrong with this guy, if he thought getting to help her with her furniture would make them even.

«Text me your address, and I’ll be there in thirty. With pizza.»

And then he just hung up.

Exactly thirty minutes later, Feyre opened her front door to find Rhys on the other side, pizza in hand and a panty-dropping smile on his face. «Hello, Feyre, darling.»

«Ugh, just get in.» She was too hungry to bother with pleasantries.

He followed her into the kitchen area, setting the pizza on the counter. Feyre busied herself with getting a glass of water, trying to not let her embarrassment show as he took in the space. She really hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it was all empty.

Well, apart from the still-not-assembled table.

When she looked up, though, he was looking at her, not the empty space.

«Just so we’re clear, I have no ulterior motives in doing this,» Rhys spoke, all serious. His gaze so intense she couldn’t look away.

«I’m not gonna deny that I find you very attractive, and I would love to take you on a date some day, but right now, what I think we both need the most, is a friend.»

Her chest ached at the pain she glimpsed in his violet eyes, a fellow lost soul. Maybe he was just as lonely, just as broken, despite the easy smiles? Feyre smiled faintly, thinking that she wouldn’t mind a friend right now.

Then Rhys opened his mouth again, and the moment was ruined. «And we both know you find me incredibly handsome because duh,» he gestured to his face, and Feyre scowled, flipping him off.

«Are you even qualified to build furniture?» Feyre asked, all serious. If he turned out to be excellent at this she would lose it.

«Are you kidding me? My great-great-grandfather was Swedish. I’ll show you my family tree to prove it.»

«You’re such a prick!» Feyre exclaimed, smacking his arm, but she was laughing as she did it.

This was gonna end in disaster.

«You’re even worse at this than I am!»

«I swear, there has to be something wrong with this table!»

The puzzled expression on Rhys’ face as he sat with the final leg of the table in his hand and seemingly no where to put it made Feyre laugh so hard her stomach hurt a little.

They hadn’t gotten much further from where Feyre had been before Rhys showed up to help her.

«I don’t understand…There are four legs, and four corners, so why won’t it fit?!»

«Let me have a look,» Feyre chuckled, leaning into Rhys’ space to study the instructions once more.

As she reached forward to turn back a page, her hand brushed against his, and she let out a quiet gasp at the contact. He was so close she could feel the warmth emanating from him.

Neither of them moved for a moment, the tension between them nearly tangible.

Then Feyre turned her head, slowly, finding his eyes already locked on her, his gaze intense. It would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him, taste him.

Surprisingly, a part of her wanted to. Feyre knew she could be oblivious, but one had to be a complete idiot to not feel the chemistry between them, the spark that had been there from the very first moment.

Her life was too much of a mess at the moment, though. She needed to get her head above water first, needed more time to heal the wounds from her previous disaster of a relationship.

So Feyre pulled away, swiftly ending the moment. She could sense a shift in Rhys as well, but where she’d expected disappointment, maybe even annoyance, she only found a quiet, patient calm, the soft smile on his face telling her he understood, and he was willing to wait, but if she one day was ready, he would be there.

«I may have lied when I said I was a pro at this…»

«I knew it!»

Feyre gave Rhys a smile of her own, so grateful that he didn’t make things awkward after her subtle rejection. She hoped he could see the words she couldn’t voice quite yet.

I want to, I really do, but I’m not ready.

I haven’t had this much fun in ages.

You’ve made me feel alive again.

Having him as her friend would have to be enough.

For now.

A/N: don't ask about the header i was feeling creative today...

ANYWAY I have returned from the dead (I just started college) to give you this:):) I also actually had a beta reader this time, so kudos to my roommate! I'm sorry for making you read this and watch glee with me at the same time<3<3<3 Feel free to reblog, leave a comment or drop by my ask box, I love attention:)

Taglist: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @rowaelinismyotp

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added to any of them!

#feysandweek2023 #feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fanfiction #feysand fluff #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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smurphyse · 2 years

Text

Lead Paint & Salt Air | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: mentions of Diana's death (not explicit), mini-PTSD flashback for Spencer, Spencer's horny and lonely, also cranky.

Summary: After two years on the road, Spencer breaks down in Thunderbird, California. In only a few hours he meets some of the most eclectic townspeople of his life when all he wants is some peace and quiet.

(Note: Because of the nature of this fic, being inspired by one of my favorite bands, the chapters will be a bit longer than usual to fit with the vibe of the song they're named after <3)

After he was released from Milburn, Spencer’s mother passed in her sleep. It was blessedly quick and painless for her, and though it tore him apart he was grateful at least for that. Finally, Spencer had nothing pressing tying him to D.C., and he followed Gideon’s lead so many years later. Buying a Jeep and taking to the road, Spencer lived out of a suitcase as he’d done for years.

Instead of searching for serial killers, he began a long search for himself.

For two years now, he’d asked miles of pavement and yellow dashed paint who he was. He questioned the night sky and the morning sun over countless towns and cities. He’d even asked the mountaintops and hillsides, and yet he had found no answer.

Spencer started drinking again. It seemed the thing to do in shitty motel rooms and dive bars, putting on a few pounds with each greasy dish that accompanied his bourbon. The bags under his eyes were no longer from a lack of sleep - though he still didn’t get much because of the nightmares - but instead they stained his skin from the exhaustion of that ever-present question in his mind.

Is this who I am now?

Am I broken? Am I beyond salvation? Am I as worthless and lonely as I feel every single fucking day?

It all started when he tried to strangle a pregnant Cat Adams in an interrogation room. He slid down the cold concrete wall in a prison too much like the one he’d been released from when it first erupted through his brain like a bullet. One question led to another… and another and another, but they always started with that one.

Is this who I am now?

At this point, he was sure he’d never find the answer. Instead, he’d contented himself with wandering, exploring all that America currently had to offer. One day he’d move internationally, maybe go back to Paris where he’d spent time with his mother.

He’d happened upon Thunderbird, California early that morning. Worried he was lost forever in the Cali wilderness, Spencer followed the rising sun through winding forest roads as it streamed through the trees. After a few hours cautiously eyeing the offshutes of paths and trails, he finally burst into civilization.

It was a tiny beach town. A handful of buildings littered the main street, string lights connecting them along with the wind-blown piles of sand scattering along the road. Houses haphazardly were plopped along the varying hills that hid it from the outside world, but it was beautiful.

The shops on the main strip were brightly painted, handmade signs reading Billy’s Bait and Go!, Sue Says Sew, and Gil’s Grocery proudly proclaiming strangely named stores that gave little question for what they did to service the town. Spencer had yet to spot a normal chair on the porches outside- they were all either beach chairs or porch swings swaying in the light breeze.

Sunday was the Fourth of July, and the town was in full patriotic mode. Red, white, and blue windmills and flags sprung up from nearly every lawn. A fireworks stand was smack dab in the middle of a roundabout in the center of town, with a few people hurrying across the curved road to it. A man in an oversized Uncle Sam hat handed out sparklers to the kids, smiling wider than the sun.

Spencer spent the morning in the town diner, Bean There, looking out the large window as the small town came to life. It was apparently known for its local coffee. Spencer had to admit it was good, on the top ten list he’d tried in his travels. Though the best coffee had been found in a China Town shop in lower Indiana, which he was loath to admit.

He sat in a booth in the corner, people watching as the crowds picked up and petered out. All sorts of people filtered through the door as they used the diner as a waystation before heading out to the rest of their days. In a town of less than five hundred, any outsider was noticed immediately, and Spencer was no different. Nearly every person who came in eyeballed his Jeep on the way through the door and squinted at Spencer before ordering. He didn’t mind, he was used to being the outsider, had been his whole life.

He picked at a plate of waffles and bacon, holding a book loosely in one hand as he enjoyed the morning sunlight through the window. His waitress, Michelle, had given him a side-eye after his first hour, unsure what to make of him. He simply tipped her early, going with a twenty-five percent tip of what he’d already ordered. She was much more amenable after that, mostly leaving him alone but checking in periodically with a smile and a refill.

His hair was still long. He had refused to cut it, even after JJ's insistence over video chats. He liked it, especially liked these new trends of men finally getting to put their hair in a bun. He liked the look, and had been enamored with the Nordic styles he read of in his youth, braiding and intricate knots decorated with silver and beads. He missed those days in Earth’s history.

He wore a pair of jeans and a purple flannel shirt with his boots. Though he often preferred suits, this style had appealed to him greatly in his early days on the road. He’d been called a “hipster” more times than he cared to admit, but he felt strong in his fashion choices. He knew he looked good, and Spencer had long since gotten used to the beard. Shaving on the road was hard and without the dress code constrictions of the BAU, he was happy to grow it out.

“Hey, Honey!” Michelle chuckled from behind the counter as the front door swung open. It chimed in greeting as two people stepped through and into the cool air-conditioned building. Spencer tried not to stare at the woman, but he’d spent a good long time on the road and it had been a while… and she was gorgeous.

Her hair poofed around her shoulders, eyes alight with an animated excitement. Copper toned muscles peeked out of a tank top and tight jeans, a red flannel tied around her hips as she sauntered into the diner. She had her arm looped around an older man’s waist, who hugged her tightly back before letting go as they approached the counter.

He had a clearly visible Ranger tattoo on his bicep, both of which were bigger than Spencer’s head. With his slicked back salt and pepper curls and giant frame, Spencer knew he wanted nothing to do with being on that man’s bad side.

“Mornin’, Chelle,” she smiled, easing into the stool across from the waitress. The man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, looking curiously around the diner as many patrons had that morning. His gaze landed on Spencer, who quickly glanced out the window to avoid his hard stare. "How's it going?"

“Oh, you know how it goes- a flirt here, a proposal there,” Michelle jokingly lamented as she pulled two mugs out from under the bar. She snagged the carafe from the coffee maker and filled them before sliding them across the counter.

“Oof,” the man chuckled heartily, finally tearing his dark eyes from Spencer and to her. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You joke all you want, Rose Delgado,” Michelle scolded, her playful smirk turning to a hard glare. She pointed at him, “I am a catch and everyone here knows it.”

Rose held up his hands in defeat, “My bad, Chelle. You’re absolutely right. If I were a few years younger I’d try for your hand too.”

“Who says you can’t?” she quipped with a wink, and Rose went bright red.

He dragged an awkward hand across the back of his neck and laughed, "Huh, well, I think Mattie May might have a problem with that."

The women laughed along with him, and Michelle tapped the counter lightly with her fingers, "I'll put your usual in. Extra powdered sugar, right, Honey?"

The girl referred to now forever in Spencer's brain as Honey nodded, licking her lips. "It's gonna be a long day, Chelle. Give me as much coke as you got."

Rose smacked the top of her head in jest, and Honey looked up to stick her tongue out at him. She glanced over at Spencer as he slid out of the booth, and even as he made his way over to the counter to pay she never averted her gaze. A gold ring was tied to a string necklace around her neck, and it was all Spencer had not to follow it to where the pendant rested between her boobs.

"You drive that Jeep outside?" Rose grumbled as he approached. Michelle came back up to the counter as Spencer tugged his wallet out of his pocket.

He handed her more than enough for his meal and another tip, then nodded, "Yeah, that's mine."

"Your axle is about to crack. You should get it looked at."

"I'll do that," Spencer replied politely. He was used to strangers telling him things he didn't really need to do by now. They often took one look at him and deemed him an academic, which wasn't wrong, but to them it usually meant he couldn't take care of things himself.

"Here's your change, baby," Michelle interrupted, reaching across the counter with a ten in one hand and a to-go cup of joe in the other. Rose stared at him, as did Honey, but Spencer just shook his head at the waitress.

"Keep it. Thanks for letting me keep your booth for a few hours."

He swept up the cup, gave her a nod and turned on his heel out the door. She laughed to herself and shouted after him, "Come back soon!

"Boy tips real good," he heard her just before the door closed behind him. "He can live in that booth if he wants."

Spencer smiled to himself as he hopped in the jeep. This was a nice town, but he'd been through a lot of nice towns. He had to keep moving, searching, coming up with a reason for leaving his friends behind to worry about him.

He decided to see the beach before going back through the trees. He wanted to see Oregon, but his phone didn't work so well in these isolated parts of the state so he'd have to buy a map somewhere. He made note of the lone gas station in town, then followed the signs to the sand.

It was early, but there were people in the water. Spencer wasn't much for swimming, so he parked his jeep in the small lot and pulled a blanket out of the back. He found a secluded spot on a hill, unfurled the blanket and sat down. He took off his flannel and shoes, leaning back to enjoy the view.

The sounds of shrieking laughter and the waves lulled him into complacency as he sipped his coffee. The sun was hot, but not too bad for this early in the morning. Unlike DC, this area wasn't humid, and the soft winds off the water cooled his skin.

Is this who I am now? Popped into his mind, always at the worst times. Once upon a time, he was a strong and capable man, an elite FBI agent always willing to go the extra mile. Now, even sitting here exhausted him. Speaking to the townsfolk at the counter exhausted him, and all he wanted to do was have a drink and go to sleep.

Is this who I am now? He wondered. Am I the guy who has nowhere to go and nowhere to be except the road, running far away from my past and the pain that follows?

He supposed so. Being out here hurt less than sitting in his empty apartment, looking into the void of his missing heart and wondering just when exactly his life passed him by. He always thought he’d have a family, kids and a wife by now. He thought he’d have a house and people to depend on him, that he’d love and they’d never wonder if it was out of obligation or a bond from trauma like it had been with the BAU.

Sure, they called him every week or so, just to see if he was okay. Their voices were always laced with concern, but a dripping tiredness of having to worry about the kid. Spencer hadn’t been a kid in a long time, and with each new trauma their babying of him became just another weight added to his shoulders. Another reason to prove himself.

It never worked.

Deciding it was time to go, time to run away again, Spencer dragged himself away from the beach and its false allure of peacefulness. He rolled up the blanket and put it back in its usual spot in the back of the jeep, put his coffee in the cupholder and he was off again.

Coming up the bend from the beach, he spotted a pothole one second too late. The back wheel slammed into it with a loud crunch, and before he knew it the back of the jeep collapsed into the sand-dusted street.

“Oh, goddamnit,” he grunted, punching the passenger seat in irritation.

Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket, and sure enough he had zero reception. He groaned and let his head fall back on the headrest, his eyes shutting. Sucking in a deep breath, Spencer counted to five before letting it go.

“Yer axle’s cracked!” a voice came from the side, and when Spencer opened his eyes he spotted a beat up truck next to him on the road. It had cans dangling from the sides on old fishing line and other random trash piled up in the back, a boat hitched to the back of it.

An old grizzled man leaned heavily out the window, pointing at the back of the jeep and nodding, “Yep, y’ain’t goin’ nowhere, son.”

“Yeah,” Spencer snapped, furrowing his brows at him. “I noticed.”

“Ain’t no need to take a tone with me, boy,” the man grumbled. He pointed a gnarled finger at Spencer that shook in the air. “I’mma help you.”

Spencer didn’t have a lot of faith that his twisted tree limb of a man was going to be much help to him, so he waved his cell phone at him. “I’m sorry. Can I borrow your phone so I can call a tow truck?”

The man frowned with an exaggerated bottom lip and shook his head animatedly, “I ain’t got one of them things! Ya think I want brain cancer or somethin’?”

“Uhm… no?” Spencer began, but he cut him off with a beckoning hand.

“No. I don’t,” the man nodded firmly. “C’mon, I’ll take ya up to Rose’s place.”

Spencer groaned internally at the name he’d heard this morning. It was the same squinting old man who told him the axle was about to crack in the first place. Then he brightened up at the thought of getting to see Honey and her tight tank top again.

“I ain’t got all day, son. I’m busy, y’see,” the man called, breaking through his thoughts. Spencer nodded to himself and turned off the jeep before getting out and snagging his suitcase from the back seat.

He rounded the truck only to open the creaky door and find almost an entire carton of cigarette packs littering the floorboards, along with a variety of loose tools and nails. Spencer climbed into the cab and closed the door behind him, setting the suitcase on his lap. It was a travel size, just big enough for a week’s worth of clothes and shoes. He kept his toiletries in another bag in the back of his car.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said softly. “Sorry for snapping. It’s been a bit of a day for me.”

The man chuckled, a little choked huffing sound from deep in his throat. “It’s been a bit of a day for everyone, son. It’s only nine in the mornin’!”

Deciding it was better to scoff in his mind and not at this weird stranger driving him through town, Spencer nodded. The brightly colored shops passed them by as the man drove at a snail’s pace, stopping for the allotted three seconds at each stop sign and never using his blinker.

“Name’s Nell, by the by,” the old man declared suddenly, jerking Spencer out of his reverie of the town. “Not that you asked. What’s yer story, son?”

“Uh, I’m Spencer,” he said slowly. Awkwardly. “I’m just traveling.”

“That’s a sheht story. No pizzazz, no flare. Ain’t you got stories where yer from?”

How do you like dead mutilated bodies? He wondered. Spencer laughed quietly and made sure to stare straight ahead. Nell’s eyes flicked quickly to his each time he looked over, and the truck veered with them.

“I’m not much of a storyteller, Nell.”

“Shame,” Nell muttered, his top lip twitching as he seemed to think very hard about that. “Puppy dog eyes like that, you could get a peach and a half to follow you home if you could string a good yarn.”

Spencer struggled to follow that metaphor, so he just gave a noncommittal hum. The thought of a man who looked like Nell referring to a woman as a ‘peach’ left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You ever been this way up before?"

"Nope. Just passing through on my way to Oregon."

"Ah, sheht," Nell grumbled. He slapped the steering wheel and pointed at nothing. "Oregon ain't got nothin' on Thundabird! I came here after 'Nam and never looked back!"

Spencer thanked God that Rossi didn't talk like this, not that fighting in Vietnam caused mushmouth, but he was getting irritated.

"Lotsa people round here just showed up. Never left. It's a town of strays, y’know? Might find somethin' purty and never wanna leave like I did."

"Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, not really paying much attention. He gazed longingly out the window and decided he could have walked faster than Nell drove.

"Met my Bernie and never could leave. She’s purtier than a seagull at sunset, I swear it.”

“You have any kids?”

“Nah, she’s small. Not much more’n me can fit in there most of the time.”

Spencer made a face and turned to him, disgusted, “What?”

Nell leaned forward and rubbed a hand across the dash of his nasty truck, “She’s small, but she’s a beaut! All I ever needed.”

Thankfully, they finally made their way up to the diner. Delgado’s lay catty corner to it, right next to a small inn called The Thunderbird Inn. Spencer got the hell out of Bernie as fast as he could and waved a hand to Nell. “Thanks for the ride, Nell. It’s been a trip.”

“Anytime, son!” Nell chuckled manically, and it was all Spencer had not to grimace. He pulled out of the small driveway slower than molasses, almost hit a stop sign, then rumbled down the street.

Spencer took a steadying breath and shook his head before going into the mechanic's shop. A small reception area stood in the front, the smell of grease and exhaust puffing in from the door leading through the garage. There was a window in front of a desk where a small woman sat in a headscarf. She wore a brightly colored floral shirt, her braids piled high above her head as she gave him a small wave.

"How ya doing, baby?" she asked with an easy grin. The tension in Spencer's shoulders from talking to Nell eased in just one look at that smile. There was also something about an older black lady calling him ‘baby’ in a soft voice that made him feel better for some reason.

"Uhm, my car broke down," Spencer said, pointing behind him.

She nodded, "I'm Mattie May. Rose told me you might be making your way here."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Spencer snarked, rolling his eyes.

"Don't take it personal," Mattie May hushed. She stood and rounded the corner, then waved for him to follow. "Man's got a sixth sense about cars. In fact, I first met him when I broke down on the side of the road outside of town."

Spencer followed Mattie May behind the counter and into a small kitchen area. He eyeballed the fridge as she puttered around. Pictures of Rose, Mattie May, and Honey littered the front. Some had group photos with a few of the eclectic townsfolk he'd run into already, others with people he didn't know.

"He asked me to dinner before fixing my car. I fell head over heels and never looked back. Moved here a few months later." She pulled out a fresh pot of coffee and poured him some in a brightly colored mug with flowers on it, then one for herself. "You take sugar, baby?"

"Lots of it," he muttered, leaning down to look at more of the photographs. "This town's like the Bermuda triangle, huh?"

"For lost souls… yeah, I guess it is," she said softly. Her skin glimmered under the fluorescent lighting, dark and beautiful against the bright purples and pinks of her shirt and beaming smile. "You lost?"

Spencer stood up sharply, suddenly rocked with defensiveness. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "How long do you think the repairs will take?"

Mattie May clicked her teeth and sighed, then handed him the mug. "Rose will have to tell you that. If he doesn't have the parts you can stay at the inn. I'll have Honey make you up a room."

Spencer took a sip. It was fantastic, obviously from the same beans the diner used. "Is she your daughter? I saw her with Rose at the diner."

"We've definitely taken to her like she is. Another stray that showed up a while back and never wanted to leave."

"Do people who come here ever leave?" he snarked, flashing her a look.

"People land where they need to. Sometimes that's here."

"I'd like to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. No offense."

Mattie May smirked at him and leaned against the counter, "None taken."

"Axle cracked, huh?" a familiar deep voice came from behind them. Spencer looked to find Rose leaning over the front counter and watching him expectantly.

"Right in half."

"Hmmm," he grunted, nodding to himself. "I'll send out Rico."

"The man's got somewhere to be, Rose," Mattie May said, waving her cup at her husband. "How long will it take to repair?"

Rose pushed himself off the counter with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face as he ambled slowly into the small kitchen, then shrugged. "I don't have that model in stock as nobody in town drives it. Could take a month for the parts to come in."

"A month?" Spencer asked sharply. He set the cup down harder on the counter than he meant to, and it hit with a clatter. "I can't sit around here for a month."

“Or more.” Rose shrugged, "UPS only comes through here once a month by boat. It's too hard to get through the mountains."

"Where you off to in such a hurry?" Mattie May asked softly. She set a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft squeeze. "If you gotta be somewhere soon, I'm sure we can find you a ride."

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck roughly in irritation. "Nowhere. I just don't like sitting in one place too long."

"You some sorta drifter?" Rose asked, eyeing him with a hard glare. Spencer was sure he looked the part with his old flannel, messy hair, beard and battered boots, but he didn’t like the thought after his previous line of work.

Spencer glared right back, his jaw set tightly. Mattie May blew out a breath and gave him another squeeze before letting her hand fall from his shoulder. “It might do you good to sit still for a while, then. C’mon, baby, I’ll take you over to Honey and we’ll get you a room.”

Mattie May steered him around Rose and out the front door. A loud boom! Made him jerk away from her and flinch from the sound. A few errant pop pop pops followed, and when he heard her soft laughter he looked up to see kids lighting fireworks in the street.

His vision dragged, his blood pounded in his ears as he tried to convince himself he was fine. He wasn’t being blown up, and he wasn’t at Everett Lynch’s home. Mattie May’s voice ripped him sharply to the present as she called to them.

“Y’all go somewhere else and do that! People are tryin’ to work!”

Their shoulders deflated and they nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Delgado!”

She shook her head and chuckled, turning back to Spencer. He stared at the charred spot on the pavement where the firecrackers had erupted, chest heaving as the acrid scent of burnt embers flooded his nose.

“You okay, baby?”

Spencer found himself turning toward her kind voice, his eyes wet and suddenly more tired than he’d been in months. “Yeah. I’m… I’m not a big fan of the fourth of July.”

“The firecrackers?” she asked. He nodded. “Did you serve?”

“Uh, no ma’am.” He didn’t want to tell her anything about the FBI. Since leaving, Spencer hadn’t told anyone that he used to be an agent. What he’d become was too shameful.

“Holly Henson isn’t much for it either since he came back from Iraq, neither is Rose. I bought them some noise canceling headphones for this time of year. I have an extra pair.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

She led him into the front of The Thunderbird Inn, where Honey sat behind the reception desk with a young man Spencer hadn't met yet. He was tall and about her age, near thirty, leaning over the counter and smirking at her. His easy going grin and good looks reminded him of Luke, as did his dark closely cropped hair.

"I'm serious, Honey. It'll be fun."

Honey lounged in a roller chair and crossed her hands behind her head, "I'm not going to the bar on the fourth. I'll end up having Lionel and Ritchie pawing all over me and looking down my shirt."

The man peeked a little further over and grinned, "I'd tell you to wear a different shirt, but I can't exactly blame them for trying to sneak a peek."

Honey sat up sharply and slapped at him, and he jumped back with a mad laugh. She looked over his shoulder and her eyes brightened as she saw Spencer. "Axle cracked, huh, big tipper?"

Spencer squinted at her and nodded. Mattie May laughed and put a hand on his shoulder, "He needs a room for the night, Honey. Rico, Rose is lookin' for you. You gotta go tow this young man's car."

She turned to him, "I never caught your name."

"Spencer. Spencer Reid."

Rico eyed him the way Rose and every other person in this town seemed to, "Your axle cracked?"

Spencer sighed in pure exasperation. “Yes.”

Rico glanced back at Honey, who shrugged and made a face. He made his way toward the door, watching Spencer. His shoulder bumped Spencer's as he passed and then he was gone, Mattie May following closely behind.

"I got Room 4 open, Mr. Reid," Honey said playfully as Spencer glared out the door where Rico went. He looked up to see her dangling an ancient key attached to a little green tag with the inn name on it. "Follow me."

Spencer followed her and her tight jeans down a hallway to the left. The inn was a big square, two levels, with only a handful of rooms on the first floor. Honey took him to the center where the rooms met in the middle of the curved hallway. A door across from his had a sign on it that read Management on the front in faded gilded lettering and a doorbell on the side.

"Dinner’s at six. I'll bring you a plate," she said absentmindedly as she fiddled with the door. She clasped the handle and tugged up as she turned the lock. "Door sticks, and there's a patio out back where we usually have a bonfire this time of year. If it's too loud, let me know."

The door opened with a crack, and she pushed it open for him to step inside. The room was small and airy, wide broad windows that had a view of the far off ocean and palm trees. Spencer spotted boats and people in the water as he stepped up to them to look out. The tulle cottony curtains swayed with the breeze through the cracked door, and without much thought Spencer shut and locked it.

The bedspread was a bright sky blue with matching pillows. The walls were painted off-white, with pictures of the beach and the town plastered all over, much like Mattie May’s fridge and the reception areas of both businesses. Spencer dug into his pocket as he looked around with hardly disguised disdain and pulled out his wallet. He handed his credit card to Honey, but she just stared at him.

“Don’t you need this?”

“First night’s on Lionel. He was supposed to fix that pothole weeks ago.”

Spencer squinted at her, “How do you know I hit a pothole?”

She smiled, wide and bright. “Saw you drive toward the beach. Townspeople know to avoid it.”

“Good to know,” he grumbled, stuffing his card back into his wallet. “Is there a phone I can use?”

“Mmm, most people here don’t have cell phones. Providers don’t get great service around here, but there’s a landline on the nightstand.”

Spencer nodded, looking to where she pointed. “Internet?”

Honey laughed, but when she saw him watching her sternly she stopped. “Oh, you’re serious. There’s Collie’s Cafe down the street. It’s dial-up but it’ll get you what you need for a dime every ten minutes.”

“God this place really is the Bermuda Triangle,” he groaned, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. “Does everyone have a weird name here?”

Honey put her hands on her hips and made a face, “Who’s got a weird name?”

Spencer just glared.

Honey broke out into a creeping slow smile and nodded to herself. “You’re not a lot of fun, are you, Mr. Reid?”

“You can call me Spencer.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. She tapped her jaw and watched him, “This is a nickname kinda town. You stay here long enough and you’ll get one too.”

“I hope to God that doesn’t happen,” he said irritably. “If Honey’s not your real name, do you mind if I ask what it is?” “Y/N,” she replied with a grin. “Call me that and we’ll have a problem.”

“I don’t want any problems, Honey,” Spencer snarked back. “I just want to leave Margaritaville and go to Oregon.”

Honey bit her lip and smiled before turning on her heel and walking toward the door. She lingered for a moment with her hand on the knob, obviously chewing on something in her mind. Sucking in a breath, she glanced his way once more and said in a soft voice, “Maybe your problem is that you can’t enjoy where you’re at, Spencer. Maybe you should take a breather.”

Before he could angrily reply, she closed the door behind her. It didn’t fit in the frame well, and he heard her little grunt as she pulled up on the knob to latch it shut. Shaking his head and letting out a pained breath, Spencer hoisted his suitcase up and tossed it on the bed, grateful to be alone again. He plopped down next to it, elbows on his knees as he looked around, and that question popped into his head again.

Is this who I am now?

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Notes: PLEASE tell me what you think... this series is so close to my heart. What do you think of the townspeople we've met so far? Reader/Honey? Sad!Spencer??

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@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid

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leviathism · 2 years

Text

leviathan x gn reader;; shitty levi

It made him upset when you pulled away from his touches.

Leviathan had never been a touchy person. He had always been averse to touch, no matter who it was with. He’d only really tolerate it from Asmo or Mammon and he’d rarely ever be the one to initiate it.

So when you had quickly left him after he tried to hold your hand and sit close by you, he had been angry, sad, and obviously jealous.

You were probably touchy with all his other brothers. He could already imagine you snuggling up to Asmodeus at night or helping Mammon after a scary movie or cuddling Satan as you two read a book.

Why couldn’t you two sit close together when playing a game or watching a show? It made his blood boil. So he decided to watch you with his brothers, ready to snap at any moment you touched them.

Before you had seemed normal to him. You were easy to talk to, to rely on, and you never favored one brother over the others. You were perfect. He hated you.

But then he saw his brothers starting to get annoyed with you. How you always leaned away from Mammon when he accidentally blurted out he loved you for the third time that month or when Asmodeus flirted a little too much in a single conversation. When you declined Lucifer’s offer to expensive restaurants and wanted to go to a more deserted and less expensive place.

And how you tore up any magazine wondering who you had a crush on, whether it be Lucifer, Mammon, or Asmodeus. (Or even the forbidden Belphegor? After killing you, could the two of you find love?)

You never answered any questions. When Lucifer asked if you ever wanted anything more, or when Asmodeus asked what you wanted in a relationship. When Mammon tried to make you play 21 questions with him and you always took a shot on all the deeper more risky questions.

Nobody knew anything deeper about you than what your favorite color and hobby was.

Why don’t you like being touched? That’s what Levi wanted to know.

He saw how you would drag Mammon away from expensive watches he could never afford. But then he saw how you’d slip out from under his arm.

He saw how you let Belphie nap on you if he leaned on you after he fell asleep, but when he was awake? You’d quickly find an excuse to leave.

Nobody could put the moves on you. Even when Beelzebub shared his food with you, you were sure to add “bud” to the end of your sentence when you thanked him.

Leviathan was stumped. And still angry. He didn’t care that you didn’t touch any of his brothers. He still wanted to be the exception. He wanted to be the one you would touch and comfort and love.

He was so busy stewing in his negativity in his room that he was startled when someone shook his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” He looked up and saw you and almost screamed. He jumped out of his skin and you had to catch him to make sure he didn’t slide out of his chair. “Whoa!”

“What are you doing here?” He snarled, wrenching your hands off of him. You dutifully withdrew your hands, staring at him shocked. How dare you be shocked. He almost exploded. He felt like Satan.

“You didn’t answer my texts. And you kept staring at me for the past week, dude. It’s kinda scary.” He’d show you scary. He huffed and looked away, crossing his arms to show how serious he was being. How stone cold he could be. You didn’t want anything to do with him? Fine.

“…”

You uncomfortably shifted, stepping away from his chair. “Did I do something wrong?”

He didn’t answer and instead finally looked at you to glare at you.

You faltered, obviously not expecting that look from him. “Um, I’ll come back later. Bye.”

You were so quick to leave, shutting his door firmly behind you. Just like how he usually asked you to do. He stayed in his spot for a while. He had wanted you to touch him. You had, but not in the way he wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted.

#obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x you #obey me angst #obey me x gn reader #obey me x gn!mc #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x y/n #obey me #leviathan x reader #leviathan angst #it’s implied aro reader but it doesn’t have to be #unfinished sort of

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starstofillmydream · 6 months

Note

You were about to lie down when you heard the door chime. An involuntary groan escaped you. It’d already been a far too long day, and now somebody comes to bother you in the middle of the night? You almost ignored it, almost chose to not give a fuck and leave whoever was outside standing in the cold. But the door chimed again and you realised that whoever was out there was evidently quite determined.

So you went and opened the door, an angry “What?” escaping your lips before you even realise it.

But then you look up and stare into familiar brown eyes. There was a softness, a compassionate in them. He had always been very tuned in to how you felt, but had he really realised that quickly? Well, you had just barked around him.

There was a soft smile on his lips, betraying his affection. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“You said two more weeks.” It was all you could get out, as you stood there, in shock. You’d been thinking about him every day since he left, had felt that gaping hole in your chest and you had prepared yourself to feel this way for two more weeks, but here he was. Cody. Your Cody.

“Guess I missed ya,” he said, his smiled widening.

You finally start grinning too, before you rush to pull him into a hug. He reciprocates on instinct, holding you tightly against him. You can feel the hard plates of his armour digging into your skin, but you don’t care. Cody was back and he was with you and he was safe. And that’s all you really ever ask for.

———

About an hour later Cody has eaten and showered and is now lying in bed next to you. Your head is resting on his chest. You can hear his heart beating, feel him breathing. His hand is in your hair, stroking it absentmindedly. He was exhausted when he arrived, and was already dozing off now.

You had a million things to say though, a million questions to ask about the campaign and a million more things to tell him about your godawful day. But you didn’t, because you wanted him to rest. Besides, with him here nothing else really mattered that much.

And yet. Despite the relief and joy dancing in your chest, there was still a pit in your stomach and a certain tightness in your throat. And after a while the contradiction became too much and silent tears began rolling down your face.

You hadn’t thought Cody would notice, as he was basically asleep at this point. But then you felt him stir.

“Cyar’ika?”

That single word, in that tired yet sweet, sweet voice was enough to knock something loose inside you. The tears started flowing faster and a small sob escaped you as you sat up, your back towards him. You were glad the lights were already out, so there was hardly a chance he could see you.

“Hey, hey,” Cody said softly and sat up as well, moving closer to you and gently grabbing your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

He leans in and kisses your cheek and you sob again. His arms wrap around your waist now as he practically pulls you into his lap from behind.

“What is it?” he asks again.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice a bit unsteady. “It’s just been such a long day and most of the evening was really shitty and I’m so happy to see you but I’m still just…,” you trail off and sigh, trying to wipe some of your tears. It sounds pathetic now that you told him, but Cody wasn’t laughing.

No, he was stroking your back with one hand and wiping your tears with the other. There was such a kind calmness to the way he moved, to the way he touched you.

“You’re overwhelmed?” He suggested, offering a name for the issue.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

For the next hour and a half the two of you stayed in that position. You told Cody about every shitting thing that’d happened as of late and he listened attentively and answered every question you asked. He never stopped rubbing your back or kissing your face or scratching your head or finding another way to show you his affection throughout the whole thing.

You don’t remember falling asleep that night, but when you wake up the next morning it’s in his arms. And what else could you ever really ask for?

PHI 🥹😭 HI HELLO HOW ARE YOU HOW HAVE YOU BEEN?!

This is absolutely beautiful and made me so giddy and so comforted at the same time. You captured Cody's emotional intelligence so well—I genuinely felt like I was being held by him in my bed. The hug? The kisses? The hand running through the hair? Listening attentively and asking questions and staying engaged? Being pulled into his lap (this one in particular took me out)??? The overall gentleness? This is the dream realized.

Thank you so, so much for sending this to me. I appreciate more than you know; honestly, more than words could adequately express. Reading this instantly made me feel better. You're such a talented writer so receiving this in my inbox was such a treat 💕 It was so nice hearing from you and I hope all is well for you!

#phi 🥰#asks #commander cody

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all-hail-the-witcher · 1 year

Text

questionable government spies, but better written and 5 years late chapter 2: please don't scramble my eggs

back at it again :)

i got stuck in florida for 5 days and produced this

___

words: 750 (short but its necessary)

edited: yes :)

warnings: kidnapping, threats, gangs

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy (let me know if you want to be tagged)

ch 1 | read it on ao3

___

*24 hours earlier*

It was a normal day for Spot. Which should have been his first red flag. There were no normal days when you worked for The Anonymous.

Which was why he really shouldn't have been surprised when between one second and the next he was getting knocked out and thrown in a van.

Next thing he knew he was blinking his eyes open in a dim, dank room. One single lightbulb flickered annoyingly above him and thick rope dug into his wrists. Something chirped in the corner. Rats, most likely. Spot wasn’t sure if the higher ups in the gang simply had no money or just had a thing for shitty movie interrogation core rooms because believe it or not, this was not the first time that he had ended up in a room that looked like this.

“Sean Patrick Conlon.”

Fucking Christ.

“Oscar if you wanted to talk to me you could have just asked like a normal person,” Spot sighed. “We work in the same building. There was really no need to pull out all the stops for me.”

Oscar stepped into the light, a sickly smile stretched across his stupid face. The hilt of the silver knife he was rolling between his hands clicked against his many gold rings. Spot resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“You know you shouldn’t talk to me like that,” Oscar grinned. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

“I wasn’t aware that kidnapping me and tying me to a chair fell into that category”

Faster than he could blink, Spot felt the tip of Oscar’s knife digging into his collar bone. He ground his teeth together so he wouldn’t flinch. It wouldn’t do him any favors. He waited for Oscar to make some kind of smart ass comment, but what he said instead was far more terrifying.

“Why did you never tell any of us that you have a sister?”

Spot’s blood went cold. He hadn’t seen Grace in years. She had been placed in a different foster home than he had been after their mom had dropped off of the face of the earth and he had never been able to find her again after he had aged out. After a few years he had come to accept the fact that she had likely been adopted by whatever family she had been placed with.

He fought to maintain his composure. “So what if I do?”

Oscar was unfazed. “Grace Michaels. You know she’s living in the city? 42 West 64th street. She has a cat named Slippers. Her Amazon package is arriving today, she ordered a new 10 foot iphone charger. She left the house at 7:33am with her fiancée. Did you know she was getting married? I’m assuming he didn’t ask for your permission.”

Spot narrowed his eyes. Straining against the rope would just make Oscar more annoyed.

“His name is Patrick Cortes,” Oscar continued. “He proposed during their vacation two months ago in Italy. The date is already set for next November. She picked out her dress two weeks ago.”

“What do you want with Grace?” Spot asked, fighting to keep a straight face. In a way, it was comforting to know that Grace was still alive and seemingly okay, but if Oscar was interested in her then that might not last for much longer.

Oscar flipped his knife in his hands. “Tomorrow morning you are going to go to the FBI Headquarters in Times Square and you are going to turn yourself in. In exchange for your immunity you are going to offer to work with their agents in order to take down this organization. You will refuse to work with every agent except for Antonio Higgins. You will build trust with him and help him to infiltrate our organization. After one month you will double cross him, leading him to his death.”

“And why would I do that?” Spot had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

“Because it would be a shame if your sister was in a horrible accident before her wedding, don’t you think?” Oscar smirked.

“You’re sick.”

Oscar shrugged. “It’s not my plan. This one’s direct from the higher ups.”

“Of course it is,” Spot muttered. “I’m assuming I have no choice?”

“Not unless you want your roommate to find your head on his doorstep.”

Spot tried to imagine Elmer opening the door of their apartment to his head in a cardboard box. Not a good mental image. Especially when Elmer thought that he worked as a security guard at a Hilton hotel.

“Do I have to kill him?” Spot asked. That was his one remaining boundary. Over the years they had pushed him to do worse and worse things, but he had still remained firm in the fact that he didn't want to kill anyone.

“No,” Oscar said. “The higher ups have a plan for him.” Spot resisted the urge to shudder. Hopefully whoever this Antonio was was an asshole so that he didn't feel bad about leading him to what was surely to be a terrible and painful death.

It was a lose lose situation and as usual, the only way out was through. That was how things worked around here. And the worst part was, he was stuck here.

“So are you in?”

“Yeah.” Spot hated that he didn’t even hesitate. “I’m in.”

___

:O evil spot

ch3 will be long and incredible to make up for how short this one is

let me know what you think !!!

#saphie scribbles #newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #sprace #spot conlon #spies 2.0 #sprace newsies #racetrack higgins

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spottyissleepwalking · 1 year

Note

Hello, sorry to bother you but can I ask a question about the warrior cats disability post you reblogged earlier? And I mean this in good faith, honestly, I want to understand.

I haven't read warrior cats, but just from what was described in the post, it sounds... realistic? Since not everyone bounces back from becoming disabled. For example, a coworker and I (in a labor intensive field) have the same injury to our knee. He, I guess you could say has responded "well" to his injury. He has a higher drive to push past pain, not let it limit what he can do, and is able to work as hard, or harder, than non-disabled coworkers, but he is still absolutely disabled. In his case, he often overworks himself and thus ends up having to take off several days to recover and is on a lot of pain medication, both Rx and self medicated. In the scenario presented in the post, he would def be able to stay in the warrior class. But I didn't respond well to my injury, and don't react well to pain. I fell into a deep deep depression that took almost 8 years to crawl out of. Doing the exact same tasks as he does, I work slower and more carefully, avoiding pain at all costs rather than pushing past/despite pain. I'm slower, not as effective. But I don't need to take time off or frequent breaks to recover, and though it takes a little longer, I do just as much work as he does at the end of the week when accounting for the time he takes to recover. I like to imagine that I've reacted to my injury well, but can't help feeling inadequate and worthless when compared to coworker. Especially on days that we work side by side and he's running quite literal circles around me. And remember, we have the exact same injury with very similar causes and only a few months time difference.

From what I understand of the culture of Warrior cats (which is admittedly very very little) I imagine I'd end up in a healer class as well, even if I wished I could be warrior class. I would give almost anything to work as fast, as effectively, as hard as coworker does. But I can't.

So I guess what I'm asking is, what am I missing from the narrative, as someone who hasn't read warrior cats, that makes a character, who has not returned to their former glory after an injury, a poor representation of disability? As the post stands on its own right now, it just feels like it's kicking disabled people when they're down for not acting like they're still fully abled. Like shaming a paralyzed person for not joining a sport.

I have to assume that it's just poorly worded for anyone outside the fandom, but it really does come of as... well... ableist. Which is what drove me to ask, since making assumptions of ableism is generally kinda shitty, and I am curious about the source material.

I hope I didn't come off aggressive or let my emotions on the subject get carried away here, genuinely sorry if it does come off rude. I promise am asking in good faith because I want to understand from a creative standpoint if the narrative actually handled it poorly, and how-so, to help myself and others potentially avoid making the same artistic mistakes.

Thank you for taking the time to read this wall of text, and again, so sorry for bothering you!

No no!! Not aggressive or rude or anything of the sort :D

I’ll be honest, I didn’t read the full text, but I got the gist of it so I’ll try to answer aptly ^^

The problem with Warriors isn’t that there isn’t disability representation - there is, it’s just. Awful. Why? Because almost every single disabled character, sans THREE, in a series that has thousands of named characters, is FORCED into a role they don’t want - or KILLED. Solely for being disabled, solely for being “different”.

It’s not that they necessarily chose that life for themselves, it’s that it was forced upon them, which is where so many fans (reasonably) draw issue with. Disabled characters are offered the bare minimum in Warriors canon. Either they’re essentially forced to become a doctor, with the trope of “the broken-bodied healing the able-bodied” (which personally unsettled me greatly), or they’re shipped off to the elder’s den, which is a place where cats retire due to old age and are cared for by their Clanmates, usually without ever having the chance to prove themselves, and display both their abilities and weaknesses. They’re just automatically shoved into this corner.

There was a Deaf character, once, in the decades-long span of this book series, that was told he would never become a warrior solely because of his deafness - and then was immediately killed off in a manner that was almost never used again as a device to kill a character.

There was a character who was hit by a car and, as a result, ended up losing the function of one of her back legs. Prior to this, she was training as any other young member of her society would. Immediately after? She became a doctor.

There was a character who became blind due to an outside force, and, despite being the equivalent of maybe a thirty-year-old, immediately retired to the elder’s den.

There was a born blind character who fought to train as a warrior, under a half-blind warrior. He was doing well in his training - until the in-universe religion came down to him and forced him to give up his dreams in order to become a doctor. Granted, his case was a little more complicated and intermingled with plot, but it still stands.

There was a character with anxiety who was a poor hunter, and was pressured to become a doctor because of his lack of skills.

There was a character who was paralyzed, and was dismissed as dead, or “better off dead”, by almost everyone around her - INCLUDING HER OWN FAMILY - except the blind character, who found kinship with her and fought tooth-and-nail to keep her alive and healthy.

And the thing is? These characters are CATS! Cats, who have been documented living alone in the wild with these sort of disabilities and thriving!! Which makes it all the more frustrating to see a narrative built around the appeal of cats, have them have this whole support system and community, and that community actively turn their backs on them.

It’s not about them choosing. It’s about them being forced. Not having any opportunity to grow, or learn, or allow others around them to do the same in regards to them. There’s no acceptance here. In universe, it seems like they’re just shoved into the shadows so the able bodied characters don’t have to look at them or think too hard about them, unless they’re healing their wounds.

The characters themselves are not the poor representation. It’s how the authors have handled them - by shoving them aside, to the shadows, to the dogs. It’s frustrating and disheartening.

#warrior cats #warriors #ask

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