#gonna end up in a padded cell

[bodhrancomedy]

Guess who's on TV!

(Well, iPlayer until the 15th, that's when it airs on BBC One)

Hope Street episode 3.11, let's go!

First of all, I'd say they did me dirty with this picture, but my university ID was exponentially worse.

Onto the spoilers!

Our boy Matthew has arrived in Port Devine, looking a little concerned.

For good reason when he's suddenly confronted by this lad, Dara.

Ah, a fight which Matthew escapes by slipping out of his coat. (Pretty sure this is the take where we ripped it practically in two...)

Dara's questioned, he claims he's never met Matthew in his life. Hmm.

Police do some investigating (and some character stuff) before Dara makes his way to Matthew's mother (Louise)'s house to have a wee showdown.

They both in a gang and Matthew's stolen a gun. Dara needs to get it back...

Matthew's nay having it. "This is my way out. If they want the gun back, they have to let me go."

Another fight. The gun goes off! (Poor Pete and I were convinced after take one to put some padding on. My arm looks bulky because I'm strapped up with squishy stuff and allergic to plasters so it has to be in a sock)

Thank fuck no one was hurt. Dara gets the hell out of dodge -

Leaving Matthew to contemplate his mortality. And other people's, but mostly his own.

"Oh fuck, my bosses are gonna find me and murder me, oh shit. I'm far too young and pretty to die!"

Time for Matthew and Louise to follow Dara's example and get the fuck out of here.

The police are now on the Halbridges' trail, but they discover the phone tracking them and leave it in a field.

Meanwhile, Dara's been arrested for drug dealing. He refuses to talk, clearly nervous.

Ah, what's this on Dara's phone? So Matthew and Dara have been in a relationship for over a year now.

(The poor intimacy coordinator having to walk me through my just about second kiss in my entire life. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth... Pete is a very sweet person. Made it all funny.) ("Relax your hand, Bodh. Just relax it. Open - open your fingers, just let me position your hand.")

They're both working for the same gang. Matthew was given the gun to hold onto by their bosses' and freaked out, running away with the weapon. His plan was to trade his freedom for the gun, but Dara was sent to get it back for the Brazier Brothers, notorious drug runners and gang leaders.

These guys.

Unfortunately, now Dara's had to tell the Brazier Brothers that Matthew is refusing. They're going to kill Matthew and then Dara. Oh no.

But Dara has an idea where they might be hiding.

At the caravan there's a standoff between the police and Halbridges. But when the Braizer Brothers are arrested, they're convinced to come out.

(Side note, my favourite picture of me, ever.)

Oh no, the Halbridges are going to jail and Matthew's regretting his life choices.

Matthew walked off to his new life inside a jail cell.

The end.

(This is where Niall Wright accidently sublexed my shoulder. To be fair to the man, I'd never mentioned it and he took his finger sliding in-between bone like a champ)

Look, it's me!! I was on TV! Bit sad they cut pretty much all the uses of SSE (weren't allowed BSL because we still had to speak the lines), but I got to be queer and Deaf so that's pretty nice.

#deaf #queer #funny #actor #hope street #hope street bbc #long post #spoilers

[eideticmemory]

BETTER OFF AS LOVERS | SPENCER REID

Three years after ending your relationship with Spencer Reid, you find yourself representing him in court on federal murder charges.

Word Count: 12k.

Warning/Includes: MAJOR CW for Spencer’s dilaudid arc and graphic mentions of drug use. Prison!Spencer, Lawyer!Reader. Bounces between the past and present through bold italics. Mentions of murder, prison, and violence. A little bit of smut.

Because both you and Spencer are compulsive overachievers, it’s been hard to ignore each other. He saves a kids life every other week and your quick wit has taken you to the (very near) top of the DC law food chain. He picks up a newspaper, you’re smiling arm in arm with the district attorney. You turn on the TV, he’s up there declaring national manhunts. It’s hard to avoid each other, but you have both tried so, very hard.

So hard, in fact, that when Spencer is lying in a jail cell, waiting for any sign of life to shine through the bars, he is not even thinking about you. He’s thinking about his mom. His job. His future. His very recent past. But not you. And even though he doesn’t realize it in the moment, it’s a blessing. He should’ve taken the moment to be grateful.

When Emily comes up to his cell, he hops up and all the thoughts stuck in his head rush out in word vomit. Why isn’t she in the office? How is the office? How’s his mom? And once he learns that everything else is perfectly fine, he remembers that he, alone, is fucked.

And Emily’s very good at that soft voice, that everything will be okay voice, but she doesn’t know that. Not really. Spencer knows that she doesn’t and he swallows himself in self pity, saying, “I don’t even have a lawyer.”

“About that…” Emily says before a beat can pass. “I, um…I made a call…”

Spencer tilts his head at her.

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

You’re eating lunch when you get the call. You have a sandwich held in your mouth as you scribble notes on a legal pad which you promptly cross out.

“Miss [y/l/n]?” your receptionist announces herself at the door.

You drop your sandwich, “Hey,” you smile. “Yes?”

“You have an Emily Prentiss on the line for you. Do you want me to patch her through?”

Your smile drops, you can’t help it. Your heart sinks to the very bottom of your stomach and you have to clear your throat, remind yourself to breathe.

“No,” you shake your head. “No,” you stand to your feet. “No, thank you. I’ll answer her in here.”

You close your office door behind her. You close the blinds. You stare at the blinking light on the phone for what feels like hours. You take a seat at your desk, you stare some more. Then you pick up the phone.

“This is [y/n].”

“Hi, [y/n]. It’s Emily Prentiss.”

“Emily…” you breathe out. “Hey.”

“Do you have a moment to talk?”

You sigh, “Is…is this about Spencer?”

Emily pauses, just for a moment, but she knows it’s best to be honest, “It is.”

“Is he dead?” It seems blunt. But, to you, it sounds like a fair and natural question.

Emily clears her throat, “He’s in jail.”

Maybe she expected a gasp. A soft cry. But all you do is close your eyes and draw in a deep breath. You say, “Okay.”

“Now, I understand if you decline. I do. But I have to ask…are you available to come to Quantico for a legal consult with me? Just me?”

You stare at the ceiling, grinding your teeth so hard that you think your jaw may crack under the pressure. And in the span of just two hours, you tell her yes. You reschedule your afternoon meeting. You walk through a metal detector and pat down in Quantico. Yet, you’re not truly in your body until you step on the elevator. You feel yourself rising through the building and the familiarity of it hits you like lightening. You think, not now. You cannot break down now.

Later.

You stand and look over at Spencer’s empty desk, only for a moment and then you tear yourself away. You knock on Emily’s open door and she immediately stands when you sees you, “[y/n], hi,” she moves around her desk, “Hi, thanks for coming.”

You give her a hug, and she holds on for longer than she means to. She looks you in the eye and asks, “How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

She sighs, walking back to her desk as you close the door. “We’ve been better.”

You take a seat across from her, look around the office, and now you smile, “I like you in here, chief.”

She chuckles, “I assume you heard about Hotch?”

You nod, “I did…only courthouse rumblings.”

“Yeah, well, uh, team’s been good,” she rummages around her desk. “Pushing through. I see you’ve climbed the ladder in recent years.”

You shrug, smirking, “All bribes.”

She laughs, “Oh, c’mon, we both know that’s not true. You’re the best of the best. I wouldn’t have called you if you weren’t.”

And when she sees the light go out in your eyes, reminded by the reality of the situation, she does nothing but set the file in front of you. You exhale quickly out of your nose and you stare at Spencer’s name etched along the edge. You pick it up and place it in your lap, ducking your head to read it. His mugshots nearly make you gasp, but you stifle it. You put your finger to your lips and you try. You try so hard not react. Not in front of Emily, even though she can read you anyway.

You read the entire file. Front to back. Your eyes flick off of the last word and you slam the manilla folder closed. You look up at Emily, her looking at you, waiting for you, so patiently. You open your mouth, and she prepares herself for whatever you could say. Anything. Everything. She’s prepared.

You breath out, “He was high?”

She was not prepared for that.

She shakes her head, “He was drugged. The guy we’re after is notorious for using drugs to incapacitate his victims.”

You nod, “And let me guess. The bureau won’t help with his legal defense?”

She shakes her head, “He broke protocol.”

You roll your eyes, “Stupid…”

“[y/n],” she calls to you.

You look up at her, raising your eyebrows.

“I understand if you don’t wanna be involved. I know defense isn’t your normal side of the bench. But I meant it when I said you’re the best of the best. When I didn’t know who else to call, I called you. That doesn’t mean you have to agree to this.”

You look out the window and your eyes fall on Spencer’s desk once again. It is empty like he has not been there for weeks, lifeless. You turn back to Emily, “Where are they holding him?”

In the dead of night, you burst into the law library in town. It was pouring rain outside and when the receptionist saw you drenched and leaving muddy footprints behind you, she asked, “You need any help, hon?”

“No, thank you,” you called, but you did not stop moving. You marched over to the torts section, you knew it all by heart. You swiped your fingers over every author, noting the alphabet in your head and you were slightly enraged to find that the book you needed was missing. You groaned and checked again. Then again and again. You sighed. You looked around the dimly lit library and it was almost instant. You saw his table, you saw the book, and then you saw him.

And before you really knew what you were doing, you were walking up to him and he was so entranced in reading that he didn’t even look up at you.

“How much longer are you gonna be?” you asked him. And then he looked at you. You thought, oh wow he’s pretty, but you were on a mission here.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“With the book. How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“Uh…I probably have…about a hundred pages left so…five, six minutes maybe?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “Are you fucking with me?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, an awkward laugh, an uncomfortable laugh, but mainly an oh fuck a pretty girl is talking to me laugh. “No. No. You can…sit and watch, I swear. Time me if you want.”

You looked at him, arms crossed. You checked your watch and nodded, taking a seat, “Fine. Five minutes. Go.”

He gave you a small smile and then went back to it. You watched him trace his fingertip down the page, flick to the next one and down he traced again. You were curious. But irritated. But intrigued? You checked your watch with one minute to go and he went, “Okay, done,” and slid the book across the table.

You caught it in your palm, and looked up at him, “You are so full of shit.”

“What?”

“There’s no way you just read all of that in five minutes. There’s no way.”

“But there is a way because I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

He laughed, “I can recite it all to you right now. Front to back.”

“Where are you?” he seemed confused by this question so you continued, “Hm? George Washington? UDC?”

“Quantico.”

“Oh, you are so full of shit!” you went to grab the book and leave but he wasn’t ready for you to go.

“No, no, wait. Seriously. Look at my badge,” he pulled it right out of his bag. “I just got it today.”

You took a look, and when it wasn’t clear enough, you stepped closer, held it in your hands.

Spencer Reid. Behavioral Analysis Unit.

You handed it back to him, “Never met a twelve year old fed.”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected you. “And, uh…I get that a lot.”

“And what does a twenty-three year old fed need with a first year law book?”

He shrugged, “Just light reading.”

You rolled your eyes and he could just tell that you wanted to smile and so he smiled so big at you, hoping it would rub off.

“Book’s all yours,” he said. “I’ll find another.”

No smile.

“A-a-and if you’d like to…I-I don’t know…stay out of the rain, I’d…like it if you’d…maybe sit and read with me?”

You bit down on your lip and you hesitated, looked around as you weighed your options. Then, you took a seat. He grinned over at you as you flipped the book open and it was there.

Small, but a smile.

Back in holding, Spencer sits. He waits. He digs his nails into the bandage on his hand and his knee won’t stop bouncing. The same thoughts rush through his head, but every so often they are cut off by images of you. Every you. Every season. The last time he saw you. His breath catches so tightly in his chest that he actually hunches over in pain, squeezes his fist. His eyes keep darting towards the door, anxious, quick, hoping you’ll come. Hoping you won’t.

What gives it away is your heels. They’re fast and they’re loud, a rapid click-clack-click-clack on the floor. He sits up straight, holds his hands in his lap, forces his leg to stop shaking. Emily walks in first, and in behind her comes you. Picture perfect, dolled up, professional you. Your eyes connect and it should make him nauseous. Instead, his body relaxes. You’re the one that’s nauseous.

“Well,” Emily says to cut the tension. “I know this is an legal meeting so I’ll just give you two some privacy.” And she gets the hell out of there.

You step to the side as the door closes behind her. You set your brief case down on the table and have a seat. As the two of you sit in silence, Spencer feels that you’re judging him. Scolding him, staring him down. But all you’re thinking about is how much his hair has grown, from his head and from his face and underneath it all, he is still him.

You clear your throat, look away, “I’m obligated to remind you that everything you share here is kept confidential by attorney-client privilege.”

“I didnt use,” he spits out.

You pause, your eyes cutting up to him. He is staring into your soul. He wants you to hear him.

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head. “I wouldnt. I swear.”

You have to let that simmer in the air for a moment. You have to swallow it like a large pill, let it force its way down your throat and into your stomach. Through your bloodstream.

“I believe you,” you say. “Tell me what happened.”

“I-I…I did not kill her.”

You nod, “…okay. What else.”

“I-I…don’t remember anything else.”

“Well that…doesn’t help me here. It doesn’t matter if you say you didn’t kill her and you know that. What matters is evidence. The facts of the case.”

“I’m telling you I don’t remember anything, [y/n]. If I did, I would tell you but the entire thing is a-a blur.”

“And I’m telling you I can’t do anything with that.”

“Just… tell me what you really want to say.”

You consider it.

“I’m not here to judge you,” you tell him. “I’m here to build you a legal defense.”

“Whatever’s going through your head, I can take it,” he huffs. “Tell me.”

You purse your lips at him. You shake your head. But he insists. He peers into your eyes in waiting. Begging.

You inhale and with a hefty wave of breath, you shout, “Going to Mexico? Not telling anyone where you are? Smuggling experimental drugs across the border? Are you serious?”

He nods. He takes the blows as they land.

“Do you even comprehend the shit hole that you’ve dug for yourself? I mean, honestly, you-you should go to prison for at least,” you pinch your fingers. “A little bit because it should be a crime to be this stupid with an IQ that high,” and you punctuate it all with a sigh of relief.

Spencer sniffles, “Feel better?”

“No,” you say instantly. And you say this next part very clearly, “Because I can’t promise you that you won’t go to prison.”

The reason that you and Spencer worked so well together, you think - you thought - is that there was a certain amount of independence. After your meeting in the library, after all the pulling he did to sweep you off your feet, you decided that yes, you could do this. You could have a boyfriend who traveled for work. You could handle not seeing him for days or weeks on end. Just in your second year of law school, you thought: I will never have time to miss him. I will drown in school work and textbooks until he returns. It will not phase me. It will not change me.

Then you kind of fell in love with him. And suddenly you always, always had time to miss him.

“Hey,” you found yourself smiling when he called. On the other side of the country, it was only nine but you were in DC still studying at midnight.

“Hey, honey,” Spencer cooed. “I knew you’d be awake.”

“Like I could sleep at a time like this? No, thank you, this is all nighter territory.”

“Sorry I won’t be there the day of your exam.”

“Don’t worry about it. They need you out there more than I do.”

“I know, I know, I’d just slow you down,” he laughed.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” you nodded. “But…I miss you…wish you were here to slow me down.”

“Soon.”

“I know.”

“And, y’know, if we just moved into together, it could be even sooner.”

“Ooh, yeah, and we could get a plant too and watch it die a slow death because no one’s ever home.”

He cackled, quieted down as he whispered, “Just…try to actually get some sleep, okay? You can’t pass your exam if you’re exhausted. And make sure you have a good breakfast. A real breakfast, not coffee and some pop tarts. At least toaster strudels, okay? And afterwards, take yourself out for lunch or-or take someone with you. But don’t sit and think about it and drive yourself crazy. You’re gonna do great. You always do.”

You nodded, stifling a soft laugh, “Yes, doctor. Anything else?”

He shrugs to himself, “Just that I miss you. I can’t wait to see you.”

You grinned, “Soon.”

When your alarm went off at seven in the morning, you checked your phone to see that Spencer had woken himself up, three hours behind, to send you a message.

Two words: Toaster strudels!!!!

And over the next few days, you were truly too busy to miss him. You took your exam at ten o’clock on the dot and you took his advice, you went out to lunch. You thought about the exam only a little bit, to run through it with your friends before you started day drinking, and then there was nothing to do but wait. Keep yourself busy.

As soon as the jet lifted off, Spencer called you. Your phone was buried at the bottom of your bag, which was swinging against your hip as you walked across campus. You didn’t realize it was ringing until the very last second and by the time you pulled it out, he had already left you a voicemail.

As you waded through the crowd to see your posted exam score, you held the phone to your ear and listened.

“Hey! Hey, [y/n], we’re, uh, on the way back now. Safe and sound. I should be there by this afternoon. Uh, let me know if you get your exam results, okay? I’m so excited to see you. Call me when you can.”

Posted on the wall was the glare of your future, staring you in the face, chewing into your soul and you dropped the phone back in your bag.

When Spencer landed and still hadn’t heard from you, he slowly came to expect bad news. He bought you flowers on the way home, he called you, he texted multiple times to tell you he’d be coming over. He walked up to his apartment solely to drop off his things and before he could get to the door, he stopped in his tracks.

You stood up quickly, your face breaking out into a wide smile. Your hands shook and all you could say was, “I passed! I-I passed!”

And in an instant, he dropped everything except your flowers and ran to you, engulfing you in a big, tight hug. “Of course you did!” he shouted. “Oh, god [y/n], of course you did! Here…” he released you so he could rush to unlock the door.

“And I didn’t just pass, babe. I passed with flying fucking colors!” You let yourself into his apartment, still rambling while he dragged his things inside. He stood in awe as you paced around the living room, throwing your hands in the air. “Do you know what this means? I could be a real lawyer any day now!”

You looked at him, huffing and puffing with this toothless, wide smile that sat in your cheekbones. So happy and pretty that he forgot how to talk. “T-These are for you,” he stuttered, walking over to you with a bright bouquet of flowers.

Your eyes darted to the flowers, but only for a moment and then back to Spencer, and he was looking at you with so much love that you felt it in the pit of your stomach. You held eye contact with him as you took hold of the flowers, your fingers overlapping for a split second. And in one swift motion, you pulled him in by the back of his neck and dropped the flowers on the couch. It stunned him, sure, but it was instinct for him to grab onto your hips and kiss you. That is, after all, exactly what you wanted him to do.

You stood of the tip of your toes, took hold of his face and balled your fist in his hair. He grunted against your lips, held onto you tight as you dragged him into his bedroom.

“Okay, okay, okay, just-“ he stuttered as you tore off his shirt. His head got caught, the two of you burst into laughter, and you gave him a kiss as soon as the shirt hit the floor. You swiped his books off of his bed and laid yourself down, pulling him on top of you. When your pants got suffocating, you flipped him over so you could take them off. Your boobs hung in his face as you grabbed a condom from the nightstand and he ran his hands all over your body. Even when he could hardly breathe because you were rolling the condom onto him, he caressed your thighs and his nails rolled on your skin.

You giggled, going, “Stop, that tickles.”

He said, “Sorry,” and tickled you again, laughing as your body squirmed around and you chuckled into a kiss with him.

You were usually a lot softer with him. No rush. But the adrenaline in your body had you bouncing on his cock so quickly that you wondered if the whole bed might cave in. You kept looking at Spencer to make sure he was enjoying himself he was enjoying himself. His head was hanging off the bed, hanging loose from his neck and his mouth was wide open, releasing some of the loudest moans you’ve ever heard from him. When he realized he was getting close, he would grab your hips real tight, you’d stop and after a few breaths, he’d let you go. He’d let you get right back to it.

Afterwards, you collapsed beside him and tucked yourself in the crook of his arm, your hand on his heaving chest. You kissed him softly and he moaned, “Mm…” rubbing your back. “I love when you get a good grade.”

You cackled and threw your head back, tracing his bottom lip with your fingertip, “I love when you’re home.”

“Oh!” he suddenly shouted. “Speaking of, we have dinner reservations on our anniversary at seven. I’ll probably get called out before then but I will be back in time. I promise.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Then I’m a bad boy. A very bad boy,” he grinned, leaning into you as you laughed.

You held his face, gave him a kiss and nodded, “It’s a date.”

And he did eventually get called out again just over a week before your reservation. You have a very vivid memory of kissing him goodbye the day he left. He was himself. He was happy, and towards the end of the week, he called overly cocky saying that this case would be wrapped up soon. That he’d be home with a night to spare.

He lied.

People know you here. When you speak with the distric attorney on Spencer’s case, he knows you. He knows Spencer. And that should make it easy to negotiate here, but it unfortunately makes it that much harder. Luckily, you’re as stubborn as you are determined and with a bit of sparkle, you can get Spencer down to two to five years in federal prison.

That is, until new evidence arises. In that moment, all the oxygen and arguing and fight you’ve given goes out the window. Emily trails up beside you when you return, saying, “I just got the news. What now?”

“Now,” you sigh. “We tell Spencer.”

And as soon as you walk into the room, he is rising to his feet, staring at you. His eyes scan over your features and he goes, “That’s not a good face. What happened?”

“I…” you start. “Was able to talk Martinez down to involuntary manslaughter.”

“Manny Martinez?” he interrupts you.

“Yes,” you enunciate. “And he offered two to five years.”

Emily glances at Spencer, and asks you, “A deal? Well, that could mean they know they have a weak case?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. “But they could also just be in a rush to close this with minimal publicity.”

Looking to Spencer, you owe him the truth, “But they found the murder weapon in the desert. About an hour ago. The blood and prints are yours.”

The words knock the air out of him like a strong punch to the chest. You can see his eyes zone out, stuck on the floor as he sits himself down and tries to breathe. Emily is spinning gears in her head but you cannot stop watching him.

“Okay, so, where do we go from here?” she asks you.

“Well, the two to five quickly came off the table. Now, it’s five to ten at minimum.” Still, you watch Spencer. He can’t stand to look at you.

“And this is the only way he can avoid trial?”

You purse your lips and nod, shrugging, “Plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter, write a statement to the bureau. That’d be the end of it. Any other course of action will require presenting evidence to a jury.”

When Spencer finally decides to lift his head and speak, he looks you dead in the eye and asks, “Do you think I should take it?”

Your face visibly softens and you shrug, “Beats twenty-five to life. Which they will sentence if you’re found guilty, and with this evidence…it’s likely…”

He looks at Emily and when he cannot take the look of pity in her eyes for one more second, he asks you, specifically, “May I speak to you alone, [y/n]?”

You glance at Emily and nod, “Sure.”

The door closes and Spencer, comfortable enough to let his guard down, suddenly stands from the chair, hiding his face in his hands. He paces around the small room and pulls at the root of his hair. It’s very unlike him but in this moment, he says, “Fuck.”

“Yes,” is all you can add. “What do you want to do here, Spencer?”

“I-I-I don’t know. You’re my lawyer, can’t you just tell me what I should do? Tell me what to do.”

“I can’t do that. I’m not the one facing prison here. You have two options, okay? If you want to take your chances in court, I will be there. I will bring every weapon in my arsenal to defend you, but I can’t guarantee that the outcome will be better than five to ten.”

He shakes his head, “The team will crack the case. They will. They’ll catch Scratch and they’ll clear my name.”

“Oh, my…when?” you raise your voice. You don’t mean to. “This month? This year? This decade? Who knows? W-who knows how long you could be locked up before they catch a break?”

He sniffles, one single tear falling down his cheek as his head falls in defeat, “What…what do I do, [y/n]?” he cries. “Just tell me what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

And against ever fiber of your being, you instinctively cross the room and engulf him in a hug. He sobs into your neck and holds your waist in tight in his arms, breaks down when you run your hand through his hair.

He’s hurting but this helps. This helps a lot.

“Hey!” you answered Spencer’s phone with a joyous greeting. “Hi, Diana. Hi! It’s [y/n], how are you?”

And while she was beyond excited to talk to you, she rambled about her son. How he hadn’t called her in close to a week. How she missed the sound of his voice. “It just isn’t like him,” she said. “It just isn’t like Spencer. He calls me. He calls me everyday. Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied as you stood over him in bed. “Yeah, he’s okay. He’s, uh, he’s…”

He waved you off, silently ordering you to hang up and leave him alone. He rolled over onto his side and hid his face under the blankets. He wanted to make sure he was as avoidant as possible.

“He’s just…tired. But I know he…he’d love to speak with you…”

He did not move. And he had not moved since returning home from Tobias Hankel. He just hadn’t. You weren’t sure if he ever would. But as you continued to talk on the phone, the sound of your voice going, “Yeah, yeah,” grating his nerves, he hopped out of bed and went straight for the bathroom. The door slammed, it locked and you just hoped Diana didn’t hear it.

“Yeah,” you told her. “Yeah, he’s busy right now. Y’know, case paperwork and such. I can have him call you back?”

Then there’s a thud. Loud. It shakes the floor of the entire apartment and your breath catches in your throat.

“Yes, of course. I will have him call you,” you stared at the bathroom door. “I promise. Okay. Alright, bye.”

You rushed to the bathroom, immediately trying to open the door but it was locked. You wiggled the knob, you pounded on it, calling, “Spencer? Spencer?”

You found the key on top of the sill, with your hands trembling as you shoved it into the lock. When the door swung open, it stopped against something. Something heavy, something big. So you pushed and shoved enough that you could poke your head in and when you did, you screamed. You shrieked at the top of your lungs. The thing blocking the door, the thing laid out on the floor.

It was Spencer.

Spencer is due to appear in court this morning. You’re going to vomit.

You arrive promptly with thirty minutes to spare and you spend that time trying to find your client. Though you do not see his face, you notice him standing at the phone, dressed to impress in a sharp suit. His hand bandaged in the least disgusting way possible.

“Mom,” he says into the reciever. “I want you know that I’m safe and I have a great lawyer.”

You cross your arms over your chest, stand firm behind him and proudly eavesdrop.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it’s actually, um…[y/n]. Yeah, no. No, we’re not back together, she just…she’s a great lawyer. The best.”

And he goes looking for you, at the mention of your name, he starts scanning the room, like he can feel you somewhere. Somewhere. He turns around to find you leaning against the wall. He smiles. He can’t help it. Neither can you. You throw up a small wave and he waves back.

He speaks into the phone, telling Diana, “She says hi.”

The judge comes into the courtroom and almost immediately, she looks ready to leave. You weren’t nervous before, you don’t think Spencer was all that much either. But now, shit is getting real. Shit is getting very real.

“Miss [y/l/n],” she says to you. “Your client is a federal agent?”

You rise to your feet, nodding, “That’s correct, your honor.” You both notice Spencer still sitting and you whisper through your teeth, “Stand the hell up,” and he stands the hell up.

“Some very serious offenses brought against you today,” she tells him.

“Yes, your honor,” he nods.

“Miss [y/l/n], does your client wish to enter a plea at this time?”

You nod, “He does.”

“And how do you plead, Agent Reid?”

Spencer looks her in the eye and proclaims, “Not guilty.” You hope nobody sees you roll your eyes.

“Mhm,” the judge nods. “And as to bail?”

“The people oppose bail and request remand, your honor,” the district attorney responds, now standing.

“Remand?” you repeat. “Your honor, my client does not present a flight risk.”

“He’ll be staying with you, I suppose?” he fires back and you can’t help but cut your eyes at him.

“Good one, Manny.”

“Your honor,” he continues. “The defendant fled the scene in Mexico…”

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” you interrupt. “He was drugged against his will.”

“And failed to inform the FBI of his international travel, effectively breaking protocol.”

“With the intent to return home and care for his mother, who struggles with schizophrenia and alzheimer’s and lives with him full time. He is her sole caretaker, in addition to his career as a highly decorated member of the BAU.”

“And as a member of the BAU, he has connections all over the world that could prove highly useful if he chose to flee.”

“Agent Reid is more than willing to surrend both his professional and personal passports if it pleases the court.”

“Again, he has the connections to both recieve a counterfeit passport and evade arrest.”

“Your honor, all Agent Reid wants to do is stay here and clear his good name.”

“He should’ve thought about his good name before sneaking across the border.”

You glare at Martinez and look back to the judge, “I can provide sincere and respected character witness to the court today. All highly decorated members of FBI, willing to speak on Agent Reid’s behalf.”

“Miss [y/l/n], I am not particularly inclined to hear character witnesses at the moment,” the judge tells you.

“Then we can abide by a curfew, court ordered restrictions…”

“Too little, too late for that, Miss [y/l/n],” she silences you. “If past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior, and I do believe that it is…then your client does present a flight risk…” and with one, dramatic pauses, she says, “Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

The gavel lands and that’s it.

Spencer is put in handcuffs, in front of his entire team, in front of his family. In front of you. And all he can do is look at you. Eyes wide and terrified, looking at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry, I’ll come see you as soon as I can.”

He believes you. He has to believe you.

Standing there in shame, the feeling in your gut quickly turns to anger and you march out of the courtroom, pass the team and into the hallway. You see the district attorney walking towards his office and chase him down.

“A flight risk?” you catch his attention and he turns around. “Really, Manny?”

He shrugs, “Judge Frost agreed.”

“Yeah, judges tend to do that when things are taken out of context.”

“Hey, the facts were clear as day. Don’t be mad at me because your boyfriend might go to prison, okay? That’s on him.” And with that, he walks away. You want to throw something at the back of his head.

You want to burn the whole building down.

Instead, you run. You run off to an empty corridor, where you are well aware no one will find you. You pace up and down the floor, your chest heaving, your hands on your hips.

“[y/n]?” Emily calls from behind you. When you cannot get out of your own head, she repeats, “[y/n]?”

“Why did you call me?” You shout as you turn to her. “Why did you bring me into this? Why? Why?” you sob and you put your face in your hands, sliding down the wall in a dramatic breakdown.

Emily immediately rushes to you, bending down to hold you in her arms. “You did everything that you could,” she tells you. “You did your best.”

“I’m always doing my best!” you whine. “I’m always, always doing my best for him and it’s not enough! It’s never enough!”

There’s too much for Emily to unpack there, so she shuts her mouth and she holds you.

The day that you graduated law school, Spencer stayed by your side the entire time. And that was good. That was good because you could be sure that he wasn’t shooting up and you could relax. He looked good that day. Not perfect. Not clean. But good. He dressed up, he could walk in a straight line and he was so, unbelievably proud of you.

He handed you flowers the moment the commencement was over. He took all the pictures so you could have the memories forever. He hung on your arm like a trophy boyfriend because, that day, he was a trophy boyfriend and he could not have been happier.

“Surprise!” was shouted at you as soon as you stepped into your apartment. Adorned with balloons and family and friends, you were overwhelmed and nearly dropped your degree. You turned to Spencer and he dropped his shoulders bashfully, too shy to outright accept all the credit. And still, you took him in a firey kiss, you gave him all the credit.

As you walked around, having something to eat, thanking everyone for coming, talking about your plans for the future, Spencer came up to you and said, “I’m going to grab the cake, okay, honey? I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, okay, baby, thank you,” you smiled and gave him a kiss.

He didn’t come back for an hour.

And when he did come back, he overcompensated by putting the cake down in front of you and going, “Sorry! Sorry about that. Traffic was crazy,” and placing a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek.

Right then, you knew.

He was bouncing off the walls, extroverted, enthusiastic, eating cake that other people had cut into and not able to get enough of it. Grabbing onto your waist and kissing your neck in front of a crowd, dozing off when he actually sat, flicking himself in the neck to keep himself awake.

And you knew.

By the end of the night, when everyone had cleared out and Spencer was missing, you stepped around the quiet apartment and found him passed out in your bed. You put two fingers on his neck, made sure he was alive, and you slept on the couch.

You woke up early even though he slept like a rock until closer to noon. You sat on the couch until he decided to get out of bed and come looking for you.

“Hey,” he smiled, his voice hoarse. “Hey, what are you doing out here?”

You could hardly stand to look at him. You hands were bound in front of your lips, your eyes focused on the coffee table. It wasn’t until that second that he looked down and noticed the collection on the table. Needles. A little vial.

“How…” you cleared your throat. “How long have you been hiding this in my apartment?”

“I…” he spit out. “I…that’s old. It’s old. I forgot it was even here.”

You choked out a gust of air and couldn’t help but laugh, “You are so full of shit.”

“[y/n]…”

“No!” you shouted, rising to your feet. “Tell me what’s so fucking good about this shit that you needed to shoot up during my graduation party?”

“I…I didn’t…I was just excited. I was excited for you.”

“No, you were fucking loaded.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Stop.”

“I wasn’t.”

“No, stop! Stop treating me like I’m fucking stupid! I mean, fuck, Spencer! After all the therapy and meetings and outpatient rehabs, you do this? Really?”

“I didn’t.”

“And what’s worse is that you lie. You lie about everything. You’re lying right and you don’t care!”

“[y/n]…”

“You don’t care. You don’t care. I’m the one who shot narcan up your fucking nose so you wouldn’t OD on my bathroom floor. I’m the one who couldn’t have one fucking night to myself and you, dont, care!”

You let out a quick huff and he simmered in the silence of your anger.

“I…I can’t do this anymore…” you said softly.

He stared at you, shaking in his own skin, “W-what? You can’t do what?”

You released a slow sigh, “I can’t…be with a drug addict.”

“I…am not…”

“You are. You are, Spencer, and you need help. You need more than I can give you.” And before he can retaliate, you set a box of his things on the table. Some books, some clothes with blood on the sleeves, some records.

He started to cry. You knew these were real tears because when he merely wanted to get his way, they would start flowing instantly. Here, they came on slow, rolling down his pale face. “[y/n]…”

“No.” You said sternly, avoiding eye contact. “You need to leave. Leave.”

“B-b-but I-I’m better,” he tried to touch you and you flinched. “I-I can get better. I can do that.”

“Not here. Not with me. Please leave.”

“B-but…” he cried. “But I don’t wanna leave. I wanna be with you. I need to be with you. Please. P-please, [y/n].”

You shook your head, quickly wiped away your tears. “I don’t want you here. Please leave.” You held the door open for him and put his box on the porch. “Please.”

“[y/n], please don’t do this,” he tried to shut the door but you held your own. “Please, please, I’ll go to a meeting right now. You can come with me. I’ll get better. I can get better.”

“Spencer…please. Go.”

“No.”

“Please,” you begged. “Leave.”

“No. No, I’m not leaving you.”

And so, because you had to, you absolutely had to, you pushed him out. He fought, never to hurt you, but he dug his feet in the ground and tried to push your hands away. “N-no, [y/n], please. Please. Please don’t do this.”

Spencer was never that strong before the dilaudid. But when he was on it, he was weak. He was slow and even with all his strength, he could not stop you from throwing him out and slamming the door in his face. You locked it quickly, pressed your palms to the wood to keep it closed up tight as he knocked lightly.

You could hear him sobbing, “[y/n]…please…[y/n]…” and his voice cracked. You heard him slide down the door and sniffling, “[y/n]…”

There was a moment where you thought to open the door. To take it all back. To change your mind. Tears were running into your mouth and you ground your teeth together to stifle your cries. Instead, you stood up straight, you took a deep breath. You went into your room, closed the door and turned the TV up loud.

Spencer still lives in his same apartment. So as you go up the stairs, hundreds of memories come flooding back to you at a hundred miles per minute. It makes you so dizzy that you nearly trip, fall down the stairs. Run.

But you make it to his door and knock, greeted by a younger woman who gives you a bright smile, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you wave to her. “Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m [y/n]. I’m-I’m a friend of Spencer’s. Is Diana here?”

“She is.”

“Is she up for a visitor?”

You let yourself in, stepping in to find that the apartment has not changed much. Same couch, same chairs, same coffee pot in the kitchen. Diana is sat near the window reading a book, picking at her nails anxiously. When she looks up and sees you, she stops and her entire face lights up like you’ve come back from the dead.

“[y/n], hi!” she greets you. She stands from her chair and rushes towards you with open arms. You let her hug you tight, her hand in your hair, your head on her shoulder and you want to cry. “Hi, honey, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m okay…” you shrug. “Can we talk?”

Her eyes go wide. Scared. “This is about Spencer. About that awful mess he’s in.”

“Yes,” you nod.

“Well, please, come, sit. Do you want some tea? Cassie makes a great cup.”

“Sure. Yes, please,” you smile as you sit across from her.

“Y’know, when I heard what happened to Spencer. I-I couldn’t believe it…my baby boy, in a jail cell,” she shakes her head. “But then he tells me that you were his lawyer and I could,” she exhales. “Breathe. You, such a smart and fierce young woman. There’s no one I’d trust more.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek and you shake your head, breaking eye contact with her.

“Oh. Oh, no, no, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry…” you whimper. You wipe your face and huff, “Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“For what? For what, honey?” she takes hold of your hands.

“I-I couldn’t…I didn’t…” you sob. “I…Spencer pleaded not guilty, but the judge ruled him a flight risk. S-so, he’s…in federal prison. Pending trial.”

You can see the shock spread across her face and it makes you sick to your fucking stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried.”

“Hey, you don’t apologize,” she squeezes your hands. Tight, tight, tight, tight. “You don’t apologize, you hear me? I know you did everything in your power. And if you couldn’t do it, then no one else could.”

You choke out another sob and she rubs your arm, cooing “Oh…oh…” and when Cassie sets a mug in front of you, Diana orders, “Here. Here, [y/n], please, have some tea. Calm down, sweetie.”

While you take sip, hiccuping against the glass, she changes the subject entirely. The rest of the visit spirals into a nice chat, mainly about you. What you’re up to these days. And as you fill her in, her eyes light up in pride, in almost disbelief. The last thing she says to you is, “Oh, I do wish you and Spencer could’ve worked things out. You are just…so special, [y/n]. Such a special, gifted girl. You made him so happy.”

She hugs you before you leave and you stroll beside Cassie to the front door. “Um…” you whisper to Cassie. “Is she normally this lucid?”

She purses her lips, “There are good days. There are bad ones.”

You nod.

“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen her recognize anyone, though.”

For an extended amount of time after your first breakup, you thought Spencer was dead.

After you kicked him out of your apartment, there was radio silence. Scary radio silence. And you had visions in your head of him laid out with a needle in his arm and too much dilaudid in his veins and vomit in his mouth. Or, perhaps, he ran in front of a bullet in the field and no one thought anything of it. For months, you were so sure he was dead.

When you saw him on the news a year later, only then, you could breathe. You visibly and loudly sighed in relief just seeing his face, hearing his voice. More than grateful he was alive, you were grateful to see him healthy. Very clearly clean. Weight back in his face, light back in his eyes. You had almost forgotten what it looked like on him. It wasn’t until then that you knew you’d made the right decision.

You wouldn’t see him again for another two years. Save for a few local newpapers articles, the radio silence continued. You had moved to a larger apartment, close to the courthouse where you were still clawing your way to the top. Somehow, someway, Spencer found this new apartment. It was a conscious decision to do so.

He knocked on your door and you, not expecting company, catiously checked the peephole. You dropped from your tippy toes, sucked in a breath and opened the door. “Spencer? What…what are you doing here?”

“I’m…I’m sorry to drop by like this…” he stuttered, sucking back tears. “I am. I’m sorry. I…Emily…died.”

Your eyes went wide and you visibly stepped back. “What?”

“Y-yeah, she, um, she was murdered. Bled out in the ambulance and I…” he descended into a fit of cries and you just stood in the doorway, watching him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I don’t mean to be a stalker. I don’t mean to barge in on you. I-I-I-I was just scared of what I might do if I was alone and n-no one else understands why I’m so scared to be alone and-and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You stood there in shock for a long time. The only thing that cut the tension was a sound from the TV, a strange sound that caught Spencer off guard. He peeked inside your apartment, sniffling, “What are you doing in here?”

“Uh…um, I’m playing Wii Sports?” you told him, holding up the remote dangling from your wrist. “…I have two remotes if-if you wanna play. It always makes me feel better.”

He tilted his head at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh, c’mon!” you shouted in front of the TV, swinging your remote through the air. “Put your back into it!”

“I am!” Spencer yelled, taking another swing that just barely hit the digital tennis ball.

“No, you’re not!” you swung and scored a point, Spencer feeling especially defeated by the cheer of the crowd. “You’re losing, is what you’re doing.”

“I give up,” he takes off his remote. “This game is rigged.”

“Is it?” you smirk. “Or are you just a sore loser? Not used to it?”

“Uh, yeah. Duh.”

You laughed and it poured a blanket of warmth over him that he had not felt in a long time. “You hungry?” you asked him.

“Starving.”

So you ordered a pizza and you got so caught up in speaking with him that you barely heard the knock on the door. When you set a slice down in front of him, he instantly picked it up and shoves it in his mouth, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. He noticed you watching him and chuckled, wiping his mouth, “What?”

“Nothing…”you smiled. “Nothing, it’s just you’re…eating so good, you…you look good.”

He smiled at you. Not a big smile, not a proud smile, but a soft smile. A thank-you-I-did-it-for-you smile. “Thank you. I feel good.”

“Good,” you nodded. “That’s good.”

And the two of you ate in silence with the TV on to keep the peace. By the end of the night, his head was resting in your lap and his knees were tucked against his chest. He rubbed his thumb on your knee lightly and said, “I can go. If you want me to, I can go.”

“Yeah…” you whispered, your fingertip tracing his ear, your hand running through his hair, “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

He breathed you in one last time and sat himself up. He looked at you and you looked at him and if he stared at you any longer, it would’ve torn him apart. Instead, he hopped up from the couch and escorted himself to the door, you following close behind him.

“Thank you,” he told you. “For letting me stay. For feeding me. For taking care of me.”

“For kicking your ass at Wii Sports?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you nodded.

“Okay,” he huffed. “So…”

“So…” you shrugged.

He reached out to give you a hug and before you knew what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him. That is, after all, exactly what he wanted you to do.

His arms locked around your waist and you moaned softly under your breath, sticking your tongue down his throat, drowning in the familiar taste of him. He pushed his body into yours, boldly nudging you towards the couch until you fell back and he could fall on top of you. Right where he was meant to be.

You’re uncomfortable in the prison. Milburn isn’t exactly known for it’s favorable accommodations and the last thing you want to do is appear prissy, but fuck, it’s gross. It’s crowded. It smells. You think: this must be killing Spencer.

He sits down across from you and he looks tired. Tired, but relieved to see you.

“Oof,” you exclaim. “You’re so lucky you look good in blue or else this would be really shitty for you.”

He snickers, shakes his head, “That was actually my exact thought.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “JJ says you’ve been by to see my mom?”

“I have. She’s doing okay, she seemed okay. We spoke for a long time. It was good to see her.”

“I bet she was excited to see you.”

“She was, it was sweet. I…I don’t wanna sound insensitive here, but, if she has an alzheimer’s diagnosis why does the memory of us breaking up just… linger?”

He wants to cackle but he stifles it, “Tell me about it. Every so often, I get an earful about how I should’ve done more to keep you around.”

“Oh. You…you didn’t tell her that I…”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, I didn’t.”

And just like that, a moment that was lighthearted and comfortable becomes unbearable. You clear your throat, “Well, I didn’t just come by to visit, I have news. It’s not great.”

“Okay, what is it?”

You sigh, “Your trial is postponed. I can’t say how long, but I will be the first to know and you’ll be the second.”

“Postponed?” he mimicked. “W-why? Why?”

You shrug, “They didn’t say. But it could be anything, I mean, higher profile cases, judge schedules, anything.”

He ducks his head down, breathing hard through his nose to prevent himself from crying.

“Hey…” you coo. “Hey, I’m going to figure this out. Don’t worry.”

“I know,” he nods. He looks up at you, “I know you’re trying. Thank you for trying.”

You nod, break a toothless smile, “Always.”

When Spencer wasn’t on drugs, you two managed to stay together for a whole four years. This was twice as long as you made it the first time around and not once did you worry that he had relapsed. You spent a lot of time worried that he might. You spent a lot of time keeping an extra close eye on him, watching for any of the signs, overly cautious. For a reason.

And Spencer was patient with this. He worked so hard to regain your trust because he knew how badly he had fucked up before. How different he’d become, how much he’d hurt you. He could not bear to ever put you through that again. And he never did. He was consistent, he was loving and he was sober.

On your third anniversary, he flew back into town late but he came straight to you. You had not officially moved in with him, but you had a drawer and a toothbrush and you could walk to work from his apartment. He woke you up from your peaceful slumber in his bed just to present you with your gift.

“C’mon, c’mon, I’ve been waiting so long to give it to you,” he cut the lamp on and you groaned, rolling onto your stomach. “Noooo, noooo, c’mon, my love. Look.”

You rolled back over and he was holding up a gold charm bracelet that immediately caught your eye. It woke you up entirely.

“I know you’re not a big jewelry girl,” he whispered, placing the bracelet on your wrist. “But this, uh, has a little charm of your birthstone and one with your birth flower. And, I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice to have on while you’re arguing in court, y’know? Wave it around a bit. Persuade the judge and jury.”

He fixed the clasp and you admired the gold against your skin, tracing it with your finger softly. You grinned, your eyes flickering up to him. “Wave it around…” you teased. “Like this?” and you motioned for him to come closer with your finger. The charms rang lightly and Spencer smirked at you.

“See, it’s just so compulsive, I can’t help but obey you,” he crawled on top of you, his voice mixing in with your laughter. “You’ll never lose a case again.”

And ironically, you went an absurd amount of time without losing a case after that. The bracelet was, in every sense of the word, your good luck charm. Your wrist came to feel naked without it and the ring of the metal gave you a special kind of confidence that couldn’t be replaced or replicated.

The day that Spencer got shot and nearly died, you were due to argue what would’ve been your tenth successful case in a row. You were on such a roll. A streak that no one around you had seen before and they were all eager to see how it progressed.

But as you approached the courtroom doors, your phone buzzed in your hand and you answered without much thought. You kept your brisk pace, speaking with a normalcy that JJ tried her best to match. Your heels were fast, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, until the information ran through your ears and into your brain and then there was click-clack, click-clack, click…and you stood in the middle of the hallway. Stuck.

Your bottom lip trembled, at the thought of Spencer in critical condition. At the thought of him dying. Dying, dead, without you. You looked back at the courtroom and zoned back into JJ’s voice. You took one step towards the door, stopped and turned around.

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

Contrary to the belief of the BAU, Spencer is not your only client. You have to remind yourself of this as well. Despite a pile of work that you slowly chip away at, you find yourself running back to the details of Spencer’s file. Over and over, as if something new will stand out. It’s happened to you before. You think, it could happen again. It has to happen again. It doesn’t seem like it will.

“Hey, [y/n]?” you coworker calls, knocking on your office door.

“Hey!” you pip.

“Wanna grab lunch? My treat.”

“Lunch? It’s already lunch?” you check the clock and gasp, “Holy shit.”

She laughs, “You work too hard. What do ya’ say?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I, uh, thought you had to meet a client at Milburn this afternoon, though? The armed robbery guy.”

“Ah, no. Whole prison’s on lockdown. Something about a bad batch of heroin or meth or whatever they pass around in there, I don’t know. Attorneys are still allowed in but I’m not walking into that. I mean, can you imagine?”

It all pours out of her like a joke. Like a comedy of epic proportions that you are meant to laugh along with. But you can’t. You think about Spencer and you just can’t.

“[y/n]?” she calls, pulling you back into reality. “You alright?”

“Yeah!” you overcompensate. “Yes. Sorry. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

You grab your purse and swing it over your shoulder, following her out of your office and reminding yourself to breathe.

“You’re sure?” you questioned the doctor. “You’re positive?”

He released a hearty laugh and nodded, “Yes. He is fully recovered. No swelling, no tenderness, he’s cleared to work and resume any physical activity.”

“Any physical activity?” Spencer asked. You blushed and put your hand to your cheek.

“Yes, that’s right,” the doctor confirmed. “I must say, Spencer, this is quite impressive progress with such a severe injury.”

“I couldn’t have done it all without [y/n],” Spencer beamed, holding onto your hand. “She’s been amazing. She oversaw all my treatment and physical therapy. Slapped me aside my head when I was stubborn. It’s all thanks to her.”

You smiled, bashful and sweet, though you felt a weird, painful knot in your stomach. “Well, that’s quite a spectacular lady you’ve got there.”

“I think so, too,” Spencer grinned and kissed your cheek.

Immediately after Spencer was shot, followed by a long hospital stay, months of physical therapy and doctor’s visits, you lost your streak. You lost your glimmer. You lost that aura of shock and awe that you once so proudly carried. Though you kept it hidden from Spencer, you were one, giant ball of anxiety. All the time. It wrecked your brain, scrambled into a big pile of goo until you were having panic attacks in the courthouse bathroom.

Days later, you finally brought home a winning case. The adrenaline of a successful verdict rushed through your veins and you raced up the stairs to tell Spencer. You unlocked the door to his apartment and burst inside, stopping dead in your tracks when you saw him. He had cleaned, cooked and set up the dining room table with a meal for two.

“Hi, baby!” he exclaimed. “How was your closing statement?”

“Uhh, good. The judge ruled in our favor…” you spoke slowly, setting your things down.

“Really?” he smiled. “Of course! Of course they did. Baby, I’m so proud of you,” he held your face in his hands and gave you a kiss.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, well,” he lead you into the dining room. “I made us a roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. It should be good, I followed the recipe exactly. And, uh, some sparkling cider and I got you some lilies from the florist down the street and-and I even went to that store to get you a bath bomb even though all the smells give me a headache.” He was quite proud of himself.

“You went to Lush? No way.”

“Way! I thought we could take a bath together. Or you can take one by yourself, if you want. I got some candles, too.”

“Spencer, this is so sweet. What the fuck?” you wrapped your arms around him and the thought pinged in your head, “Ohhh. Oh, you wanna have sex with me.”

His face immediately turned bright red, “W-what? What? Sex? No. Ew…gross…”

You cackled and put your hands on his waist, “You got the go ahead from your doctor and it’s been driving you crazy. Admit it.”

“It has not been driving me crazy. I-I…have…been thinking about it quite a bit. But that’s not why I did this. I just wanted to thank you. Wanted to do something for you.”

“Mhm, keep talking,” you nuzzled your nose into his. “You’re almost there.”

He giggled and took hold of your hands, “C’mon, c’monnnn, I worked really hard on this dinner. Can you sit down and eat with me and then, maybe, after…”

You kissed the tip of his nose and took a seat at the table, “Definitely after,” you smirked at him.

He grinned and sat right next to you. And he watched you the entire time that you tried your food. It was delicious, you made sure to tell him that. You made sure to praise him, tell him that you loved him. He was already overrun with joy, but when you suggested a nice bath, he all but jumped out of his seat.

“The dishes!” you laughed.

He scurried back to the table, picked up your plates and dropped them in the sink. As he ran to the bathroom, he grabbed onto your wrist and dragged you along. He turned the water on, let it heat to just the right temperature and left it running. You undressed each other from head to toe and despite the sensuality of it all, you couldn’t stop giggling.

Sat in the tub, he cradled your back against his chest and he said, “Y’know…this bath bomb actually doesn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would.”

You laughed, “It smells really good, right?”

“Yeah! And the colors are cool.”

“I told you!”

Spencer got out of the bath first and he held out a towel for you to wrap yourself in. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you looked at yourselves in the mirror. He caressed your hair, whispering, “You’re so beautiful.”

You smiled, “Thank you. So are you.”

He kissed your shoulder, resting his chin in the crook of your neck, “I love you.”

“Eh,” you shrugged. “You’re alright, I guess.”

Your laughter overlapped with one another’s and you quickly corrected yourself, “I love you, honey,” with a kiss to his temple.

He turned his head and looked at you, his lips pressed against your ear, “Hey.”

You turned to him, “Hey.”

“We should get married.”

Your jaw dropped and you took a step back, “Are…are you just saying that because I’m naked and wet?”

He chuckled, “No,” he pulled you close, chest to chest, “No, no. I mean it. I mean, I don’t have a ring and I’m in no condition to get down on one knee but you deserve that, you deserve everything and I want to give that to you. I love you. So much. And I never, ever want to experience life without you again. I want you to be my wife, I want to be your husband. I want that. Don’t you want that?”

You let out a dry laugh, furrowing your eyebrows at him. You take his face in your hands, gripping tight on boths sides of his jaw and smush your lips into his. You undo the towel from around your chest and it falls to the floor, leaving every inch of your body open to Spencer’s touch.

“Mm…” he moans sharply when you break the kiss, giggling when you drag him to his bedroom by the hem of his towel.

The two of you landed on the bed with a thud, Spencer on top, tangling his body in yours, kissing your neck. Kissing your chest. Making his way to the apex of your thighs where he spread your legs and buried his face in between them.

Your breath caught in your throat but you released it all with a guttural moan, your arms limp around your head. The thing about Spencer, and that beautiful, talented mouth of his, is how gentle he was. His tongue was never rough, never hard flushed against you, but light and soft, hitting all the spots that made your body twitch. He could make you come so easily. And if you’d let him, he’d do it again and again and again.

But you took hold of his shoulders, you brought his face to yours and tangled your hands in his soaking wet hair and that is how you stayed the entire time that he fucked you. Close to him, bonded to him, staring into his eyes. You legs wrapped tight around his waist. Your body weakened underneath, became consumed by him and you swear, you have never come so hard in your life.

After his own orgasm, Spencer’s eyes focused in on you and you were crying. Not sobbing, just silent tears.

“Oh god, oh my god, [y/n]? What happened?” he panicked. “Are you okay? Did I-did I hurt you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, no. I…that was…it was just very good for me.”

“Oh…” he sighed. “Oh,” he gave you a kiss. “For me, too.”

He laid at your side and held you in his arms, rubbing your back, squeezing you tight.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Spencer.”

You managed to fall asleep in his arms, but not for very long. All through the night, you shuddered awake like your skeleton was trying to crawl out of your skin. When your eyes popped open as the sun was starting to rise, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You emptied your drawer. You packed all your clothes. You put your toothbrush in a ziplock. And for the rest of the morning, you sat at the dining room table with a pen and paper. Every thought that rushed through your head sounded trite. Cliche. Dumb. So you kept it short and sweet and wrote:

I love you. I LOVE YOU. But I can’t. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.

Aside from the shitty note, it was the perfect goodbye.

Spencer doesn’t want to see you right now. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now but especially not you. When the guard notifies him of his lawyers arrival, he’s confused. A bit irritated. But he has no choice but to let them haul him off.

They let him into the meeting room, where at first, you are sitting but when you see him, you stand to your feet. Your eyes scan all over his beaten and bruised face and you order the guards, “Cuffs. Off. Please.” And they’re off Spencer’s wrists just like that.

The guards leave the room and you are still staring at him. Now you are touching his face. Now you are whimpering, “What…what happened?”

You can see him soften a little bit, only a little bit, and then he is shrugging your hand off of him. He’s never done that before and it kind of hurts.

“You shouldn’t be here, [y/n].”

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

“[y/n.]…” he’s stern, but he quickly changes his tone. “You need to go. Please. I don’t feel like talking right now.”

You huff, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

He shakes his head, “I’m just not in the mood to talk. I don’t think anyone needs to be around me right now.”

“Well, too bad. I’m here, you look like someone took a walk on your face, and I want you to talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“What are you getting into in here? Huh?” you scold him, waving your hands around. “Didn’t everyone tell you to shut up and lay low? You didn’t listen, did you?”

Your charm bracelet catches his eye and he cannot stop tracking it, “…You don’t know anything anout anything.”

“I think-“

“No, you know what I think?” he snaps. “I think you ended our relationship in a fourteen word note and now you’re here for what? For what, [y/n]?”

“Okay, lower your voice.”

“Seriously? Your obligation is done. You fought the good fight. Let me rot. It what you would’ve done anyway.”

“Oh, fuck you. Do you know why I left you a note, Spencer? It’s because I really sucked at breaking up with you. You have one little meltdown and suddenly, it’s me. Suddenly, I’m the answer to all your problems. Well, I’m not. I never was. I’m just one of the many melodramatic problems that you have and I needed to be released before it just happened over and over and over again.”

“Melodrama- okay…” he turns around and bangs on the door, signaling the guards to get him the hell out of here.

“Spencer!”

“We’re done.”

“Will you just- talk to me,” you beg.

The door swings open and you instantly clamp up, attempting to appear calm and collected. You watch Spencer leave the room and you want to scream. You want to shout at him from the top of your lungs but you don’t. You think, if I can just get outside. If I can just cross the parking lot. If I just get to my car, I can scream.

You never make it.

By the time Diana is able to visit Spencer, by the time Spencer gets in contact with Emily, rambling and screaming into the phone like he’s just witnessed a murder, nearly a full night has passed. Emily meets Spencer in the moonlit prison and it takes her an entire minute to get him calm enough to talk, to explain thoroughly. The memories of Mexico that come flooding back, the woman who drugged him.

“Has anyone checked on my mom?” he shouts. “Can someone please check on my mom?”

“Spencer,” Emily calls to him. “We did.”

“And?”

“And, she’s fine. Apparently, Cassie was unable to come in and they sent another nurse in her place. But, um…”

Spencer leans forward in his seat, “What? What?”

“Cassie said this was delivered to your apartment,” she digs through her bag. “No name, no address. Just a knock at the door.”

And she holds up your gold charm bracelet, sealed in an evidence bag, “Do you recognize it?”

Author’s note:

Inspired by me finishing Better Call Saul and being torn apart by Jimmy and Kim. Also added Saul Goodman to my list of Old Men I’m Obsessed With 😭 Anyways stream the Breaking Bad universe on Netflix! Thanks 4 reading!! <3

#mine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reidxreader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #Spotify

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

"Why?! Daryl, why did you do this?? I told you—all you had to do was walk away! Why didn't you just—"

Daryl winced as you tightened the tourniquet around his leg. You rifled through your pack and pulled out gauze pads and bandaging, pressing them against his leg and wrapping it as tightly as you could. "I told you I would take care of Alpha. How could you—you should have just walked away!"

Daryl stared up at you, sweat and blood dripping down his face, eyes bleary, but his words were perfectly clear. "Ya think I dunno what ya were gonna do? Take care of it? Is that what ya call sacrificin' yerself to these skin freaks? I could never, ever walk away from ya. Period. If this is the price, so be it."

Your chest was heaving as you stared at him, processing his words. You shook your head almost imperceptibly and grabbed a scrap of cloth from your bag, gently wiping at his forehead and cheek, the cotton soft against his feverish skin. "You're not dying. I'm getting you out of here and then we'll—we'll see about stitching up your leg."

"See. Neither one of us has to die to end them. If you try to pull that shit again, I'll lock ya in the goddamn cell in Alexandria if I gotta."

Your brow furrowed. "Seeing as you can barely walk, that would be quite a feat." You helped him up. "Let's just get somewhere safe..."

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[teatreeoilll]

Pot Luck (Toji Fushiguro X Reader)

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w/c - 0.6k content warnings - MDNI (for language and mentions of drugs and alcohol). f!reader. A Toji drabble of what I feel the average Toji interaction is like.

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • .

2006

“Blow on it,” the traffic officer holds a breathalyzer an inch from Toji’s face. Your mouth grows dry as you smell the painstakingly obvious tang of Sake circling the car's interior.

"I'll just come out and say it, officer," he hums, flicking his cigarette butt onto the road, "You're not my type." You jab your elbow into his side, hoping that inflicting some pain might instill a bit of sound judgment into him.

"Blow on it son, I don't have all night." The cop taps his leg on the concrete, shoving the breathalyzer further under Toji's self-satisfied smirk.

As he continues to hold the policemen's gaze, the dark haired man puckers his lips and exhales into the device, which in turn promptly squeaks and buzzes.

"Why don't you get out of the car, boy?"

-

Toji drives like a maniac; one of his hands barely clinging to the steering wheel while the other clutches a lit cigarette that suffocates the car with a cloud of smoke. He throws quick glances at the rearview mirror, and each time he does so the car swerves, causing the white markings separating the dark highway ahead to seem like mere suggestions.

"I'm gonna need you to hold on to this for me," he leans close to you, his Sake reeking breath caressing the side of your face. His foot's still pushing the gas pedal as he shoves a large hand up your bra, sticking a tiny crumpled bag of white powder to the padding inside.

"Hey - " you struggle to push his drunken hand aside, an aggressive red hue growing on your face at the warmth of his hand pressing up against your breast, "Focus on the road, asshole."

Red and blue lights emerge on the road behind you, accompanied by ear-splitting sirens and a streak of cusses coming from the driver's seat. "Just for a minute, yeah baby?" He jerks the wheel, causing the car to wobble as it grazes the shoulders, "We'll lose him on the next exit."

-

This is a collect call from Akasaka Police Station; if you would like to accept the call, please say yes. If you would like to -

"Fucking asshole," you breathe.

The system did not recognize your decision; if you would like to accept the call, please say -

"Yes." You huff into the phone as the line plays its connecting melody.

The moment you catch a faint sound of a breath on the other end, the facade of cool composure you've been clinging to shatters; "I'm not bailing you out again, Fushiguro. You can rot in there for all I care."

"Don't worry about that baby; Shiu's got it covered."

A scolding tone creeps into your voice, "You better pay him back this time."

Toji ignores your reproach, letting the words linger before continuing, "Anyway, they revoked my license, so why don't you pick me up and we can - "

"You had a license?"

"Funny, why don't you tell me s'more jokes when you get here, huh?"

"Can't Shiu take you? Or better yet, leave you there?"

"He'll probably leave before he sees me bouncing out of the cell, so fat chance of that happening. You're the only one left, baby."

You weren't sure what kind of supernatural force was steering the wheel while you drove in a daze through the busy streets toward the police station, leaving your mind consumed with organizing the accusations you were itching to hurl at him.

The car dips lightly under his weight as he thumps into the passenger seat, "D'you still have that bag I gave you?"

"Hey to you too, asshole." You sigh, "And no, I didn't keep the cocaine you shoved up my bra."

"Ah, never mind," he lifted an arm to swipe the hair sticking to his forehead, "At least I got to cop a feel."

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk X reader #jujutsu kaisen X reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustu kaisen #toji x y/n #fushiguro x reader #jjk toji x reader

[lefteagleblizzard]

I’ve always have been a fan of masks

Billy burn x gender neutral reader

There has been lately a Billy fever on tumblr and I’ll take the opportunity to post this little though that came to my mind a week ago ｡^‿^｡ Thank you for all the likes and reblogs on my Derek danforth fic, I really appreciate it.

Summary: Billy has taken his revenge on Melinda and escaped safely the gas station before it could explode, but he wasn’t expecting the police to be there shortly after the explosion. Now behind the bars of a police station all he can do is hope for your help. Because, you will help him, right?

Warnings: gender neutral reader (let me know if I missed something). English is not my first language so apologies for bad grammar. Reader and Billy are engaged. Make out. Angst with happy ending. Pretending to argue. Badass reader

Words count: 1621 words

The room of the police station was cold and neon-lit. With your eyes swollen from crying, you sat in front of the policeman. His heart sank as he tried to find the right words.

“You were the only person he said he wanted to be here. He has been arrested for attempted robbery at a gas station. What’s your relationship with the criminal?”

“He's my husband. They arrested him for attempted robbery? I can't believe it.”

“Calm down, please. This is the first time that he has been arrested?”

“No” you sobbed with a tissue covering your mouth. “He promised me that it would have been the last time he would do something illegal”

The deputy took notes, his face serious.

“What exactly happened? How was he involved? Did he hurt someone?”

“We are still investigating the matter, your husband still hasn’t talked to me and all we have is just a gas station completely on fire and two carbonized corpses. We will do everything we can to find out the truth.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes from the tears that kept spilling from your eyes.

The deputy passed a hand over his shapid beard. He had seen so many similar stories, young lives destroyed by drugs and crime. But you looked different. Your eyes were full of innocence and hope, and his pale face was marked with sadness.

“I understand it’s hard to accept,” He said. “But we have to do our job. Billy will be tried and will have a chance to defend himself. In the meantime, we will try to find out if there are other people involved.”

You stood up, your legs wobbly. “Can I see him? Can I talk to him?”

The deputy nodded. “Yes, of course. He is in the detention cell. Don’t stand too close to the bars.” Was all he said before going back to his computer.

Deputy Colone is hunched over his desk, doing what he hates most, filling out reports. All his colleagues out while he was forced to stay here to fill out paperwork. He glances up at Billy, then over at you. Satisfied, he returns to his shitwork.

Seated across the room, you appears to be idly sketching something on a large pad present on the desk.

Billy sits on his jail’s cot, head in hands, hopeless.

He waves for your attention.

You looks up at the deputy, still writing on the desk, then over at Billy.

“You’re not gonna pay the bail?” He whispered with a hint of impatience, his right leg bouncing up and down as he kept stealing glances at the deputy.

“So you can do another impulsive act and get caught again?”

The little control he has over his anger is already running out.

Billy gets up off his cot, pacing back and forth inside the small cage stressed over your behavior. He eyes the deputy, then you. You flips a page over, and starts to really write.

“What are ya drawin’?”

The deputy looks up, irritated by the noise and by how he kept treating you.

Billy grabs the cell bars and lean against them.

“Hey, pipe down, cowboy”

“I was just curious about what they were drawing”

You holds it up for Billy to see.

“There. Happy now?”

You throws the sketch pad at him, crossing your arms while looking down at the floor. It bounces off the bars.

He reaches down, grabs it, and pulls it into his cell.

You stands up defiantly as he read everything. Wrath more and more visible all over his face.

“Okay, give it back to me” you extended your hand impatiently.

“Why you wanna sell your engagement ring?” He hissed through clenched teeth.

“Simple, I can’t stand you anymore! This is the umpteenth time you do things behind my back and make trouble. This time it was for an attempted robbery. And you know what? I’m so done with your bullshit”

“So you just wanna leave everything behind you? Sell the wedding ring?”

“Why do you even give that much importance to it? Billy, it’s just a piece of metal with a diamond that you stole! I don’t want to be associated with all of this anymore!”

He squeezed his fists, trying not to completely explode with anger, refusing to speak with you.

You stood up from your seat and approached him, taking the shining and beautiful ring he choose only for you. “And what does it represent now? A man who can’t keep himself out of trouble? I don’t want to be tied to you this way anymore. When there’s always a chance that I could find you dead because you messed with the wrong people in search of money. I want to sell that faith and use the money to start over”

“Okay fine. Do as you fucking wish” he took the piece of metal around his own finger. “Come and get it, so I won’t see your face ever again.” His raised a fist and crashed it agaist the bar. “But remember that it’s not just a piece of metal. It’s a fucking symbol of what we were and what we could be, but you’re too much of a fucking idiot to realize that” It’s a cry of anger the one he unleashed, lacerating and wild, hovering in the air, like a swooping hawk.

The deputy is really getting pissed at the constant shouting.

“Bastard, if you don’t stop yellin-“ he stood up from his seat.

You were already in front of the cell. you reaches through the bars for the ring.

“Finally you made a good decision in your life. Give it to me, idiot”

He grabs your arm, pulls you to the bars, and starts kissing you passionately. The more you struggles, the tighter he envelops you.

Your eyes close, and your lips never separate. The kiss is hungry, passionate, and the world around you two fades. You gets lost in Billy’s kisses, and your heart beats hard in your chest. It’s like time stands still, and all that matters is that connection between the two of you. Your lips only separate for a moment to catch a quick breath, only to come back together with even more desire.

The deputy races across the room. Awkwardly, he grapples to separate you two. He rudely detach Billy’s hand from your waist before shoving him away.

Your hand secretly reaches down and pulls the gun from the deputy’s holster.

As he turns to face you, a red laser dot appears on the tip of his nose.

He is shocked.

“Let him out of there.”

You point the laser-scoped revolver right at him. You definitely means business. All the innocence that you previously had now vanished, replaced by a smirk he saw on many criminals’ faces.

The suddenness of the betrayal hits like a physical blow.

Even the most beautiful roses have thorns.

Bully chuckles in disbelief from behind him.

“Hey, don’t clown around with th-“ the deputy tries to take back control of the situation but the click of the security being removed silenced him. Fear grips his chest.

You did just as your lovely husband has taught you, and kept holding the gun dead-steady.

“I ain’t the one with the funny red nose. Now open the cell and exchange places with him” .you put your finger on the trigger. “Now”

Billy had a huge grin of satisfaction on his face, enjoying this too deeply

that’s my good boy

“Better do as they says, ‘cause wherever the red dot goes, a bullet is sure to follow.”

The deputy reluctantly removes his keys and turns toward Billy.

The rusty door opens, creaking loudly as it is set to 90 degrees, enough to allow Billy out. A cocky grin on his face as he steps outside and shoved the useless deputy inside but not before confiscating his radio.

You lowered the gun and went back towards the office to delete all the files that the deputy has written about the arrest of your husband, the computer still open. You tore apart the reports and heard the satisfying sound of paper behind disintegrate and deleted all the recording made by the cameras in the last 24 hours.

A small yell of surprise came from your lips as you were lifted from the ground and landed on the desk in front of you, the culprit had already his arms around you and 2 new guns on both of his sides as he stared lustily at you mouth.

“You never stop surprising me” your foreheads were touching and you felt his warm breath on your face.

“I’ve always been a fan of masks” You replied breathlessly, caressing the side of his cheek and feeling the pungent feeling of his stubble under your touch.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, sparks igniting as Billy leaned in close, lips brushing together. His lips mashed against yours, as if trying to flatten and destroy your mouth. You hungrily pushed back, your mouth open, tongue pushing past his clenched teeth to the moist space within. The bristles of his stubble scratched against your cheeks. He worked his mouth against yours, your tongues battling back and forth like wrestlers, each trying to pin the other.

“Quick now. Let’s run away in another state” you lightly pushed him away, ignoring his small whine as you jumped back on your feet and went towards the exit of this stupid police office.

He checked you out with a smirk as he followed behind you, a plan of how he could show his gratitude to you already in his mind.

Note: hope you liked this as much as I had fun writing everything <3

#gender neutral reader #x male reader #male reader #derek danforth smut #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #billy burn #burn 2019 #billy burn x reader #burn movie #billy burn x gn!reader #billy burn x you #Derek danforth #x gn reader #gn reader #Billy burn x male reader

[jqhotchner]

bloom

four

eddie hates waking up at the ass crack of dawn! though over the last few years he’s use to it, doesn’t mean he likes it. he knew the price of being a rockstar though.

eddie’s willing to sacrifice his sleep schedule to make it big time. he also just misses his family. the band had left for new york three nights ago. he missed the sound of laughter from his babies, the smell of yn perfume, even missed his soon to be father in law banging on their door at god knows what hour.

he couldn’t wait to see them in just a few more days. eddie made sure to call yn as soon as he could. he knew she’d be busy tending to the kids. he still made it his mission to talk to them every single day!

last night he almost cried himself to sleep. lunaria has always been a daddy’s girl. she didn’t want to let her daddy get off the phone. she cried and cried until eddie sung her to sleep. he almost left right then and there to go cuddle his baby! yn had to talk him out of it.

eddie grabs his cell and immediately dialed yn number.

“hello?”

“you still asleep love?”

“no.” she states quickly.

eddie frowns. he could tell something was wrong.

“baby, is everything okay?”

“mhm.”

eddie didn’t believe her.

“miss hopper?”

eddie listens closely and hears a little bit of noise in the background.

“mama?” lily whines.

“shh, im here baby. its okay.”

“yn, what is going on?!”

yn sighs. “lily’s running a fever. had to take her to the hospital.”

eddie sits up in a frantic.

“what?! when?”

eddie looks at the time.

“babe, its nothing to worry about. she’s okay.”

“baby, im coming home!”

“ed—”

“yn! you’re at the hospital for god sakes!”

yn sighs. “eddie, i promise she’s okay. the doctors prescribing her some medicine! she’ll be better this afternoon.”

eddie runs his finger through his hair. he keeps forgetting its shorten. 

“may i at least talk to her?”

yn scoffs. “sure, if you wanna hear nothing but snot and baby language.” yn tries to cheer him up. unfortunately the only thing that would make him happy is being there with his family.

“daddy wants to talk to you, baby.”

“dada?” lily points to the phone.

yn puts the phone on speaker. “you’re on speaker, babe.”

“lily, how’s my girl doing?”

“sick.”

eddie could see her pouting.

“i know baby. im sorry! i promise when i get home, daddy’s gonna give you lots and lots of cuddles angel.”

she babbles. eddie smiles sadly.

“love you so much, lily-pad! you’re my angel.”

“wuv, dada.”

eddie heart soars. yn takes the phone off speaker. “im sorry i didn’t tell you. i just—”

“baby, i need to know these things, okay? i know you’re just trynna help, i do, and i appreciate it so much, my love. its just—it stresses me out even more when i don’t know. you and the kids, they come first! fuck the music. my family is first, always.” eddie states.

“im sorry.”

eddie sighs. “where are my other babies?”

“with uncle steve.”

“call me when you get home, okay? wanna make sure you’re all okay!”

“okay, eds! i love you.”

eddie will never get tired of hearing her say those three little words. “i love you, baby.”

“eddie, its time to go!”

“go ahead rockstar! ill talk to you soon.”

“bye, beautiful.” eddie ends the call soon after.

#eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x reader #jqhotchner #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem reader #modern eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fluff #jqhotchner masterlist #eddie munson x yn #dad!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #dad!harry styles x reader #bloom jqhotchner

[hwabang]

Gonna Be Alright - Sim Jaeyun

Genre: slight angst + fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, idol!jake (?), exes to lovers, mention of bad relationship with parents, reader has a sister, reader has depression and anxiety but it's not mentioned straight up, clearly jake did not want to break up

Author’s Note: idk why but i'm obsessed with the exes to lovers or exes to potential lovers trope with jake?? if anyone knows any good one shots with that trope lmk👀

Y/S/N = your sister's name

(gif not mine!)

"C'mon pick up..." Jake chewed his lip nervously as the call went to voicemail again, immediately ending it and redialing it. His heartbeat was getting faster with every missed call he was leaving and he couldn't stop bouncing his knee up and down. After the 6th time he heard the voicemail box, Jake threw his back onto the bed, throwing his phone next to him groaning. "Why isn't she picking up!"

Jake knew he should've expect you to not pick up his call. After all you hadn't picked up any of his calls in the last month after the breakup. In that month he hadn't spam called you 6 times at once, sure, but he knew you needed him today and it was all thanks to your sister.

The members had gotten home a while ago; everyone showered and was well fed. 10pm, still quite early for Jake, he decided to lay down in his bed and scroll through We Verse, responding to ENGENES. He was having a good time when all of a sudden he got a phone call from your sister. He furrowed his eyebrows and immediately sat up. Your sister very rarely called Jake, even during your relationship so he knew it had to be important.

Before the call could end, he picked it up. "Hey (Y/S/N), it's been a while how are you?"

"Hi Jake," she answered. "Yeah I'm good. Are you busy?"

"No no, what's up?"

"It's my sister."

Jake felt an immense feeling of worry and concern overtake him. "Y/N? What's wrong with her is she okay?"

"Well I don't know.. actually my parents and I were on a video call with her and.. well, you know how our dad is.. he started berating her and insulting her and our mom was obviously no help.. they just made her feel really bad. And she was trying to not show it but I'm her sister, I just know."

Jake sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck.. then what happened?"

"She just sat there and took it... but after the call ended she's not picking up anymore. And I don't know if you know but uh.. after your break up she's just been really sad.. so.. because of past issues I'm worried you know."

"Y-yeah I know... I uh, haven't spoken to her since we broke up actually.."

"Oh shit... well I'm sorry for putting you in an awkward position... I don't have any of her friends numbers. And since we don't live in Korea I'm worried about her."

"I got it (Y/S/N). Don't worry, I'm gonna check on her."

Now Jake was sitting up again, frustratedly running his hand through his hair, completely messing it up. "I gotta go to her," he mumbled. Immediately he got up and threw on a hoodie on top of his shirt and pajama pants, grabbing his phone, wallet, and the spare key to her apartment (that he could not get himself to give back.. not that she asked for it back). Before heading to the front door, he decided to knock on Heeseung's door before opening it slightly. "Hyung, I'm going to Y/N's."

Heeseung looked up from his PC in shock. "Y/N's? You guys got back together?"

Jake gave him a defeated shake of his head. "No... she had a phone call with her parents.. I- I think she needs me right now." After a small pep talk from his Hyung, Jake walked to his ex girlfriend's apartment while still trying her cell. Once he got to the apartment he rang the doorbell once and knocked on the door a couple times, but once it went unanswered he used his spare key to let himself in.

"Y/N!" he called out as to not startle her. "It's Jake.. where are you?"

He heard feet padding upstairs and you appeared at the top of the stairs from your room. "Jake? What are you doing here?"

Jake visibly relaxed; seeing you after what felt like forever, his heart was jumping out of his chest.

"Hello? Jake?"

He didn't realize he zoned out, quickly clearing his throat to save himself from embarrassment. "Oh, uhm, hey.. I just wanted to check on you..?"

You gave him a confused look, hoping he wouldn't see how bloodshot your eyes were or how red your nose was. "Check on me? F-for what?"

"Uh... (Y/S/N) called me earlier.."

Your face contorted into one of realization. You walked down the stairs to get closer to Jake, still remembering to keep a distance. "Ah.. I didn't think she'd call you.. sorry Jake. As you can see I'm fine so.. y-you can go.. if you want."

"Y/N..." he called out, walking two steps closer to you. God, how badly he wanted to just wrap you in his arms... "You know we can still be friends, right? I can still be there for you whenever. You don't have to push me away completely."

Hearing his reassuring words, tears started pooling at your eyes and your lips broke into a quiver, a pout forming on your lips. "J-Jake...."

Jake's heart broke seeing you trying to hold it in. Should I do it? Is it too awkward? "You know what, fuck it." Immediately Jake pulled you into his arms, wrapping them every so tightly around you as you grabbed him and started sobbing. He tried soothing you by stroking your hair as the other hand rubbed your back. "It's okay baby... I'm here."

"I-I don't know what else to do Jake!" you sobbed. I thought.. being away from them would help our relationship grow stronger, b-but every time we talk it's just.. i-it's too much!"

Jake sighed. "I know, I know.. here, why don't we sit down hmm?"

You nodded and allowed Jake to guide you to the couch. He sat down first and then pulled you into his lap sideways, cradling you like a baby as you buried your head into his chest. He had one hand resting on your waist while the other one attempted to soothe you by continuously rubbing your back. His attempt worked as your crying came to a stop, but neither of you dared move from the familiar position. You stayed that way, basking in the comfortable silence for a while.

"Thank you Jake," you said as you came up from hiding in his chest. You gave him a sad smile as you looked at him endearingly. "Thank you for always being here."

He hated seeing your tear stroked face so he wiped them off and returned the smile. "Always Y/N.. always... Why didn't you call me if you were feeling this bad?"

"I... we broke up Jake.. I didn't think it was appropriate.. didn't think you'd wanna see me."

He looked at you as if you were crazy. "Are you serious? Me? Not wanting to see you? You're joking right?" When you didn't answer he realized you were actually being serious. "Y/N.. you broke up with me; I still want to be a part of your life, you're just not letting me. If you need me you have to call me. I always was, and always will be, one call away..."

You nodded. "I-I know that, I know that y-you still love me.."

"Mhm." He cupped your cheek caressing it. "I do."

Tears swelled up in your eyes again and you pouted. "I hurt you a lot by ending our relationship didn't I?"

Jake smiled and shook his head. "You could never hurt me. I know you still love me too, and you broke up with me because you didn't feel deserving of me. In fact I'm mad at myself, since I couldn't make you feel just how much you mean to me."

"No Jake don't do that, don't blame yourself. My brain.. sometimes it just gets too much and I can't stop overthinking."

"I know my love."

The nickname had you staring up at him with wide eyes, debating whether or not you should say what's on the tip of your tongue right now. But you knew, you knew damn well that if you didn't say anything now you might lose him a 2nd time. "Jake."

"Hmm?"

"Stay with me tonight?"

His eyes brightened and he had a hopeful look on his face. "A-are you sure?" You nodded but he still wasn't sure. "Y/N... understand that if I stay with you tonight.. I refuse to stay exes with you."

You slowly nodded. "I understand Jake.. I-I hope you don't think I'm playing you but–"

"I know you never could. Continue?"

"... But, I-I think I wanna get back together."

By now you were fully sat up in his lap as he stroked your sides. Jake raised an eyebrow at you. "You think?" he teased.

"N-no! I know! I know I want to get back together with you."

Jake chuckled as he softly kissed your cheek, relishing in the physical contact he so deeply missed. "I do too baby.. didn't wanna leave you in the first place."

"I-I'm sorry Jake.."

"S'alright, as long as you promise to never break up with me again, we're gonna be alright."

#enhypen #enhypen jake #jake sim #sim jaeyun #enhypen imagines

[kayssweetdreams]

The Perfect Finale

It is nighttime once more in Timeville. The only sounds to be heard were either the night life that buzzed around the town, or the sounds of the creatures that came out in the darkness. However, on this night, in the Bruno Household, the oldest of the family, Krista Bruno was tossing and turning as troubling visions played in her head.

This wasn't like the normal nightmares of her youth, nor the events that affected her during the...more troubling times her family faced. This felt more like a nightmare of things yet to come. She saw Prim breaking free from her prison, her family being tossed around like ragdolls, an area of Wonderworld she had never seen before, the maestros losing their powers, and her granddaughter chained down, her eyes glowing, as a pair of giant eyes with Wonderworld symbols stared down at her.

The nightmare ended and Krista shot up in her bed, panting as she looked to see if she was still home. "Mom? Are you OK?" asked Thea as she peeked into the room. "I'm OK. But how is Kaylo? Is she OK?" Krista asked. "Yes Mom. She's OK. She's been excited about her birthday coming in a few days." Thea said, a smile on her face. Krista however didn’t share her enthusiasm. "Was there...anything troubling her?" She asked.

Thea sighed "Mom. It's OK. I know this is a big day for her, as she's finally gonna get to start her own chapter in the Book of Mirabella, but you can't put all that pressure on her." She said "No Thea...I had a dream. A very disturbing dream...and it showed Kaylo in the center of it." Krista said, getting out of bed so that she could see her granddaughter. Thea sighed. She knew when her mom got like this, she needed to get it out of her system.

The two of them walked up to Kaylo's room, and saw that she was fast asleep, happily in dreamland. Krista gave a sigh. "Thank Goodness...she's still OK..." she said. Thea gave a worried look at her mom. "Mom...Is everything OK?" She asked. Krista turned to her "Something is coming...something big...

Meanwhile, Somewhere else in Timeville...

In Timeville Asylum, the recently reconvicted Madame Prim was sitting in her padded cell, completely emotionless and catatonic. After the stunt she pulled back at the Perfect Getaway (which now, thanks to her, was being renamed) she wasn't to be given the antidote to her mind-altering drug. The guards at her door looked at her with distain, while she just sat at the door, supposedly staring at nothing.

"How long until she gets transfered out of state? Her stare is giving me the creeps!" One of them said. "I dunno, but I'll tell you one thing. NOBODY is gonna miss her." Said another guard. However, the two of them failed to see a dark red mist slowly filling the room. By the time they noticed it, they began to feel hazy and passed out. The mist then reformed itself into a humanoid figure bust down the door, looking at the catatonic Prim.

"Hello again dear..." they said, holding up a hand and making a red glowing ball appear "It's time to enact Project X..."

#Balan Wonderworld

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 12 | S.R

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A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - After a really good day, Spencer finds himself backsliding. Maggie suggests a new and unconventional coping mechanism but Spencer is sceptical.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - Spencer backslides, self-harm, blood, swearing, handjob, non consensual activities in a dream, talk of masturbation, Tara’s flashback, past drug use, withdrawals, vomiting, masturbation (male).

WC - 5k

Chapter 12 - Entropy

What goes up must come down. It was sometimes terrifying how quickly his moods could change. He’d had the best afternoon with you in the library and the two of you had dinner together in the dining hall. And for the first time since Spencer arrived at PIW, he felt something akin to normal. 

Group therapy always put Spencer on edge but tonight it was worse than ever when Cedric made him talk more than he was comfortable doing. 

And then PT had been more draining than usual and Nick suggested going back to two crutches which Spencer adamantly refused. By the time he got back to his room, all Spencer wanted was to shoot up. 

Or failing that, hurt himself. 

There had to be something in this goddamn room he could use to inflict pain on himself. There had to be some small oversight on the facilities part. Since his attack on the nurse he wasn’t allowed to keep his toothbrush in his room which he guessed was understandable if not frustrating. 

He found himself staring at the light emanating from the small lamp on the nightstand until his eyes hurt and he couldn’t see straight. If only it burnt hot enough to hurt him…

He broke out of his stare off with the bulb and smiled to himself as he had an ephiany. 

Light bulbs are made of glass, Reid…

He fumbled switching it off and moved the lampshade out of the way. When he wrapped his hand around the bulb it burnt slightly, but not enough. He managed to unscrew it and he was grinning to himself. 

See, you’re still smart. Brain still works. 

He hopped up from the bed to the desk where he slumped in the chair. He lined the bulb with the corner of the desk before raising it and letting it come crashing back down onto the edge of the wood. As he’d hoped, the bulb shattered in his hand, sending splinters of glass into his palm. 

He rolled up the left sleeve of his sweater where his burns and picked skin were now almost healed. He emptied the glass from his hand onto the desk and picked out the biggest shard. With a large smile he took the shard to the soft flesh on his wrist. 

He cut himself once, twice, three times and watched in awe as the blood trickled from the wounds, down his arm and pooled on the carpet. 

I’m so fucking smart. How did I ever doubt that? 

Four cuts. Five. Six and his hand was coated in blood too. Seven and eight and he started to feel relief. He stumbled back to his bed, sleeve still rolled up and bleeding over his sheets as he laid down on his back. 

They’re gonna commit you for sure. This place will be a walk in the park compared to a padded cell. 

The pain swelled up his arm but it was euphoric. It felt good to take back some control over his fucked up life. He closed his eyes with a dopey smile still on his lips. 

His last coherent thought before he passed out was, fuck you, I win. 

***

He was back in the swimming pool only he wasn’t wading through the calming water he remembered. The pool water was replaced by a heavier, slightly sticky substance that lapped around his waist. He raised his hands out of the liquid and inspected them. As expected, they were coated in red. 

He was swimming in a pool of blood. 

“You really need to find a better outlet.” The voice startled him and he looked up to see you sitting cross legged at the edge of the pool. “This isn’t healthy.”

“That’s rich coming from you. I saw your scars.” He scoffed. 

“I didn’t say I knew of any healthier options.” You smirked playfully. 

He waded closer to you through the viscous liquid until he reached the edge you were sitting on. He lifted his arms which were covered in blood and leant on the side of the pool. 

“What else am I supposed to do?” 

You reached out for him and entwined your fingers in his messy locks. 

“I wish I had an answer for you.” You bowed your head to meet his and rested your foreheads together. 

Your breath fanned across his face moments before he pressed his lips against yours. He wrapped his bloodied arms around you, holding you close. He deepened the kiss, closing his eyes and giving over to you entirely. 

Somehow you were now in the pool, body flush against his. His hands wandered your body and he quickly discovered you were naked. So was he. 

He pressed you back against the side of the pool as his hand wandered between your legs. But he didn’t find what he expected. 

He suddenly pulled back from the kiss and George was leant against the pool side smiling at him. 

“Why’d you stop?” He smirked.

“Where…why…what?” Spencer blinked, turning and looking around only to find he and George were the only ones here. 

“Come here, Doctor Reid. I’ll make it better.” George pulled him closer and kissed him again, wrapping his arms around Spencer’s neck. 

As the kiss deepened once more Spencer started to feel stubble brushing against his jaw and he pulled back again only to be staring into a set of deep brown eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Luke laughed, running his finger over Spencer’s cheek. “You don’t want me?”

“I…I…” what the fuck is happening? 

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Reid.” Luke moaned as he spoke, hand wandering down Spencer’s bloody torso now. 

“Where’s Y/N?” 

“Don’t worry about her. I’m here now.” Luke drew him closer and their lips met once more.

When he felt a hand wrap around his shaft, it wasn’t large and calloused like he expected and the lips now trailing down his neck weren’t rough like they had been moments before. The hand started pumping him and he guided the head up from his neck. 

“I missed you, Spencie.” Cat panted as she continued to stroke him. 

He tried to move back from her grip around his cock but there was something behind him blocking his way. 

“Stop. Don’t touch me!” He hissed at her. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me, Spencie. It’s getting real old, real fast.” 

“He makes everything so difficult.” George’s voice came from behind him as his arms snaked around Spencer’s waist. 

“Stop fighting it.” Cat laughed as she quickened her pace and her lips found his neck again. 

George pressed himself against Spencer from behind, his hands wandering his torso. 

“You don’t always have to fight, Spencer.” Your voice came from the edge of the pool again where you were sitting next to Luke as the two of you watched Cat and George have their way with him. 

“I don’t want this.” He whined. “I want you.”

“You can’t have me.” You shrugged. 

Spencer tried to fight against the two bodies he was sandwiched between while you and Luke continued to look on. The blood was up to his chest now, rising rapidly. 

“Please Y/N! Make them stop!” He whimpered. “Luke, do something!” 

“All you have to do is open your eyes.” George whispered in his ear. “Open your eyes and it’ll all be over.”

“He doesn’t want it to be over though. That’s what scares him the most.” Cat laughed against his neck. 

“No! No, I don't want this! I don’t want it. Open your eyes, Spencer! Open your fucking eyes!” He yelled to himself. 

Just before the blood pool rose above his chin, the bodies disappeared. He was alone again. Alone and drowning in a pool of his own blood. 

***

“Have you thought about masturbation?” 

Spencer’s eyes shot up from where they'd been staring at his shoes in a daze. He’d said barely a handful of words in the past half hour, instead choosing to stare at his battered converse. 

He’d been found covered in his own blood this morning by the nurse handing out medication. He’d been taken to the hospital wing by Doctor Sanderson, given a few stitches and been bandaged up. 

He’d been given the talking to once again, like he was a small child who couldn’t keep his hand out of the cookie jar and not a grown man who had slashed his arm with a broken light bulb. 

Maggie had tried asking him why and was met with small shrugs and responses such as “why not?” He was feeling particularly difficult today. 

He must have misheard what she’d just said. He just must have. 

“I’m sorry?” Spencer frowned at her.

“I said, have you ever thought about masturbation?” She was smiling so innocently he still wasn’t sure he could have heard her correctly.

But he knew he had. 

“Uh…” his frown deepened. “In uh…what sense?” 

Did I miss a vital part of this conversation? 

“In the sense of your recovery.” 

Now she’d really lost him. 

“You…I…I don’t understand.” He shook his head. 

“Orgasms have a lot of health benefits as well as mental health benefits such as-“

“I know all the…benefits.” Spencer felt his cheeks burning. “Scientifically speaking of course.” 

“Well then you understand that frequent masturbation can have-“

“Yes, yes I get it.” His blushed deepened, spreading up down his neck. 

“The bottom line is, Spencer, we have to find something to alleviate some of your need for drugs and for hurting yourself. This can’t keep happening.” She nodded towards his bandaged arm even though it was sheathed in his sweater. 

“And you are suggesting I…that I uh…”

“Masturbate. Frequently.” 

Spencer didn’t think it was possible to be any redder. He retracted his neck, burying it down his sweater collar until it came up around his chin, like a tortoise retreating into its shell. 

“Uh…I don’t feel comfortable talking about this.” 

“Clearly.” Maggie smirked at him. “Spencer, it’s a natural part of life, everyone does it.”

“I am aware.” He wrapped his arms around himself. 

“So there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

“I’m not embarrassed. I’m…I don’t know. I’d just really rather not talk about it.” But he knew they were going to talk about it. 

“When was the last time you masturbated?” Maggie poised her pen above her notebook. 

She wants to write this down?!

“I-I don’t remember.” He lied, retreating further into his sweater. 

“Spencer…” She gave him a look of disbelief. 

“Oh my god.” He sighed, covering his face with his hands. “A few days ago.” 

“Good, that’s great!” Maggie practically cheered and jotted down some notes. “And how did you feel after?”

Spencer groaned and kept his eyes covered so he didn’t have to look at her. 

“Good I guess? Slightly guilty I suppose because it seemed…I don’t know…wrong?”

“And why did it seem wrong? Does masturbation usually feel wrong?” 

“Oh god please stop saying it.” He felt his face burning. “And no that’s not what I meant.” 

“What do you mean then?” 

Spencer sighed and rubbed his eyes before removing his hands from his face. He didn’t look at Maggie though, he stared back at his shoes. 

“Because of where I am, what I’m here to do. It seemed inappropriate I guess.” He picked at his shoelace. 

“I can assure you it isn’t. I think you could really benefit from it Spencer. I want you to promise me that if you start craving drugs or start thinking about hurting yourself, promise me you’ll-“

“Masturbate. Got it.” His cheeks burnt again. He just wanted this conversation to be over. 

Thankfully Maggie dropped it after that and he was able to stem his embarrassment the rest of the session. Until her parting words of “you can tell me how it goes next time” caused it to grow tenfold and he limped back to his room with a deep blush on his cheeks. 

The rest of the day all Spencer could think about was masturbation, which was less than ideal. Being here wasn’t exactly sexy circumstances. Did Maggie think men could just get it up whenever they wanted? Admittedly, Spencer didn’t usually have much of an issue with that apart from the time he’d been on Prozac anyway. 

Spencer knew all he’d need to do is close his eyes and think of you and…

…yep that did the trick. 

He leant forward, his elbows on his knees to try and cover himself as he was sitting in the courtyard waiting for his visitor. It really wasn’t the time to be trying out techniques to get it up. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. At least he knew that it worked, he supposed. 

As long as he didn’t think about you, the problem would resolve itself. 

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. 

“Spencer!” 

His eyes shot open and thankfully his deep breaths had worked and he was no longer pitching a tent in his pants as she made her way towards him. 

“Tara.” He smiled, pushing himself up with the help of his cane. 

Tara beamed at him and wrapped her arms around him the second she was in reach. 

“It’s so good to see you.” She spoke into his ear. 

Spencer wrapped his free arm around her.

“It’s good to see you too.” It was good to see her, it wasn’t a lie. 

But he still needed to see Emily. Although he wasn’t in the least surprised that it wasn’t her who came to visit. The hug ended and Tara was still smiling at him, albeit a little sadly. 

“Do you want to walk around? The gardens are really nice.” Spencer offered. 

“Sure that sounds nice.” She nodded. 

She let Spencer go first, leading the way towards the winding path that travelled the institute's gardens. It was a slow amble, what with Spencer’s injury and walking stick but it was a sunny day and she relished the feeling of the sun beating down on her face. 

“So,” she gave him a sideways glance as they walked. “How are you?”

Spencer wanted to laugh because it was such a loaded question and one with so many possible answers. But lying to Tara Lewis was one of the hardest things. He knew she wouldn’t be placated with a vague lie like the others. 

“I have good days and I have bad days.” He knew that wouldn’t be enough for Tara so he continued. “Ok so I have completely terrible days and I have mediocre days.” 

“What are your completely terrible days like?” She asked and it felt a little like he was in therapy. 

If anyone else had asked, Spencer would have avoided the question. But Tara was so easy to spill his guts to. 

“Well my last completely terrible day was yesterday. And I smashed a lightbulb in my room and cut myself on the glass.” He sighed as he spoke. 

Tara’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. 

“And your mediocre days?” 

“I don’t smash lightbulbs and hurt myself?” He gave her a wry smile. 

“Fair enough.” She chuckled a little. 

“You’re the only person I’ve been honest with about that.” Spencer mused out loud. 

They rounded a corner and started through the rose garden. The smells coming from the flowers were oddly calming. 

“That’s understandable. You’ve known JJ, Garcia, Rossi and Emily for a really long time. It’s easier to talk openly with people you don’t know as well.” Tara told him like he didn’t already know that. 

“They baby me.” He said instead. “They still see me as some little kid. You don’t see me that way because you didn’t know me when I was fresh out of the academy and the baby of the team.”

“You’re still the baby of the team.” She teased. 

“I suppose.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his hand that wasn’t clenched around his cane. “Can I ask you something that might sound a little weird?” 

“You can ask me anything.” 

“I’m asking not as my friend. I’m asking in a professional capacity.” 

Tara glanced at him again with a small frown. Spencer looked away from her, knowing he couldn’t look her in the eye and ask what he wanted to. 

“Shoot.” 

He exhaled noisily, in slight disbelief he was actually going to talk to her about this. 

“What do you know about…unconventional forms of therapy?” 

He felt Tara’s eyes on him. 

“Such as?” She questioned. 

Again he exhaled loudly. 

“Masturbation as a form of recovery.” He mumbled, half hoping she wouldn’t hear him. 

But of course she did. 

“Oh.” She looked away from him, focusing on the rose bushes. “Uh well…I mean as well as the obvious of providing pleasure, it does benefit your health and mental well-being. Research and anecdotal reports suggest that sexual stimulation may help relieve built up stress, achieve better sleep and a better mood, it can help prevent anxiety and depression and can improve self esteem. But I’m sure you know all that.” 

Spencer nodded, staring straight ahead. He didn’t speak so she continued. 

“It releases dopamine which obviously helps put you in a better mood. Also oxytocin is released during orgasm which lowers cortisol levels. And endorphins which will help lower pain. Really the list goes on and on.”

“Forget I asked.” Spencer felt his cheeks staining red. 

Amusement danced in Tara’s eyes as she saw the blush creeping across Spencer’s face and neck. 

“I assume your therapist has suggested-“

“Yes.” 

“And you’re uncomfortable doing-“

“Not usually.” He slowed his pace a little as his leg started to ache. “But in here…yes kind of.” 

Tara clearly sensed his pain and guided him to a bench in the centre of the rose garden. 

“You know all the facts and statistics on pretty much everything. So I’m sure that you know all the benefits of masturbation, Reid.” 

His blush deepened and he looked down at his shoes. 

“I really wish I hadn’t brought this up.” 

“I’m honoured you feel you can talk to me about it. Even if you can’t look at me when you do.” Tara chuckled. 

“I spent a long time sleeping around while I was high.” He confessed out loud. “And I never batted an eyelid. I am very aware that mastur…that it is just a natural part of life. I just feel weird talking about it.” 

“Understood.” Tara smiled to herself. “The last time I saw you, you were with a woman.” 

“I was?” He suddenly looked at her, wide eyed. 

“Yeah, pretty young thing. I didn’t want to interrupt so I left you to it.” 

“When was this?” 

“A few months after you left the BAU I guess.” 

“What did she look like?”

Tara pulled a face as she thought back. 

“It was dark. I didn’t get a good look. And her face was kind of obscured by yours. She was up against a wall, you were a little preoccupied with your tongue down her throat.” 

Spencer’s blush returned and subconsciously he rolled up his sleeve a little so he could toy with the woven bracelet. 

“Goddamnit I wish I could remember.” He groaned. 

When he looked back at Tara, she was staring at his bracelet with a slight frown. 

“I’ve seen that before.” She spoke quietly, almost to herself. 

Spencer looked from the bracelet to Tara and back again in quick succession.

“Where?” 

Tara looked up and met his gaze and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. 

“It was dark but I’m sure that was it.” 

“What? That was what?” Spencer begged to know.

“The arms wrapped around your neck…one of them had that bracelet on the wrist.” 

Spencer looked back at the bracelet, the one you’d given him the other night. He ran his fingers over the threads. 

“Are you sure?” He croaked. 

“Pretty sure.” Tara nodded. 

Spencer closed his eyes and kept his finger pressed against the bracelet hoping to jog something from his fractured memory. 

He fled his apartment, the dilaudid coursing its way through his veins. Why had he spent so long fighting this? Why had he been so desperate to maintain his sobriety? After one hit, he was already hooked. He knew there was no way he would ever stop again. 

He felt like he was on top of the whole world. It was undoubtedly the best Spencer felt since leaving prison. And he already knew it wouldn’t be the last time he got high. In fact he decided then and there he never wanted to be sober again. 

If dilaudid made him feel this amazing, why would he ever want to give it up? He stumbled out onto the sidewalk, euphoria flooding his every nerve. Yes, he was definitely going to do this again. 

His heart simultaneously raced and slowed. His lungs and chest felt like they were on fire. His brain was running rampant, bouncing around thoughts at a thousand miles a minute. 

The world seemed brighter somehow even though it was still the middle of the night. He felt like he was walking among the clouds, floating in a sea of drugs. He was smiling to himself. Spencer didn’t know the last time he smiled. He wasn’t even sure he could smile anymore. 

This was the sensation he’d been searching for since he left prison. No, this was the sensation he’d been searching for his entire life. He was so caught up in his exhilaration that he didn’t even see the other person walking his way and clearly they didn’t see him either as suddenly he found himself colliding with another body. 

“Sorry! So sorry!” He laughed, helping steady the other person by their shoulders. 

“I’m sorry.” They giggled. “Didn’t see you.” 

The most mesmerising set of eyes stared back at Spencer and he thought she must be a goddamn angel because he’d never laid eyes on anyone so beautiful. She simply couldn’t be human. 

The small part of his brain that was still functioning properly told him she was high too. And Spencer had an overwhelming urge to do unspeakable things to her. 

Not normally one to be so bold, the dilaudid took over and before either of them spoke again he took hold of her shoulders and pushed her back against the nearest wall. 

He didn’t give her a chance to speak before he crashed her lips into his. But judging by the way she kissed him back and the way her arms snaked around his neck, she didn’t mind. 

He plunged his tongue frantically into her mouth. She tasted bitter. Coffee? No, not coffee…

…cocaine. 

He pressed his body flush against hers and took hold of her delicate face in his hands. He was hard in no time at all and she must have known because she grinded against him furiously. A soft moan left her lips and he felt it vibrate against his own. 

He had to have her. He had to have all of her. 

He moved one hand from her face and down her body until he was cupping one of her breasts through her shirt. She moaned again, hips rolling against his. 

She pulled him closer and explored his mouth with fervour. He was so caught up in her he forgot where they were, didn’t notice passers by stop and gawk at the display. 

And he had no idea one of those onlookers was an old team member, slightly shocked by what she was seeing. 

His hand moved from her breast, down her bare thigh and then up her skirt. He ran his fingers over her lace panties and he could feel her wetness seeping through the fabric.

She giggled against his lips and then suddenly broke the kiss. She smiled at him before grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him down the side of the building. He found himself in a dark alley, and now it was her turn to push him up against the wall. 

She ran her fingers over his jaw, down his neck and chest and came to a stop at the bulge in his pants. He moaned even though there were two layers of fabric separating them. She giggled again and it was already Spencer’s new favourite sound. 

She had a curious look in her eyes and he knew it was because of the drugs coursing through her system. He knew because he was sure he had the same look in his. 

She toyed with the button of his slacks, making quick work of undoing it and sliding them down his hips along with his boxers just enough to free his erection. He hissed as the cool night air hit his sensitive skin but it was nothing compared to the noise he made when she wrapped her hand around his shaft. 

He moaned, involuntarily bucking his hips. Her hand was so small and delicate around his cock. He glanced down to watch the way she worked him, hand moving fast and hard, up and down around him. 

He barely noticed the purple and gold woven band adorned on her wrist as she strived to push him towards his brink. 

His eyes opened with a start and Tara was observing him curiously. 

“Did you remember something?” She sounded a little concerned. 

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” He chewed on his lip. “I never know if they are real memories or if I fabricated them.” 

“Reid, you’re sweating. A lot. And you're shaking.” She reached for his shoulder. 

“That would be another bout of withdrawals. They come and go.” He sighed in defeat. 

He was used to it by now but that didn’t mean they didn’t suck. But he was better at ignoring them by now.  

“Let me help you back to your room.” Tara stood and helped Spencer to his feet. 

He let her walk with him back through the gardens and into the main building and she walked close to him down the corridor to his room. She helped him lay down, by this point he was drenched in sweat. 

“Do you want to get undressed or…?”

“No, I’m freezing.” His teeth chattered a little. 

She draped the bed sheet over him and tucked him in like he was a small child. 

“Get some rest.” She smiled softly at him. 

“Thanks for coming, Tara. It was really good to see you.” He spoke but his eyes were already closing. 

“Anytime, Spencer.” She whispered as she quietly backed out of the room. 

Spencer’s whole body was shuddering and his skin was damp with perspiration, causing his clothes to stick to him. God he hated this. This was the worst feeling in the goddamn world. 

What he wouldn’t give to make it all go away with the release of drugs. If he had more energy he might have considered taking Maggie’s advice. But right now all Spencer wanted to do was sleep. 

And maybe if he was lucky, he might never wake up. 

***

He spent most of the night he wasn’t asleep vomiting up every little bit of food he’d eaten the last few days. It was the worst the withdrawals had been in a while and it only made him want to use more. 

All of this could be solved with one more hit of dilaudid or a tiny taste of cocaine. Thankfully by morning he felt better, not good but not as terrible as he had done. 

He limped down to the bathrooms after his medication was distributed and stood under the flow of water staring at the purple and gold band. 

And just from looking at it, the thoughts of a stranger's hand wearing that bracelet wrapped around his shaft, his cock was standing at attention within seconds. 

He was alone in the cubicle, no one could see him. If he focused enough he could tune out the sounds of other patients showering around him. 

It had to be you that had jerked him off in that alleyway. It had to be, didn’t it? In his mind he could see your beautiful face, hear your delightful giggle as you made him come with your hand. But Spencer knew his memory couldn’t be trusted these days. 

Without consciously deciding to, his hand had wandered of its own accord and was already stroking himself, using the water from the shower as lubricant. He closed his eyes and pictured your face as you touched him, thinking of the way you moaned when his own hand worked its way inside your panties. 

His toes curled on the tiled floor, imagining how you felt when his fingers dove inside of you. 

“Make me come.” He heard your breathy voice in his ears. “Please make me come.” 

He chewed his lip to stop his moan leaving his mouth as he picked up his pace. 

“More! More! I need more!” 

He envisioned the way your skin tasted when he’d practically ripped your shirt open with his free hand and taken your nipple in his mouth. 

“Fuck! Fuck!” 

His orgasm was already building, his chest and stomach tightening as he drew himself towards the edge. 

“Gonna come. Oh fuck, I’m gonna come!” 

He thought of the way you felt clenching around his fingers and visualised your face contorted in pleasure as you came. He was so close, he needed the release more than he realised. 

Seconds before he let his orgasm consume him, there was a loud knock on the cubicle door. 

“Doctor Reid, that’s long enough now.” A nurse's voice permeated his sordid thoughts. 

He groaned loudly, immediately dropping his hand back to his side. 

“I’ll be right out.” His voice shook a little as he spoke. 

He hadn’t even had a chance to wash himself. He’d been too caught up in pleasuring himself. 

“Now please, Doctor Reid.” 

He rolled his eyes and shut off the shower, feeling frustrated and on edge from his close brush with his orgasm. He dried himself off and dressed quickly, his previously throbbing erection now a thing of memory. 

He hobbled out the cubicle with his cane and over to the sink to brush his teeth. It was going to be a long day. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[sheena-is-a-punk-rocker]

Sometimes brains are assholes, and that's okay

Got a prompt request for a Rick sick fic with Harley taking care of him over on AO3 and this is what I came up with. Not your typical sick fic!

The apartment is dark when Harley gets back from her roller derby match—the first one Rick’s missed since she got out of prison. She’s trying not to be too broken up about it though, he told her before she left that he wasn’t feeling well and was gonna try to nap.

She drops her skates and padding by the front door and makes her way to the bedroom, expecting to find Rick dozing in bed. Except the only thing on the bed is the rumpled sheets that haven’t been touched since this morning.

She starts to panic. He wouldn’t just leave without telling her—that’s not like him.

The only option left is the bathroom. The door is ajar but the lights are off. “Rick? Baby, you in here?” she calls out cautiously as she flicks the lights on—trying not to imagine the worst.

“Ow!” she hears. “Too bright!”

She breathes a sigh of relief now that she can see Rick—who’d managed to squeeze all six foot one inch of himself into their tiny ass bathtub.

She turns the lights off and uses the moonlight shining through the bathroom window to find the tub. She kneels down and reaches out to touch his back. His shirt is soaked with sweat and he’s shaking a little bit. “You okay, hun?” she asks—immediately shifting into what Rick has dubbed her Doctor Mode.

“Migraine,” he grits out.

Ah yes, those pesky migraines he’s been having. Not surprising given the fact that he’s had four concussions since she met him—and that’s just on missions they were on together. He hasn’t had one in a while though.

“Baby, I thought your doctor gave you meds for those.”

“Ran out. Thought I had a refill but I don’t. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him to get an emergency refill but he won’t pick up the fucking phone—as usual. Fucker probably doesn’t even think I need ‘em. And eventually the headache got so bad that I ended up in here.”

Here, meaning where it’s darkest and coolest, she realizes.

“Did ya try the pharmacy?” she asks, as she runs a washcloth under the faucet.

“They won’t fucking refill it unless the doc pushes it through!” he yells, and then moans as another wave of nausea hits him.

She places the cold washcloth on the back of his neck and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’ll be right back, hun. Where’s your phone?”

“Living room, I think.”

She kisses his temple before leaving the bathroom. Time to yell at another doctor.

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

Rick focuses on his breathing and trying not to vomit as Harley leaves to presumably yell at another one of his doctors. Honestly, as much as he appreciates her, he’s not really sure how much further she’ll get. He’d been on the phone with the pharmacy and doctor’s office for hours. They just kept putting him on hold.

“How’d I get your personal cell phone number? I’m Harley fucking Quinn, motherfucker! Now push the prescription through or I’ll break your kneecaps—pharmacy closes in an hour.”

Maybe he spoke too soon.

He hears her come back in and feels her fingers carding through his hair. “I’ll be right back, baby. Gotta go pick up your meds.”

The room continues to spin as he lays there pathetically in the bathtub. He’s not sure how long Harley’s gone for—could be hours for all he knows. He’s too nauseous to focus on anything but not puking.

“Sit up for me, hun.”

“I don’t wanna,” he moans. “Too dizzy.”

“I know, baby, I know. But I got your meds right here. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

It takes a monumental effort to sit up but he manages to do it. Harley hands him two pills and a glass of ice water. He throws the pills back obediently and then sinks back down to the floor of the tub, laying on his side since it’s so fucking tiny.

He hears some shuffling behind him and then Harley’s squeezing herself behind him, spooning up against his back and looping an arm around his chest. They both barely fit but instead of feeling claustrophobic he feels comforted, and safe.

“It should kick in faster since I gave ya two,” she says quietly—slipping a hand under his shirt to rub his chest and stomach softly.

He focuses on that feeling as he waits for the nausea to subside and his head to stop pounding.

Next thing he knows he’s being shaken awake. “C’mon, baby, let’s get ya into bed.”

“But I’m comfy,” he whines—and truly, he is. The most comfortable place he’s ever been is wrapped up in Harley’s arms.

“Baby you’re gonna hurt your neck if ya sleep in the tub.”

He complains the whole time but lets her pull him out of the tub, stumbling a little as the blood rushes back to all the right places. She catches him easily and guides him back to their bedroom in the dark. She sits him down on the bed and rummages around in one of his drawers for a pair of pajama pants that she throws at his head. He catches them and manages to change into them without too much trouble.

She ushers him under the covers and slides in behind him—spooning up against his back again and kissing the back of his neck. “Get some sleep, hun, I’m right here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Might need to knock me out with your baseball bat,” he jokes, even as his eyes drift shut.

“Shut the fuck up—I know you’re exhausted, asshole.”

He manages a small chuckle. Just before sleep claims him he feels Harley squeeze him around his middle and hears her whisper, “I love ya, baby.”

He’s too exhausted to echo the sentiment back but grabs her hand and squeezes it in response.

He falls asleep to the feeling of Harley’s breath on the back of his neck and her hand wrapped tightly in his.

#dc comics #the suicide squad #the suicide squad fanfiction #rick flag #harley quinn #rick flag x harley quinn #harley quinn x rick flag #rick x harley #harley x rick #quinnflag #rickquinn #harleyflag #sick fic #a bit of an unconventional sick fic #rick has migraines and probably some brain damage #harley in Doctor Mode #rick's doctors are assholes #soft and gentle #bathtub cuddles #established relationship #harley being big spoon #excessive use of pet names

[lemurzsquad]

One of the haikyuu characters is taking music lessons from you. You can choose the character and the instrument, but here's the twist: you only win if he fails to learn it. Who do you pick?

I had to think about this for a while, and I came to the conclusion that I don't think I would be capable of teaching Nishinoya how to play bassoon looool, I don't think he has the patience or precision for it (and I don't have the patience either)

This, however, did inspire me to write, so here's an attempt to teach Nishinoya how to play bassoon (aka, a dramatic reenactment of the bassoon lesson I taught yesterday)

This does play off of my band au, so he's a really good percussionist who decided to try bassoon

Word count: 1653

Relevant chart (by me, and a random image I found on google):

(Instrument goes off the right side of the chair, and the basson reed goes on the end of the bocal so it can actually make sound. The little key at the base of the bocal is the whisper key pad.) Also bassoons are 4'5" (or about 132.1 cm) tall lol, so Nishinoya is only like 9 in (or like 27.2 cm) taller than it.

“Go grab a chair, I’ll hold your bassoon,” I shooed him away as I took the instrument that wasn’t even a full foot shorter than he was.

“But isn’t there already a chair in there?” Nishinoya looked past my shoulder to peek through the doorway to the open lockerroom.

I raised an eyebrow, retorting, “Yeah, a chair. For me. We need another one and I don’t trust you walking across the band room holding this thing, especially with colorguard kids currently practicing with sabers.” I tilted my head to a student practicing a routine involving saber tosses behind him.

“I can keep it safe!” He argued.

“Nope, I’m holding it,” I said with finality. “Oh, and get a stand while you’re at it. Someone took out the one that’s usually in here.” I turned on one heel, a bassoon in each hand, and entered the band lockerroom. Nishinoya huffed as he left to get a chair and a music stand.

I pulled out the chair that was tucked away in the corner where the lockers jutted out past the countertop on one side of the room. Placing it so the back was facing one wall of lockers and opposite the other wall, I set down one of the bassoons on the ground so I could slide the music bag off of my shoulder and lean it against the leg of my chair. I picked up the bassoon carefully once again and waited for Nishinoya to return.

When he did, chair and stand in tow, I stood against the lockers next to where I had set up so he could get past. Watching as he set his seat far too close to my own, I felt the expression on my face grow unamused instinctively.

“Yer gonna wanna move that,” I deadpanned.

He looked up, eyebrows slightly raised in feigned confusion as he finished adjusting the height of the stand. “The stand?” He asked.

I tilted my head and gave him a look that said ‘you’re kidding, right?’ He glanced down and then said, “Oh! The chair!” He moved it to around the minimum distance he could so that the instrument could hang off of the side without possible hitting my seat.

A sigh of defeat escaped my lips while I handed Nishinoya his bassoon—well, the bassoon he borrowed from the school under strict conditions that he does not break it. I sat down in my own seat to the right of his (so I could see his hands), tossing down the seat strap hooked onto the bottom end of my bassoon on the chair just before I did so I could grab the left end of it to adjust the height as it hung off to the right. I looked over to see how Nishinoya was setting up and opted to stop looking when I saw what he was doing; he’d managed to take the seat strap off of his instrument and try to put it on the chair and only realized he had put the hook on the wrong side when he hooked his bassoon on and couldn’t hold it properly.

I felt myself losing brain cells slowly but surely.

He eventually fixed his instrument placement, getting his reed (the reed I reluctantly adjusted for him since it was old and I’d never played on it) on the bocal as I pulled out the binder I used to hoard music I’d had since middle school. Taking a moment for a deep breath, I noticed how high his bocal seemed to be from him, angled upwards and not quite aligned with the whisper key at the base of it.

“Hey, make sure that your instrument is always angled down, and your bocal needs to line up with the middle of the whisper key pad,” I commented. “You need to adjust the height so it can be at the right angle.”

He looked at me, confused, so I attempted to demonstrate so he could see. Nishinoya still didn’t seem to get it as he only slightly lowered the bassoon so the bocal was straight ahead of him, but I didn’t want to try and teach him a skill I learned from years of practice on my own out of necessity and precision. Instead, I just reached over and rotated the bocal to the left, tapping the whisper key pad closed a couple of times to make sure it was lined up properly.

The look he gave me made it seem like he thought I was some magician even though I had barely done anything. I opened the binder I had set on the stand so I didn’t have to see the starstruck look that was etched into his face. There was a pile of papers in the very front that weren’t in the pocket or clasped in the three rings; I flipped them to the other side so I could get to the scale sheets behind them. I flipped a couple more pages in sheet protectors to get to the chromatic scale.

“So, what are we learning first?” Nishinoya asked curiously.

“We,” I answered as I adjusted my seat strap slightly, “are going to see how far you’ve gotten on your own in terms of note fingerings.” I played a handful of notes with ease in a standard pattern that I’d somehow unconsciously developed over the years. B-flat in four octaves, C in four octaves, a few more notes in the mid range down to the lowest note on the instrument.

After that, I started asking him to try playing the chromatic scale and it went… somehow worse than expected.

“The starting note is an F,” I stated flatly.

“Yeah, I know,” Nishinoya replied.

“Then stop using thumb keys! There are no thumb keys besides the whisper key! You keep playing an F-sharp!”

“Wait what– ohhh, you’re right—”

It went on like this for longer than I would have liked it to, especially getting to the second octave of the F chromatic scale.

“Why isn’t the note playing? I’m using the right fingering! It sounds crackly!” Nishinoya bemoaned.

“You keep pressing the whisper key, Nishinoya,” I sighed.

After trying desperately to teach him the fingerings for high E-flat, E, and F on the way up the scale, it came time to try going down the scale. That also somehow went worse than expected. Not only was his tone very poor but it sounded very forced.

“Nishinoya! Whisper key!”

“What? But I thought it didn’t need to be on for the upper octave!”

“It is on for every single note until you get to A-natural.” I pleaded, “Please, Nishinoya.” I was nearly at my wit's end.

“This thing doesn't make any sense at all.”

“Well, that's just kind of how bassoon is. There's no rules, everything is made up, and if you keep biting your reed like that, your notes will stop speaking,” I tiredly explained. “The second you try to make your instrument do anything, it will stop working.”

He frowned. “This is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be.”

“What in the world made you think this would be even remotely easy?!” I asked, exasperated. “You have 8 keys for your left thumb alone, for Pete's sake! I have 11 on mine!”

Nishinoya mumbled, “Well, I heard you saying it was the easiest instrument you play,” with a pout.

My eyes went wide, and I was completely flabbergasted, stunned into silence. “Nishinoya,” I explained in complete and utter disbelief, “I said that because I have been playing this thing for 8 years! This is my default! I play this like it's second nature! It is permanently engraved into my mind and body”

He looked back at me with eyebrows raised slightly in a few moments of silence.

“Oh. Right.”

“‘Oh’? Did it never occur to you? That would be like me saying, ‘Oh yeah, I'm just gonna play drumset! Someone else knows how to play it well, so it can't be that hard!’” I let out a breath, shoulders slumping. I asked after a handful more of quiet seconds, “Why did you even want to learn bassoon of all things? You're already one of our best percussionists; you're not even a wind player let alone a woodwind or a double reed.”

He answered quietly, “Well, you play it, and you said you'd try to teach me how to play it if I started learning it.”

“That's… a really dumb reason,” I deadpanned.

“Hey! You offered!”

“Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually want to play it! You could have picked anything else!”

“But it's your main instrument!”

“What does that have anything to do with you learning it?”

“I– well– nevermind.” He pursed his lips in something close to frustration.

I took in a breath and let it out again in a forceful sigh. “Look, I'll keep trying to teach you as long as you keep trying, but I still don't understand why you decided to play bassoon.

He perked up at that, giving me a toothy grin.

“We're gonna move onto some actual music, but I want you to try learning some scales on your own to keep practicing note fingerings,” I said as I shuffled some pages around on the music stand. I located an old part for a full band piece and pulled it out of the binder pocket.

I was almost close to regretting offering to teach Nishinoya, but I still held onto some sliver of hope that it might work out alright.

Rhetorically, I asked, “You know how to read rhythms, right?”

He looked anywhere but at me and the music, his voice laced with guilt. “Maybe…?”

I think I felt my soul and whatever shred of hope I had left leave my body in that very moment.

“What do you mean ‘maybe’?! Nishinoya, you're a percussionist!”

It was going to be a very long day.

Do not copy and/or repost!! Any likes, comments, or reblogs are appreciated, though! (c) 2024 LemurzSquad

#haikyuu #haikyu!! #haikyuu!! #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya x y/n #nishinoya x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #nishinoya yuu x reader #haikyuu nishinoya #nishinoya yuu #hq nishinoya #lemurz writing #drabble #ask #writing #fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #dira #haikyuu high school band au

[lilgoblinbitch]

a/n: an anon requested a glenn x reader x maggie fluff, and i decided to make it into this little oneshot :)

glenn knew immediately you and maggie were suffering from the excruciating side effects of menstruation, just by the way you reacted to little things. he knew this from experience; the first time he noticed something like this happening was back at the farm, where he confronted dale and asked him if all the women were on their periods. thankfully dale talked some sense into him, warning him to never ever ask a woman if she was on her period -- as a man. because that would end in a slap to the face or worse. glenn wasn't one to make people upset like that, especially his girlfriend or his best friend.

"fucking hell. was not excited for this shit again," you groan, clutching your lower back in pain.

maggie sighs, she's standing in your cell searching for pads or tampons. "shit! we're out."

you sit up slowly, wincing from the stabbing pain in your uterus. "we're out of what? pads? tampons? diva cups?"

maggie turns to you. "everything, honey. gonna have to make a run."

"no you won't, i prepared for this." glenn was standing at the entrance, one hand holding up a small duffel bag and the other holding a bottle of ibuprofen.

you jump in surprise, not expecting him to be at your beck and call that damn quickly, but goddamn was he a lifesaver right now.

maggie runs up to him and hugs him, making him drop the bag abruptly to embrace her. you smile and chuckle, getting up to grab the bag and unzip it.

"holy fuck, glenn! where did you find all this?!" inside were dozens of unopened feminine hygiene products. "i mean, this is the jackpot of all jackpots!"

maggie bends down to search in the bag as well. it was quite an amusing sight to glenn, seeing his two favorite women's eyes light up at the sight of menstruation products. it was like you were children opening a birthday present.

"well, you know me. this is the stuff i do," he gushes. you turn to him and stand up, walking over to him to embrace him in a hug. "oh, oh, you're crushing my ribs!"

maggie and you giggle, and she ruffles his hair. "always taking care of us. might as well be one of the girls, right?" you tease after pulling away from the hug.

glenn blushes while you snatch the painkillers from his hand, opening the bottle and taking out two pills. you hand the bottle to maggie, who does the same. "sure. i mean, whatever prevents me from staying out of your line of fire when someone pisses you off."

"you could never make us mad, baby," maggie reassures.

after swallowing the pills with a sip of water you nod and look back between maggie and glenn. "daryl could!"

and you all bust out laughing.

#the walking dead #glenn rhee #maggie rhee #glenn x maggie #twd glenn #twd maggie #glenn rhee x reader #glenn rhee x you #maggie rhee x reader #maggie greene #maggie rhee x you #twd imagine #twd oneshot #twd #twd season 3 #twd season 4 #twd prison era #goblin writes #glenn rhee fluff #maggie rhee fluff #twd fluff #daryl dixon #twd daryl

[apupp3tw0-strings]

Ragdoll's Revenge

Date: October 17th, 2131

Okay. We're at Castle Town now. Look's like everyone's getting settled in alright. CK did have Dorothy, er, well, the Patch Crown. I think she's still asleep. Like the other secret bosses from Kris's journey. ... I should sort out some better accommodations than the inventory. Spamton didn't seem to like it, so I doubt the others do either, even if they're dormant at the moment. Maybe I can get Remie to set something up? She seems eager to help and stuff. First though we should wait for Kris to show up. I think CK said they were still helping Auntie Tori with something.

While we wait though, I should tell you about the battle.

The inside of the cell was padded, with some fabric patches sewn on the walls and floor. At the end of the room, kneeled a ragdoll Darkner. Chained up by her wrists as needles were stuck into her back. She seemed to be breathing heavily as we approached.

"Hah haha!//Finally, some//NO ONE WILL//to see the world as// Moment of truth.//And as//FREEDOM.//one step at a time.//After I Enslave//tell you the truth//I can show up//Why Everyone Else Is So//The truth...//!!!" I wonder if there's something with the... whoever Darkners like Spamton, Jevil, and Dorothy meet that causes these weird speech patterns. Talking in round about riddles and rhymes, broken ads, stitched together dialogue. Is it some form of punishment? Just a side effect of meeting him? ... A method of control?

"So um, what is this 'truth', ribatti, ribatti?" Remie asked. I was wondering that too. I've been wondering it since I met Jevil and Spamton. What do they mean when they talk of Light? Of Freedom? Of games or deals or communion? Spamton keeps randomly screaming about burning, I don't know if it was acid or seeing too far. What does it mean? What does it mean!?

"Ha ha ha!!!//The truth...//OH, IT'S JUST A SIMPLE//truth or dare" Dorothy managed to break free of her chains as she rained a row of needles just past our faces. "The truth is,//in this world..." She stood up, flexing her back to send the pins and needles stuck into her to go flying before she pulled out one needled that transformed into a giant mallet. "It's KILL or BE killed."

"MWEH HEH! SO THAT'S HOW IT'S GONNA BE?" CK exclaimed excitedly as we all drew our weapons as well, "THEN BRING IT!!!"

"you wanna fight//the truth?//YOU KIDS ARE//couldn't stand.//Addicting Game of Chance//!!!"

And thus the battle began.

Flying needles, stitching thread, pounding hammers. The fight was absolutely terrifying, yet there was still a part of me that found it... fun? No, maybe not fun. Maybe that was just the adrenaline talking. I knew that no matter what, I had to help. I couldn't just leave her like this. Luckily the Askers seemed to agree. Continuing to try and refusing to give up until we spared Dorothy. Still doesn't mean it didn't hurt. We died. I died. Like four times. I literally felt my soul (the soul? Was it my actual one or that... thing?) shatter like, at least four times! I experienced death! It was nothing but an empty void with... someone calling out faintly. To me? To the Askers? I don't know. To me it was a whisper. Most of what I heard was Papa. Encouraging me to get up and keep going. And so we did. We got up and tried again... and then died again!

At least now I know what the glowing stars were for.

Okay, okay. Calm down. Point is you're still alive now and hopefully you won't have to go through anything like that again anytime soon. Where was I?

Yeah, the battle. Sparing Dorothy was... difficult. Not only did we die alot, but it took a long while. I feel like... At least 4 stages? And I think that's just because we managed to spare her before a 5th. There were two ACTs, but we only used Patch like, once. Probably as it seemed to make her attacks hit harder. I remember for Calm, Remie sung a song, and CK tried his best to speak softer, but I just kept trying to whisper and communicate to Dorothy in whatever ways I could.

"I'm sorry." "You must be in so much pain." "I'm trying to help." "I want to help." "What happened to you?" "Who did this?" "It'll be okay." "I'm going to get you out of this." "Please let me get you out of this." "I'd be angry too."

With every Calm, Dorothy seemed to get a little more tired. Bit by bit, turn by turn. She was still angry though. Very, VERY, angry.

"The gash weaves//past this//!!" "Cotton heart and button eye//Now//It's time to//DIE! DIE! DIE!" "Stab The Earth//with//saws and needles"

After many attempts and four long phases, we finally managed to wear her down. We got her tired enough for Remie to cast Pacify.

"HUFF//Huff… puff…!//this isn't another trick, is it//?" As Dorothy lowered her hammer and stopped attacking, she was breathing heavily. Clearly the battle had taken a lot out of all of us. "You kids//you won’t fight.)//I will KILL you.////Yet…//You//calmly whispered something to DOROTHY." (Was she able to hear the flavor text? ... Where did the flavor text even come from???)

"…//Why was I//FIGHT until you almost defeat them…)//I FEEL SO//ANGRY and STRESSED OUT!!!" At that point, she seemed to almost break down. The weight of her exhaustion getting to her. "I'm so tired of this,//Yet… strangely…//Only the first//through the start.)" Dorothy looked up to us as she seemed to give us some sort of warning. "The Knight//RETURNS, AND//Supreme Empire//will fall down//Lightners//are you ready?//For what?//UNTIL NEXT TIME, DARLINGS…!!!"

"Urah ha ha ha…//Maybe you can//maybe you can't use that. H… How should//I know what you really want to say. Lightner's//you continue to be yourself.//THE ONE IN CONTROL?" After that, Dorothy kneeled down took off the crown on her head, presenting it to us. "Let me give you my//Grant me strength!" After that she turned into the crown? I think? I'm still confused...

*(You got ShadowCrystal.)

*You got PatchCrown

... We headed back upstairs after that before back tracking to the Dusty Plains. It seems we had someone to talk to.

To be Continued...

#chicago #deltarune: fool's fate #writing #deltarune au #fool's fate #undertale au #undertale ish #Dorothy #ck #comic kings #remie #Remienotta #deltarune secret boss #deltarune fan character

[bansheeboyy]

Tell me your best Jack Lowden tickle fantasy

ooof, okay.

As River Cartwright in Slow Horses. He gets snatched in a park, bag over his head and bundled into a van. Smash cut to the basement of the Park (MI5 HQ) .

He's still fully clothed, blindfolded, sitting up on the end of a bondage table...but his shoes and socks have been removed.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Let me out of here you fucking morons, this is not going to end well for you."

The voice of Duffy [head of Mi5 swat teams, hates River] "Really Cartwright? I'm shaking in my boots. What? Do you think we're some terrorist cell? No, no, no. You lot over in Slough House are so low priority you sometimes miss out on important updates in training."

"Duffy, what is this? Kidnapping an MI5 agent? Do you think Lamb is gonna let something like this slide?"

"Lamb knows. He doesn't care. As I was saying, you missed out on an important update in training for male agents. New torture resistance training."

"I'm up-to-date on that."

"Nope. A new form has been identified in the field that agents need to be aware of. Tickling."

River stopped in his tugging at his restraints. "What? You can't be serious?"

"Dead serious. Why do you think you're tied up like this, with your little tootsies out? Think I was gonna give you a pedicure? No, Cartwright, I thought instead of hauling all the Slow Horses down here, I could just have you go through some intense and thorough training on the matter and then you can...relay what you learn. Sound good?"

A slight scratch at River's bare sole made the blonde spy tense. "Duffy wait! This is a joke, isn't it? There's no training update. You just want to get back at me."

Duffy tutted. "Cartwright do you really think I would waste my precious time putting you through hell in a basement purely for the shits and giggles?"

River paused, frowning under his blindfold. He was nervous, terrified even, but he couldn't help but get in a jab. "Is that a trick question?"

Duffy's fingers, adorned with blunt metal claws, landed on River's naked soles. "Guess you can find out after. Let's get started, shall we, blondie?"

"Jesus Christ, why is it always mehehehehe!"

~~~

Six hours later, River was released from the table, naked, sweating, broken. When the straps loosened he merely laid back on the padded table, too exhausted to even haul himself off.

"Well Cartwright." Duffy said, buttoning his sleeves back up, surrounded by the three goons who had come in to 'help' an hour into his torture. "You broke three times. Not good. Not good at all."

River, skin shimmering with sweat, could only pant. Three times? He'd thought that was pretty good going for what they'd put him through. He couldn't imagine that anyone would have stayed strong going through that level of tickling, slowly stripped of all protection and dignity, every inch of him stroked or prodded or scribbled on.

"As such you'll be back here two weeks hence, for a similar test. Can't have our agents spilling their guts so easily." Duffy spoke with a smile in his voice, and skittered his fingers on River's oiled sole as he wandered out the room, eliciting an exhausted grunt from the ticklish agent. "Let's hope next time you keep that blabber mouth shut nice and tight, eh?"

River couldn't even react to the hellish news. He simply curled into a ball and fell asleep, too tired to care that anyone who walked in would find him naked and glistening. As he drifted off one idle thought floated in his mind.

Maybe tickle torture resistance training *should* be mantatory. It's certainly effective.

#jack lowden #slow horses #tickling #maletickling #tickletorture #barefoot guys #tickle interrogation #male foot #male tickling #m/m #m/m tickling #river cartwright

[clavissionary-position]

Old Man Gilbert with Old Man Dentures and His Biting Game Still Going Strong

(っ °Д °;)っ ! A fic for those who enjoy sacrificing their brain cells on a regular basis ! Requested by @game-little-sharpshooter based on this excellent post ! This might actually be a very offensive representation of elderly people engaging in intimacy as I've done 0 research ! Oh yeah we're going NSFW

As the half-quarter-crescent-waning moon climbs above Obsidian, Emma pads out of her slippers and carefully climbs into bed beside her husband of many decades. "How are you feeling, Gil?"

Gilbert hiccups. "Warm and in the mood for some evil," answers he, aged 85, red-eye shone with the carnage of ketchup being smeared across the crime scene that is the flesh of a french fry.

"Warm?" Emma tilts her head and pouts with elderly grace. "But it's my job to warm you. What do I do if you're already warm..." She reaches for her glasses and her 10th Anniversary copy of Guide to Gilbert from her bedside table.

Gilbert takes his walking cane, the cane that he actually uses as a walking-aid, and hooks Emma's wrist, making her drop the book, and the glasses, and the jar of Marmite she's brought to bed for some reason. That reason is that Gilbert is part of the legendary population that enjoys the taste.

Emma sighs. "I was gonna spoon some of that into your mouth while we discussed the erotica we've been reading."

Gilbert rolls over on top of Emma.

(minors dni)

At least he makes a dignified effort to do so. He basically just ends up pressed against her side like a majestic evil sardine. "And you think that will be enough to satisfy me?" His voice is a sultry, geriatric purr.

Emma adjusts her pajama collar. "I think-"

Gilbert pounces, in one superhuman motion grabbing his dentures out of the bedside cup, slapping them into his mouth and then driving the ardor of his bite into Emma's titty.

He'd actually expected there to be a layer of pajama between teeth and tit, but Emma too had grown a superhuman ability to undress in record time. Feeling impressed and supremely hard, Gilbert grinds his jaw and undulates the shell of his lips, sucking and sucking and sucking and-

-"Oh Gil, ahhh Gil, Gil, Gil, ohhhh"-

-sucking and sucking and sucking and-

-"Touch me, touch me there, touch me touchmetouchmetouchme"-

-sucking and touching and sucking and touching and-

-"Juice me like a fruit, Gil. Drink me like a shake. Smear me like Marmite, Gil. Oh Gil, aaogjaognonaghhhhgheihghghghghhh"-

-sucking and juicing and drinking and smearing and-

When he pulls away, his dentures stay.

Emma stares down at the teeth clamped around her bruised nipnop.

Gilbert stares at the teeth.

Emma stares at Gilbert.

Gilbert stares at Emma.

"Um. You want to just...?"

Gilbert smiles, radiant and vivid and refreshing like a bottle of sprite even in his advanced age. He props himself up on one arm and uses the other hand to massage his dentures into Emma's flesh.

Emma's eyes roll into the back of her head, which only makes Gilbert chuckle. "You can do this to me too. Ah, but not when you're going down on me. I don't really want to fuck a pair of dentures." Some of the words come out a little distorted on account of speaking without his teeth in.

Emma's eyes snap back. "Yes you do. If they're my dentures."

Gilbert shrugs. "I can't lie."

Emma glares at him. "Then say 'I don't want to fuck Emma's dentures.'"

"I don't want to fuck Emma's dentures."

"Without your fingers crossed behind your back."

"...." Gilbert smiles and then pecks Emma on the nose.

Then he promptly falls asleep, cheek-to-cheek with Emma, hand puppeteer-ing dentures on a bruised nip.

The end.

P.S. Gil had the Marmite later as a midnight snack

#ikemen prince #ikepri #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #atelier writes ikeseries

[scorpiussage]

To Catch Nothing At All (Chapter 2/?)

Summary:

Tommy Shelby wakes up in the pokemon universe and proceeds to live his best Horse Girl life while also kicking the asses of every 10 year old he encounters. (this is a crack treated seriously)

Tommy eyes the fist sized red and white ball warily. He looks at the clown next to him and then back at the ball, “I’m not putting it in that.” 

Officer Jenny huffs and with a roll of her eyes remarks, “It’s not gonna kill him.” 

Tommy gives her a skeptical look; the only way he sees something the size of the clown fitting into a space the size of a baseball, is if the clown is pureed. Sure he’s wanted to kill this thing for the past week, but certainly not in such a horrific manner. He says as much out loud and Officer Jenny looks properly horrified at the image Tommy’s just painted. 

“Look, you only have to do it for a moment so that your Mr. Mime can be registered to you. You can let him back out as soon as that’s done,” she explains to him patiently, holding out the ball; with great reluctance Tommy takes it. If this makes the clown explode, he’s going to maim someone. 

In a dull flash of light, the clown disappears into the ball and Tommy holds his breath as the ball shakes back and forth in his palm. When it finally settles, Officer Jenny prompts him to throw it. Another soft flash of light and the clown reappears completely unharmed. 

Tommy admittedly lets out a sigh of relief. 

Officer Jenny pats him on the shoulder, “See! Nothing to worry about.” 

As the evening drags on, she shows him about town and takes him to a place called a ‘Pokemon Center’; this is apparently where people take their weird animals to be healed. It also functions, strangely enough, as a hostel for travelers. Tommy doesn’t really want to be abandoned at this bizarre building with a crowd of ten-year-olds, but Officer Jenny has her own life to get back to. She does tell him she’ll pick him up in the morning for more touring and explaining of how things work here, though. 

Tommy suspects she’s caught on that whatever his situation may be, it’s one that left him completely stranded in a wholy unfamiliar place. He’s privately thankful for the compassion she’s shown him. 

…

Tommy watches the spectacle with a deep frown etched into his face. Next to him, Officer Jenny is absolutely losing her mind with excitement, screaming things like, “Put him in the dirt!!!” 

A month ago, if you’d told Tommy he’d be watching ten-year-olds doing– what is essentially–dog fighting with magical creatures, he would have put that person in the same padded cell as Barney and sat back and watched the carnage. But now? Now he’s sitting in the stands watching a yellow rat that shoots bolts of lightning from its face battle an overgrown worm. 

For not the first time, he wonders if it’s not him that’s in the padded cell and that all of this is all some weird drug induced dream. Next to him, popcorn goes flying as Officer Jenny springs up out of her seat, screaming like a lunatic when the worm creature gets fried. He looks at the clown (It’s a Mr. Mime, Mr. Shelby!) sitting on his other side and wonders if that’s what he’s expected to do with the thing. He feels a little ill at the thought– not because the damn thing has grown on him–but because animals are innocent and to hurt them intentionally is the worst sin in his book. 

“What do you think?” Officer Jenny asks him when the battle is over and they’re all making their way out of the arena. 

Tommy struggles to find the words, “Uh…” 

Then the woman gets this look on her face like she’s just come up with some ingenious idea, “Oh! Of course it wouldn’t be very exciting! You need to battle yourself to really get a feel for it!” 

That’s how they end up where they do. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose to try and stem the developing headache he has brewing, he takes up the spot across from Officer Jenny and her ugly pigeon. He can’t believe he’s actually about to do this– and with a clown no less. 

Without looking, Tommy snaps his fingers and points to the dirt arena, “Clown, go.” 

The thing says very determined, “Mime!” in response and takes up a fighting stance. Tommy looks down at the little paper list Officer Jenny has made for him of the clown’s “abilities”. 

“Uh– clown, use slap?” he orders, feeling supremely ridiculous doing it. 

The clown darts forward towards the pigeon and with far more force and accuracy than Tommy was expecting, it smacks the bird into the dirt with a menacing grunt of, “Mime!” 

Even more surprising, the ugly bird hops up immediately and shakes itself off, retaking its stance. 

“Pidgey, use peck!” Officer Jenny calls out and the bird immediately charges towards the clown, chasing it back to Tommy’s side of the arena while pecking at it viciously. 

When the attack is over, the clown approaches Tommy, whimpering and clutching its bruised arm pitifully. 

“Mimmmmeee,” it whines at him with tears in its bulbous eyes. Tommy does not feel bad for making it do this, he just has a strict standard of morals around animals is all. Glaring at that smug bird and its cheering owner, he crouches down to be more level with the clown. 

“Next time that fuckin’ bird comes after you, eh,” he says firmly, “I want you to slap it as hard as you can out of the sky. Understood?”

The clown sniffles and pulls itself up taller, giving a resolute nod and its customary, “Mime.” 

“Good. Don’t let yourself be a punching bag. Always fight back.” 

With renewed confidence, the clown retakes its spot in the arena. 

Officer Jenny smirks at them, “Back for more? Pidgey, use peck!” 

The clown tenses, visibly bracing itself as the bird jets towards it. As soon as the bird is within arms length, Tommy calls out, “Now! Slap it!” 

With perfect aim, the clown delivers an audible smack to the bird, sending it tumbling across the dirt and out of the bounds of the arena. 

It doesn’t get back up. 

Chapter 1 | Main Masterlist

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #pokemon #the crossover no one asked for but that I'm giving to you anyways say thank you #tommy shelby fic