#i’ve literally had people point out how i don’t make eye contact so many times

[captianprices40thson]

Just read you're other story, it was awesome. Can you write one with male reader being married to graves and ale and rudy flirting with m/n, but every time m/n is like I'm married but never tells hes married to graves. And one day they are making out on the couch and ale and rudy walk in and are like " NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHY HIM OF ALL PEOPLE. " and " THAT SHOULD BE ME. "

Do you have a man? I don’t see a ring on your finger

Word count: 2.3k

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Graves (jk) None really. A lot of fluff, Los Vaqueros and Graves have beef, Alejandro complains about white people (as he should), 

Notes: Wrote the vast majority of this in class while listening to IT GIRL. You know this is gonna be good. And yes, if you've submitted a request the last three days after I posted my last fic, I’ve started to work on it. Gotten a lot more than I’ve expected so I’m trying my best lol. And Anon, if you want me to rewrite this or make something different, please just ask me to, I really don't mind. I'm not too proud of this one, but I hope I've satisfied you.

(Takes place before the Graves betrayal. Reader is not part of the 141, Shadows or Los Vaqueros, but a secret fourth thing.)

“Come on, Guapo. You’re bluffing.” Alejandro smirked, crossing his arms as he spoke. You chuckled, leaning back against the truck that Rudy was loading up. This wasn’t the first time he had accused you of lying about your relationship status. If you had a dollar for each time, you’d have enough to have another wedding.

“I’m telling you, Alejandro. I’m a married man. How many more times do I have to tell you?” You confirmed for the millionth time, a stupid grin on your face. Truth be told, you didn’t half mind their flirting, it made you feel better about yourself knowing that you still got it. The fact that they refused to believe that you were married, it was sort of funny.

“I don’t see a ring.” Rudy added in after he loaded the final bag onto the truck, a know-it-all look on his face as he walked up to you too. You rolled your eyes, refusing to move from your position because you thought you looked too cool not to. “No one wears rings during active duty, Rodolfo. You see Soap and Ghost wearing theirs?” You spoke back, pushing yourself off your spot on the car for two reasons. Them being, you thought it would be cooler and Rudy was moving to open the door your foot was suffocating.

“No, Ghost wears his ring around his neck. Also I’m pretty sure Soap lost his.” Alejandro commented, making eye contact with you. It wasn’t for long because you immediately closed your eyes as you scoffed.

“Well, that’s Soap for you. I guess I just prefer to not wear mine.” You reasoned, looking over to Rudy, to Alejandro and then over to a whistle that just sounded American. That always made you smile, seeing Graves whistle his Shadows like they were dogs.

“Oh great, it’s the gringo.” Alejandro hissed, causing you to turn your head and shake it a bit.

“Hey.” You scolded him like he was a child and had just said he hated something, which was kind of true. Los Vaqueros had a sort of special hatred for Graves, perhaps it was because he was the most American man you’d ever meet, perhaps it was because he was just kind of an asshole. You’ve been trying to get them to get along, but so far it would only work on Rudy. He was the kinder of the two, it was clear.

“Alejandro. We talked about this.” Rudy chimed in, causing Alejandro to hold out his arms in disbelief. He dropped them to his sides and pointed over to Graves.

“Is it my fault he’s so white? I’m literally being blinded every time I look over at him!” He protested, causing you to chuckle a little. Rudy didn’t let himself smile, although he was internally.

“I know. It is very painful to look at him.” Rudy nodded, placing a hand on Alejandro’s shoulder and shaking his head like he was sympathising with Alejandro after he had been shot or something, not like he was complaining about white people. A valid complaint in most people’s eyes.

“I don’t even say it to any of the 141.” The taller man whisper-shouted, searching for sympathy from you. You smiled, shaking your head as you walked over to him and placed a hand on his other shoulder so you were now one big line.

“Oh yes, you’re very strong, Ale.” You patronised him, talking down to him like he was a toddler. Before he had time to punch you, Graves walked over. Sorry, not walking, strided like the sassy man he is.

“Alright gentlemen. Let’s get this show on the road. You coming with me, Y/N?” Graves smiled, looking over to you. Both Alejandro and Rudy looked over to you, knowing that you always travelled with Graves when you went to go do something. Not belonging to any of their groups, you preferred to travel with your husband.

“Ye-”

“Actually, Y/N will be travelling with us for this mission, Graves. He’s been with you every other time.” Alejandro butted in, placing his arm in front of you like you were going to run off to the man at any minute if he didn’t step in.

“You can’t just decide where he does and doesn’t go, compadre.” Graves tried to argue, but you gave him a look to say it was fine. He nodded, making a little symbol with his hands to tell you that you were to make it up to him later. You had created a lot of those symbols, knowing that it would be hard to communicate all your incredibly affectionate thoughts for one another.

Graves walked away and the three of you turned to the car. Rudy tossed the keys around in his hands, indicating you were to sit in the back because of course Alejandro always had to take shotgun if Rudy was driving.

“Who used this truck last?” Alejandro asked as he opened the passenger’s seat door, sitting down while you buckled in and Rudy turned the keys.

“Uh, It was you last, right Y/N?” Rudy asked, turning back to you. You gave them a thumbs up, your mind replaying why exactly you had used the truck last time. Makeout sessions were not easy to go on base, and the trucks had tinted windows.

“Wait what the…who the fuck did you have in here? W-Why is the seat back like that?” Rudy asked as leant back in the seat only to realise just how far back it was positioned. The taller man held the lever that would pull the seat back up for Rudy and before you could deny anything, Alejandro had something to ask..

“AND WHY DOES THIS CAR SMELL LIKE JAPANESE CHERRY BLOSSOM? WHO THE FUCK DID YOU HAVE IN HERE?” He yelled, causing Rudy to laugh to himself at seeing your guilty face.

“THAT'S JUST HOW I LIKE TO DRIVE!” You lied, trying to come up with an excuse for why the truck was like this. You were sure they didn’t believe you, but they didn’t say anything about it for a moment.

“Sureee, we believe you, love.” Rudy smiled, starting up the car and beginning to lead the rest of the group to the relocation point. You looked over at your hand in the backseat, wondering why you had chosen not to wear your wedding ring. Sure, it was impractical as hell to have on the field, but you could easily attach it to something else, like a necklace. 

“What’re you thinking about, carino? Tryna make up a personality for your fake husband?” Alejandro asked, looking back at you from his chair. You frowned, like a full on cartoon downturned face.

“He isn’t fake, forehead. And what I’m thinking of is none of your business.”

“Oh I get it. It was sexual. You were totally thinking about Rudy and I.” “Don’t drag me into this Ale.”

“You helped me dig this hole, Rudy. You’re coming in with me.”

“Why do you make everything about sex?”

“Why do you not?”

“I’m a human that respects everyone around me, Alejandro. You don't…” You decided to tune them out, it was just the same bickering every time that somehow got you roped up in it. You’d heard it all before. They’d argue about something or other and eventually they’d make up when you forced them to, which made them want to flirt with you even more. You didn’t mind the flirting…it just got a bit tiring sometimes.

________

“Hey baby.” Graves smiled as you entered the small section of the base that was dedicated to the shadows while they stayed for the time being. You smiled, walking up to him and embracing the American man in your tired arms, just wanting to hold him.

“Hey Graves.” You mumbled into his shoulder, your voice being muffled by the fabric of his shirt. It was one of your favourites, a dark blue that suited him well. Graves reached a hand up, holding the back of your head and slowly swaying from side to side.

“How were your little cowboy friends? Better drivers than me?” Graves asked, making you groan, remembering how they were flirting with you all trip. The American chuckled at your response, continuing to hold you close.

“They just can’t seem to understand that I’m married. They think it’s impossible…I don’t know whether or not it’s a compliment and at this point, I don’t care.” You groaned, lifting your head up to meet his eyes. His smile, no matter how much of an asshole he was being, was always kind to you.

“Aww, baby.” Graves frowned, holding your face in his hands. You smiled and placed both your hands on his waist, both of you leaning forward to kiss. The two of you had missed the touch that you never seemed to get, this was a rare time.

You both went down to the couch, Graves on top of you as you made out. He moved one of his hands to hold you from the back and you put another in his hair, holding the platinum blonde locks as your passion rose to the surface.

“What the fuck?!” The accented yell caused you and Graves to pull apart and look where it came from. A very very shocked Alejandro and Rudy stood in the doorway, both caught off guard by the situation.

“W-What are you two doing here?” You asked as Graves pushed himself off of you so you could speak to the two men. They never visited this part of the base on purpose, avoiding Graves and his shadows like the plague.

“What are you doing here?” Alejandro retorted, pointing to the two of you with a confused look on his face.

“I’d say its pretty obvious what my husband is doing here.” Graves butted in, pointing to you with his thumb, causing both Alejandro and Rudy’s jaws to drop. You almost let out a laugh, instead choosing to hide your reaction and just look at them blankly.

“W-What did you say?” Rudy questioned Graves, looking over at him and then back to you. It was like he couldn’t believe that someone as sweet and kind as you…was married to Phillip Graves.

“Y/N is my husband. He wasn’t lying about being married, y’know?” Graves smiled a stupid shit eating grin at the two men’s reactions. They both looked over at him, then back to you seemingly in unison. You could only lift up your hands a bit and give a ‘sorry smile’ to them. 

“B-But if not us…why him?” “COME ON, Y/N. YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER!” Alejandro added in, more fond of shouting than Rudy would ever be. You made eye contact with Graves while they yelled, trying to figure out why he was the one you were romantically interested in,

“D-Do you just have a thing for Americans?”

“Is he lying to you about how good of a person he is?”

“What type of car does he drive?” 'HE'S THE WORST, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

“Fuckin white people, taking everything anyone else wants.”  "WHY HIM OF ALL PEOPLE?"

While the two Mexican men started rambling and guessing why you would be with Graves and not them, you and Graves decided to share another kiss while they argued, effectively shutting them both up.

“You two,” You started as now you finally had their attention. “We’re with each other because we love each other…simple.” You smiled, watching them take in the fact that you actually might just love Graves.

There was a silence while they processed that, a deafening silence and if anyone came past the room, they’d assume there was no life in there. It stayed for a minute before Alejandro spoke up.

“This isn’t over, white boy.” He vaguely threatened, making ‘watching you’ hand gestures and walking out of the room backwards, maintaining eye contact with Graves the whole time. 

“What he said.” Rudy added on, quickly walking after him, just keeping his head forward. When Alejandro bumped into the wall while trying to exit, Rudy grabbed his shoulder and they both muttered something to one another, Alejandro rubbing his head as he left.

“Were they high? What was that?” Graves asked, completely confused on what just went down. You didn’t know whether to defend them or not, because to be honest, you thought they were as well.

“I have no clue…” You whispered, turning back to Graves and laying back down on the couch in the position you were in before. The blonde saw this and smiled, laying down back on top of you, not kissing you, just laying there.

“We can deal with them later.” He whispered, closing his eyes and just laying there with you. You smiled, placing your hand in his hair and mentally preparing yourself for whatever the dynamic duo were going to try next. You had no idea what it was going to be, but you just hoped they wouldn’t resort to trying to kill Graves. But, there was no saying what those men would stoop to to win your affection.

#Alejandro Vargas #rodolfo parra #Alejandro Vargas x reader #Rudy x reader #Rodolfo parra x reader #alejandro x rodolfo #Rudy #Rudy cod #Alejandro cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #Male reader #Call of duty x male reader #Graves x male reader #Phillip Graves #Phillip Graves x reader #fiction #call of duty #cod #Fluff

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hello,

I was wondering if you could share any tips on relearning stims. I just got diagnosed last year and am now realizing the ableist society I grew up in. I have so many memories of being told to sit still and to stop fidgeting. I then learned I could covertly stim by pulling out my hair (Trichotillomania) until my mom got frustrated that I had a bald spot and hair was literally everywhere, which I then learned to hide the evidence by eating the hair (Trichophagia which by the way do not recommend can lead to hair bezoars being cut out of stomach… I know from experience). Well for years I just thought that there was something wrong with me until I got my autism diagnosis when I learned about stimming and remembered all my memories of being forced to suppress my stims. I now realize that “unlocking” stims may be the way to reduce my hair pulling but it feels so foreign when I do try to stim in a less harmful but more obvious way. So all around the block to ask if you have any advice on how to relearn stimming (Bonus points for how to care less about how people think of me stimming). Thank you for reading this and am looking forward to see if you have any advice.

-Meggers

Hello Meggers,

I’ve never heard of “relearning” stims before. The only think that I think would come close is unmasking. Which can be hard for neurodivergent individuals, but I’ve found an article that might help. It’s gives seven tips on how you can unmask and be your authentic self. Here are some excerpts from the article:

1. Figure Out Your Own Pace

Unmasking can be very positive, but it’s also difficult. Even though you are learning to be yourself, you’ve stifled this part of you for a long time. So it’s okay to take it slow. There’s no required timeline for when or how you must start unmasking or when you should be completely yourself. Everyone’s circumstances and comfort levels are different; don’t compare yourself to others. Just take the steps you’re comfortable with and proceed when you feel ready

2. Think about What You’re Like When You’re Alone

One of the best ways to figure out what you’re like without a mask is by noticing how you behave when you’re alone and know you won’t be interrupted. This can show you what a life free from shame looks like. Do you talk to yourself while you do things? Do you wear specific clothes that might be considered “weird” but make you comfortable? Maybe you make noises or hand motions while you speak or think. Maybe you keep your possessions in “strange” places because it works better for you. Think about what you do when you’re only managing yourself.

3. Notice The Behaviors You Do For Other People

On the flip side, think about the things you do for other people. Some people force themselves to make eye contact, so they don’t upset others. Some have been told it’s bad to flap their hands, so they refrain from flapping around friends. Many people are constantly told they need to stop moving, stop fidgeting, smile more, talk less, and they comply because they want to blend in and avoid criticism.

4. Recognize Internalized Ableism

If you’re really letting yourself behave the way that feels natural, you might find some of the behaviors that come out are uncomfortable at first. This doesn’t mean they’re not natural though; it might mean you have internalized many ableist beliefs. Some autistic people have said that they find it regulating to rock. However, they were uncomfortable letting themselves do it at first because they’d been told for so long it was wrong. Society labels a lot of activities and behaviors as “weird”, and you might find them strange, too. However, if you enjoy them or they make you feel more natural and at ease, then you should work on pushing through that “weirdness” to see what happens.

5. Let Yourself Rediscover Passion

Devon Price lists this tip in his book about unmasking for autistic people. So often, neurodivergent people are told that their interests are irrelevant or that they are a waste of time. But special interests and hyper-focuses are fantastic sources of creativity and joy. Learning how to let yourself take true pleasure in these activities is a fantastic way to learn about your true self.

6. Find A Neurodivergent Community

It’s important to find a like-minded community, especially if you received your diagnosis later in life and spent most of your early years only with neurotypical people. Spending time with people who understand your neurotype and the difficulties of being neurodivergent can be very healing. They can help you unmask because they can provide a safe space to do it. If you’re in a place where people don’t have to carefully monitor their speech, where they can move their bodies however they need to, and where they can talk about their legitimate struggles, then you will feel freer to express yourself.

7. Get Professional Support

Unmasking isn’t a quick process, and it isn’t linear. You will go through a lot of different stages, and it may sometimes be difficult. But once you’ve explored your identity and found your people, you will experience greater peace and contentment. You will be more authentically you. You will be able to care for your own needs without always bowing to social pressure. Self-expression is hard, but the effort is worth the fight. You deserve to live as you.

The full article goes into more detail, which will be down below.

I hope this source can help you. Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ❤️

#inbox #inbox reply #inbox is open

[mallowmaenad]

Having been aboard a small vessel with a Scarovan aboard led me to picking up a lot on their body language, even read up on their culture. We got to know each other pretty well, we exchanged cultural dishes (with some substitutes so we both wouldn’t be shitting blood for the next week) and at this point I had learned their kind’s body language. We were hanging out in my quarters, naturally using my off-hours to get fucking baked with some ancient sitcoms playing on the tv while I had a bowl of some off-brand cheese flavored puff between my thighs. I glanced over at my friend, entirely sober, eye stalks swaying gently as their mandible brushed against their forelimbs.

“What’s bothering you?”

They hesitated, “I don’t wanna say.”

“C’mon, we’re friends.”

They thought for a moment, bioluminescent carapace thrumming in contemplation as they found the wording.

“Well it’s just that you humans act exactly like the 3rd Schreemar dynasty.”

I had dabbled in Scarovan history, I knew this was real life though and not some old book trying to predict the future, each planet had hundreds of hundreds of countries, some millions. Usually a planetary monoculture meant some bad shit had gone down recently. I studied M’luk’s country mostly, I was fascinated by the differences, the total alien nature of their civilization to me.

I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Hrm?” I threw another shitty cheese puff into my mouth, melting impact with my tongue.

“They were some ancient nickel-age empire, one of those big ‘we’re going to conquer the world’ civilizations. They made a bunch of movies and video games about them. Like, it might just be my translator but sometimes you’ll slip into some really archaic terminology like ‘pencil’ or ‘governor’, it makes you sound like a bunch of fantasy characters.” Her claws brushed together in an alien grin, maybe she was lying when she said her people were immune to this stuff.

I thought for a moment, fuck I was too high for this.

“W-what…?”

“Well it’s just that you’re all so stoic and war-like, there’s a few humans I’ve met that aren’t but they make being different like, their whole personality.”

I took a swig of the shitty off-brand soda I grabbed from the commissar and made a face, out of both confusion and how absolutely mid the soda tasted.

“Waddayamean war-like? kinda painting with a broad brush there, Mel.”

She growled, lights going bright from the bottom to the top of her back, a giggle by another name.

“Yeah that’s what I’m talking about, do you guys seriously still use brushes? Also like when I did research on your planet there were… so many wars.”

I leaned forward, a bit floaty from the space weed as I raised my voice a little, “W-wha ya mean??? We don’t have that many…”

“Ya’ll were literally naming them like they were sequels to movies. You made sequels to your wars. Who does that??”

I gulped as I tried to find my words, the growling and thrumming meant that my alien friend was definitely getting a contact high and laughing her ass off.

“B-bu-but…!”

“You had more than one war involving the entire planet.”

Flabbergasted I plopped back into the embrace of my bean bag chair, glassy eyes watching as some criminal comedians exchanged inane parables about heterosexual relationships.

“Damn, you right. You right.”

There was a long pause, focused on the television as the ancient New Yorker play continued.

“So um, did they also have a thing in like, twenny first century where a bunch of guys wanted to bring that back?”

“Oh just a bunch of teal couch potatoes that spent too much time online.”

My stomach lurched. Oh well, it was all in the past.

“Hey can you pass those crickets?”

She handed me the clear bag of dried insects, she garbled something the translator didn’t pick up.

“Yeah I can’t pronounce that, so I’m callin’ em crickets.”

#microfiction #science fiction

[docholligay]

I am, today, thirty-six years old. 

In Judaism, eighteen is the number for life, owing to what largely comes down to spelling, and the order of the Hebrew alphabet, but what comes to have cultural meaning very often has little to do with sense. We create guideposts in our lives like cairns marking a trail, to let us know we are still on the path, and why we put them where they are isn’t nearly so important as they fact that they are there. 

Thirty-six, is double life. I have done twice as much living as the last time. 

I can sometimes frustrate myself, in thinking that I don’t change much, that despite my efforts to move forward, I am an ill-tempered and stubborn little shit. That I never learn. That every year things go around, and I am back to where I started. 

But I see the cairn, on the path, and I remember the last one. 

Who was I, at eighteen? I was nonpracticing, I was on my own in nearly every possible sense. I was seeking to bury myself, in a nonliteral but also perhaps extremely literal sense, in heavy drinking, in living hard, in picking fights with people twice my size, in more than a few drug-based incidents. I sought something, and I had no idea what that was. 

I was lonely for myself, in many ways. Back then I would have told you the odds of me seeing thirty-six were dodgy at best, and I was more or less satisfied with that. Nothing gold can stay, I would have said, with a blend of drama, surrender, and intense, unmitigated arrogance that makes me roll my eyes as I sit here thinking about it. 

I don’t mean to say that I was a bad person, and now I am a good one. I think that flattens us both, me and her, the girl I used to be. The girl who had not yet become Doc, even in name. She wasn’t all bad. She had my same impulsive generosity and deep curiosity. She was very brave, to a fault. But she wasn’t near as smart as she thought she was, nor her tragedies quite as beautiful. She was having a pretty bad time, but some of it was her own damn fault. 

In the same way, the woman I’ve become isn’t all good. I’m still ill-tempered, though decidedly more likely to make myself take a lap around the block before deciding to act. I’m scatterbrained and forgetful to a point that makes me furious with myself, often. I’m very stubborn, and find myself having to go back and apologize when it would have been better not to snap in the first place. To learn how to relent. 

But, Doc of thirty-six does apologize. So there’s that. 

I looked at a picture of myself at eighteen, probably about a week ago. I was pretty, long red hair cascading down my back, bright blue eyes accentuated with contacts and a delicate cheek, being brushed by the summer sun. I am in a pink sundress made of old vintage material I found at the MRM, and there are a few freckles dappling my shoulders from the hot of that summer. There are so many things I would tell her, so many dreams she’ll get to fulfill that she’d already written off in what she assumed was the exchange for a life lived in freedom. So many edges that are going to be softened by time, and that she’ll be surprised how grateful she is for that. She’d probably laugh out loud if I leaned against the doorframe of that shitty and cold one room cottage on the back of a ranch and told her she’d go to Europe. She’d write, and people would read it. 

She’d forgive her parents their failings. 

A life cannot be lived backward, whatever the combined wisdom of Merlin and Benjamin Button say, and largely I’ve avoided looking too much behind me. Doc is dead, long live Doc. Anything from my past that wants to get at me has to call to me and then catch up. I don’t wait for it. 

Maybe that’s something I can work on for fifty-four. 

Because looking back at that eighteen year old has shown me some things about thirty-six year old me. I am good at looking at myself with a critical eye. I know my flaws intimately, and I can list them very quickly. I don’t try to make them cute. I am not one of those people who says, ‘Oh I just CARE too much about people’s feelings and don’t care about my own,’ or one of those flaws that is meant mostly to express how good and tender one is. I am not. I know this about myself. 

But seeing how far I’ve come, means something. I’m not as gentle or calm as some of my friends I admire, but I have grown in patience and understanding by wide miles. I still have a quick temper, but I don’t always allow it to drive my actions. I make myself take a step back. My lifestyle shows a desire to live and love, and to be loved, instead of burn myself to the ground. I have taken so much of my immense intensity and turned it toward goodness and help and community. 

I still have a fire, but it gives warmth and light more like a parlor fire, less like a blazing house. 

I can be proud of that. I would have been on everyone’s top ten lists to die before she was thirty, and here I stand, six years after that fact, not a perfect woman, or even a good one, but someone I think who pursues goodness. I try. Not always hard enough, and not always in the right ways, but I try. Eighteen year old me was not trying. 

And I can forgive her for that too. I know she does, eventually. She keeps walking. 

[stayxlix]

I've been saving off the deep end to read once I had a break between exams

BRUH THAT STORYYYYYYY!! Pls don't mind my analysis and play-by-play reactions😩

You're writing style is so good I love the descriptions and how you manage to make everything so vivid. District 7's description was so on point, I really like how I could visualize it.... The tavern, the roads, the forests, the people...

"Cold rings on his fingers pressed into bare skin" goodbye I'd fold so fast✋✋✋ like yes he's a stranger but BRO

"He hesitantly brought his thumb up to run it over your bottom lip," I- 😀

I'm barely 2k into this story and already feeling a scream creeping up my throat.

"Without another word or giving you the chance to respond, he turned to go." Now excuse me dear sir✋ Get your outer district ass back here👹

How are you gonna make out w/ me then just dip💀 survival ig but STILL

"....so many eyes on you, permanently associating you with your father and his regime," SO WELL WRITTEN UGH CHEF'S KISS

I love the mc (main character) so much. They've won my favour so fast, uncharacteristically so. This is the kind of 'y/n' that we need to see more often! The change, the hero.

"A life with him certainly wouldn't involve tight corsets and suffocating lies." How are we so sure about the latter sweetie👀

But mc is better than me I'd probably be going there (district 7) every night in hopes of seeing him. But the chances are low considering he was on the run😔 Rational thinking ftw I guess?

"He had probably already forgotten about you." NAURRR😭 (I could never be this mature... To admit this to myself in such a situation? Nope)

"...followed by the glass walls of the hall shattering to pieces around you." Ok THIS PART IN THE STORY✋ Loveeee the build up of tension. I feel like I'm there omg.

"six..seven..maybe eight figures dressed in all black with bandana...." OOOH👀👀👀 !!! STRAY KISS WOO

"a group of your father's guards run up and make contact with the boys, tossing a couple of them their own guns."😨 HUH? OMG WHAT???? Betrayal of the century purrr😻

"The boy who had kissed you in the alley two weeks ago." GOODBYE CBFNFNFBFV

I should've seen this coming butt I'm FLABBERGASTED

Let's goooo😩😩✋ Also thank you for making it brown hair Felix, like THANK YOU😋 (btw this ask is so long sorryyyy)

"You swear you saw the faintest hint of a smirk... " OFFICIALLY HOLLERING RN AARGHHHH

No bc I hope he kidnaps mc😘 and Jisoo ofc😻 let's go live in the trenches 😋

NO the guards ruined it😒 Can they duck off istg

"Were you protecting him? " Dgfhgkhmkdxnh

"You mouthed "go" and if you had blinked you would have missed the nod he gave you in return." I need a minute🤒 A longgggg minute to process this

"Why would the boys risk their lives to send a message? " THIS IS SUCH AN ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF SKZ HELP

Like that's LITERALLY THEM

"As far as he knew, you were just like the rest of them." Bro this story is INTENSE

On that more I will be leaving for now, I need to eat and process this story before continuing it is so bloody good

Again, I'm so sorry for how long this is

omg so i just want to start by saying that from the bottom of my heart i am so touched by this. i seriously think i re-read it at least 7 times and i can’t even begin to express how much it means to me that you took the time out of your day to go through and immerse yourself into the story the way you did.😭💕 the play-by-play literally had me giggling to myself like a CHILD lmao you’re actually so funny like i wish i could hire you to narrate my life.😂

this is the first/only fic i’ve ever written and you complimented some of the parts i was most insecure about without even knowing it and i just. thank you.🥹💕 like your comment about the mc i could actually cry. and it’s always nice to find another dark hair felix stan because as much as i love the blonde (and i really do) i just couldn’t imagine him any other way here.

please don’t ever feel the need to apologize for how much you write this is what i LIVE for and it gives me so much motivation to continue the story. you could write an entire novel and i would happily sit down and read every single word.😊 i hope you got something good to eat (and that your exams went well) and i hope the rest of your day/night has been just as good as this made mine.💕💕💕

#alex answers asks♡ #otde.

[momentsofcovertabuse]

The last (and first) story 

I wrote this out a few months ago but have struggled with not wanting to put more negativity out into the world and also with wanting to put all this to rest and not write about her anymore. I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I need this story to be out there, but after I share it, I’m done spending any mental energy on this person ever again. This will be the last story I write publicly here. I’m so far into my healing journey and truly feel so much better than I ever have about the whole situation. Most of what I feel now for her is pity, but even that is a dull feeling at this point. I do think, though, that people need to hear this story. Whether they have their own situations they are processing or whether they know my mother or someone like her and deserve to know what evil lies beyond the surface. So here we go. 

I’ve been grappling with how exactly to write this because so many pieces are still truly unknown to me. So I will paint you the picture as I see it now, through 33-year-old eyes. I want to start with the fact that over the last couple years I have uncovered *many* lies that my mother told to me and others. I think these are so hard for me to believe in a lot of ways because not only am I naturally a trusting person, (she literally molded me to be that way) but she was such a convincing liar. I think she warped her own reality so much that she truly ended up believing her own lies. In my adolescence into adulthood, if I uncovered a lie and tried to talk to her about it, she truly believed that it wasn’t a lie. She would act like she didn’t remember it, or didn’t remember it in that way. I never knew not to trust her, so I always just blindly did, even though it was so confusing and made me question my own reality and sanity in the process. 

It wasn’t until recently that I even thought to question the validity of the most impactful story she has told me throughout my life. I went to a meditation retreat in October 2021, 5 months after I broke off contact with her, and this specific story would not shake from my thoughts. 10 days in silence will make you really think about things, I guess.

So, here’s the story the way she told it to me. The way I always believed it blindly to be an unshakable truth. A story that would change my perspective and make me not question certain things about my childhood, keeping me compliant to her for the next almost 30 years.

My mother always told me that my biological father, Joe, was a very bad man. She told me that he was incredibly controlling with examples like that he would draw chalk lines behind her car tires and record her mileage so that she could never go anywhere without him knowing. She called him abusive, both sexually and physically. She called him an alcoholic, a gambling addict, bipolar. All I knew for sure was that I had a half-sister that was almost exactly 9 months older than me. That fact, alone, helped paint her story in a very believable light, though I’ve never talked to the other woman who had his baby.

My mother met my father on Halloween while she was married to someone else who she had been with for 10 years. She always wanted a baby, but that man could not get her pregnant. She became pregnant quickly after meeting my dad, and I was born a little over a year later. It was a fast relationship, and by the time I was three, my parents were proceeding with a divorce from their one-year long marriage (her third of four).

The story of the incident has been repeated to me throughout my life by my mother, over and over again. In hindsight, I think there is a strategic reason for constantly bringing this up even though had I remembered such a thing, it would’ve been super traumatizing. But I didn’t remember anything. I was only three. My mother says that she left me alone with him for the first time even though her gut told her not to. She left for the night, I don’t know what she was doing, and my dad and I were watching TV together. From there, the only detail I know, is that the next morning three-year-old me came down the stairs and exclaimed “daddy made me touch his p***s last night” — yes, I apparently used the anatomical name and everything. My mother said that she was so shocked but her first thought was that she needed a witness. She called my aunt over and told me to repeat what I said. I told her, too.

From there, it seems that a divorce and a case for child support was easy. So my parents got divorced, but my dad visited as often as he could despite living five hours north and he sent me gifts until I was about eight. I remember when the last gift stopped. He sent me funny thing is like a box full of crumpled one dollar bills. He never forgot a holiday. But then it just stopped one day. The next I heard from him was when he called when I was 13 and I listened in. He told my mother that he had terminal cancer and would likely die soon. He asked for me to call him, but I never did. He died not long after that and my child brain held onto that regret from not calling him for a VERY long time. My mother never encouraged me to call him. She always stuck to the narrative that he was a monster. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. That didn’t change the regret I constantly felt for years. 

Now here’s where the adult-brain critical thinking comes in. When I first reunited with all of my family that my mom basically forced me to push out of my life, one family member looked at me and said “do you really believe what happened with your dad?“ My jaw literally dropped at their suggestion. I had literally never questioned this in my life. Why would I? What kind of monster would make up a story about child abuse, like this? Something that has been part of my identity for so long. Something that has been repeated to me over and over again to show that my mother saved me from what could’ve been a terrible situation had my dad stayed in the picture. 

This simple question made me start to reconsider some of the things my mom told me as a kid. But the biggest change in my situation presently was that I was now an aunt to two little girls who are both almost three themselves. So when I was left with 10 days of silence at the meditation retreat, only a month after this reunion with my family, I started thinking of those two little girls. It just seemed so unlikely that a three-year-old would know that being asked to touch their father in a way that did not hurt them at all would be noteworthy enough to repeat to their mother the next day. 

Sidenote: I admittedly don’t have a lot of experience with three-year-olds so here’s where I would really love your help if you have three-year-olds in your life or are a parent yourself and are reading this. What are the chances that if a man your child trusted told your child to simply touch them in a way that they have no context is sexual or in any way abusive, how would your child perceive that interaction especially after a night’s sleep? Maybe I’m off here, but it just did not seem like something a three-year-old would care enough about to even remember. However, it does seem like a three-year-old is the perfect little brain to repeat verbatim something that they were told to say. I’m sure I would have happily repeated anything my mom wanted me to if I was given even just a little praise for doing so.  

When I asked my family what else they could remember about my dad, they repeated some of the stories I knew, like the chalk lines behind the car, but couldn’t remember if they had ever actually seen aggression, violence, or weird behavior from my dad directly or if these were just stories that my mother told them. I do remember my grandfather always talking about how good of a guy my dad was, but I always shake it off like my grandfather loved everyone and he was just mistaken about him. 

A couple months ago though, I reconnected with my dad‘s widow and it was the first time I mentioned this story to her. She was shocked at the accusation and said that there’s no way my father would be capable of what he was accused of. She said that he was mentally stable, definitely not a pedophile, and the love of her life. I understand that her take may be biased, but from what I’ve learned throughout the years, it seems very unlikely that someone would get drunk and ask a little girl to touch them in a way that is completely out of character to everyone in their life who knows them deeply. 

What I’ve discovered, though, is that it is not out of character for my mother to call normal people alcoholics. It’s not out of character for her to make big lies about a sensitive topic (she once told a boyfriend he got her pregnant and she needed an abortion — just got fun and to pocket the money). And sadly, I’ve seen first hand in a completely different situation that it’s not out of character for her to accuse someone of sexual violence or child abuse when it is not true at all. That one was the hardest one for me to witness and know about as an adult and that lie hurt so many people so deeply. With that track record and all this other information, I’ve come to the conclusion that this whole thing was in fact, a lie. It was an easy way for her to obtain child support. It was a way for her to make a clean break and look like the hero to everyone in her life, especially me. She also got to dabble in playing the victim card, a common theme among narcissists. And, this whole rhetoric was a perfect way to explain why my dad eventually stopped showing up and completely left my life, (which by the way, my dad’s widow told me that my mom made it impossible for him to see me and it broke his heart when he finally gave up).

One of my mother’s favorite quotes that she repeated throughout the years was “some things, Amber, you just have to take to your grave.“ I never knew what secrets she was speaking of and always just shook it of as needlessly dramatic… I never assumed there were actual lies, especially any involving me, but now in hindsight, I think this might be one of the things she was referring to. She planned to take it to her grave because I think on some level she knows how significantly this lie impacted in my childhood into my adult life. Every time I saw a father-daughter dance, every Father’s Day that came around, every time she was cruel and I cried myself to sleep alone, I always wondered what it would’ve been like to have a father that  loved me enough to stay in my life. It took me 33 years to realize that I could’ve had that all along and it was taken away from me. Personality disorder or not, mental health issues or not, that is unforgivable. And never admitting to the truth or apologizing for what she’s done is the nail in the coffin for me.

However, I do believe she is paying for her actions. When I discovered she had narcissistic personality disorder I asked her to go to therapy, and she refused, which is textbook narcissism. I even told her this was the only way that I’d consider talking to her again, and it still wasn’t worth it to her. She has completely isolated herself from every family member she had, mostly because of awful things she did to them and the lies she’s told. Her friends are starting to realize what she is and she is becoming more and more alone. Her husband stands by her, but that is because he is a victim of abuse himself, and doesn’t know how he should be treated. It’s very sad, but she treats him the best he’s ever been treated even though a frequent occurrence in their household is her screaming “a**hole!“ at him at the top of her lungs, every single day of his life…

I’m happy to say that I’m building my life back. I’m questioning things more, treading a little more cautiously in my interactions with others, but still living a positive and optimistic life. I recognize red flags very quickly and run the other direction because I refuse to be a victim again. There are a lot of sick people out there and sometimes you can be abused, and it can be so subtle or something that was built from a lie in your childhood, that you never would have questioned. 

If you are reading this, please don’t feel bad for me. But use this story to critically think about relationships in your life that make you uneasy or anxious. Even if it’s the tiniest red flag. Or even a pink one. I always ignored what my mother was but every time I got off the phone with her, I wanted to cry and was so emotionally exhausted but I could never pinpoint an actual reason, so I blamed it on my own mental health. I didn’t know that with every single interaction she was continuing to control me, making me so confused and overwhelmed in the process.

I’m happy to say that I’m now surrounded by love every single day. I have family that I thought that I had lost forever, but they took the chance to forgive me and listen to all that I have uncovered. I am lucky to be in a position where I could take control back of my life and it’s only getting better from here. I love you all, you are all strong and unique and beautiful individuals. I wish you happiness and healing yourselves, if you need it. Thank you for taking the time to read this. 

[tmisaccidentreportbook]

MAG003, Across The Street

Case #0070107, Amy Patel Release date: 27 March 2016 First listen: 13th Oct 2020 I think, I think I was on the grounds duty, listening before guests got in.

Ok, so the headache’s still here, maybe it is a little bit of a concussion. Amy Patel, same hat? Same bumped hat.

- The statement giver and set up to this one felt like quite the change in pace. We’ve had 2 statements from a student and a recent graduate respectively, trying to enjoy life and cut loose a little. Amy is trying to enjoy life as well, but she’s turning back to education to do so. I don’t think there’s any indication of her studying in order to better herself and her situation, this is for personal fulfilment rather than career progression. But it struck me that in this instance, her encounter, and it’s a long set up so bear with me, it feels like almost she’s being targeted for her curiosity. Her desire to learn and expand her knowledge.

- I don’t know about other folks, but when lock down kicked in, I signed up for online learning courses. I was still working, but the rotas were pared right back to minimise contact and on the days I wasn’t in work I had sat on my bed and spiralled. Until I had written myself out a timetable for the day in order to give myself some structure. Yay… probable undiagnosed neurodiversity… Anyway, I did a course on the history of royal fashion. Absolutely nothing to do with my line of work, but it was grounding and gave me something to do when we were all needed to isolate. So, yeah, I get it.

- I found it interesting that she mentions the alternative was ‘become and alcoholic’ and Graham was a ‘chain smoker’. And then her watching him day to day. In a lot of ways, The Magnus Archives could be used as a tool to examine addiction in a lot of different forms. I’m given to believe that this was examined in the final season, with some unpleasantness being the fall out leading to Jonny disclosing his own history with addiction. I’d like to explore it, but I highly doubt I have the tools to do it justice and with the care the topic deserves.

- Anyone who can and does take good notes during a lecture, impresses and frightens me in equal measure. I always preferred workshops and discussions over lectures. Although lab hours can bite me. I don’t know if it’s the dyslexia, but I’ve typically been an auditory learner. Possibly another reason why podcasts and audiobooks have such a grip on me…

- Ah, the ordeal of being a single woman trying to use public transport… At night… In London… been there. It’s incredible how many people will see you in a situation where you literally can not run, and think it’s a good time to interact with you.

- Amy may have been a good one for The Eye? Studying, looking to expand her knowledge, people watching, making observations, watching her Graham out of her flat window. Maybe it’s the need to be aware of your surroundings. Maybe it’s not.

- ‘Liked the guy fine, but I still didn’t like the idea of him knowing where I lived.’ Once again, the back ground radiation of ‘the experience’. (I’m hesitant to call it the ‘female experience’ because, exclusionary. Anyone got a better phrase? Y’know, the ‘I don’t have the protection of being a cis/het/white/man’ experience?) But that need for privacy, even if there is a lack of a threat. Just, the knowledge in the safety of being unknown. Wait, this is a statement of The Stranger, OK, makes a bit of sense now that I’m writing it out.

- And cue head injury. The vanishing ‘window box’. And the table.

- The table was an interesting one to me as I started to learn about the Entities and looking back, I think I thought it was possibly and artefact of The Spiral rather than The Web. The intricate carved pattern, the hole in the middle could have easily been a door as the vacated space of a spider at the centre of a web.

- Now that I’m thinking about it, at some points there is a very fine line between the deceit and the manipulation.

- She mentions, months later, how she’d not spoken to him since the head injury. She had been busy with work and had to drop out of the course, and beyond work, she doesn’t mention any social contact. Graham ‘may have had a rich fulfilling life outside of the flat’ but if it mirrored his existence within it at all, it was a solitary one. I think I heard somewhere that after giving their statements, a lot of folks fell prey to The Lonely, isolated by having experienced things that no one ought to. I think I heard that Elias was telling Peter where to go, but so many folks were ripe for The Lonely before they came to the Institute. Many before they even had their brush with the Entities. I wonder if the other Entities could sense it, could smell them out. Knew that fear could take such a firm root if there was no support system to help weed it out.

- I wonder what about a person decides if they can recognise the Not!Them. Is it something about the observer themselves? Is it a predisposition? Is it random? Or is it selected by when would sew the most fear? After all, the Not!Them is recognised by an acquaintance, Amy with Not!Graham, a one time meeting, Melanie with Not!Sasha, and the daughter of The Kindly Mother. All very different levels of relationship, but all have ripples that spread wide.

- The observer becomes the observed and The Eye stirs.

- ‘I moved out soon after and never saw him again.’ … My dear, are you sure? Because, we already have a president of Entities not really needing to be given an address to find people and that thing can change everything about itself.

- ‘Tim came through with this one.’ Yeah he did! ‘He better not be using institute funds to woo filing clerks again.’ ‘Institute funds’ is an odd name to potentially have for one’s dick but I’ve heard odder.

- ‘Keep watching.’ I’m 3 episodes in. And I don’t think I could do anything else.

#MAG003 #the magnus archives #The Stranger #The Web #The Eye #Not!Them

[ruminate88]

Lesson Learned Too Well

There is many hard things I’ve come to face after narcissistic abuse….

one of them is, now, I observe every person I meet or come in contact with. No one gets close to me without I observe them first and even then, I’m afraid they could drop their “mask” at any point and time.

You NEED people and you NEED connections. A person can not survive in this world without love and human connections. You will starve yourself if you isolate yourself too far. You’ll be just as cold as the narcissist and honestly when you hang with a duck, you act like one.

when you’ve been with a narcissist and learn they can only damage you, you then are so hurt that it affects you negatively and you often end up hurting those who have tried to defend you against the narcissist. I know I pushed away friends who kept trying to open my eyes to truth. I was so angry and embarrassed that they were right about my ex and how he was lying/cheating. I found myself not wanting to even acknowledge their friendship because they told me the truth about my relationship with Andrew and I felt they “spoiled” it. I felt they wanted us to break up so bad and believed they were against me when they didn’t deserve me to treat them like that. 😔

I don’t wanna be cold because prior to the narcissist, I was the most loving and giving person to everyone I met. I could lend a helping hand to any stranger before but NOW I don’t wanna meet a stranger hardly. I stick to my small circle of people that I am choosing to trust and let in my door….

I literally have to now push myself to trust those in my life and I push myself to show them love and compassion. I often miss the days when I could show a hand of friendship to anyone BUT the pain of my ex narcissists was so great, I never wanna experience it again.

if I see ANY signs of narcissism from anyone, first I notice that person will be afraid to be around me because I can detect them and I can expose them but also I push them away and don’t even let them near me and I’m angry when they attach with people I love.

I know narcissist are humans too like me and need compassion same as me. I have tried to forgive my exes over and over. I’ve tried to feel sorry for them and I would never hurt them the way they hurt me but my opinions towards them is far from nice. 🥴 The anger my ex, Andrew, put inside me was more than I could handle. Andrew made me hate myself and hate everything around me. I didn’t wanna live after Andrew kept gaslighting me and treating me like I’m crazy.

from what I understand, most narcissists come from a place of “trauma” that’s why they cause you trauma… Being such an empathetic person, I had believed I could love Andrew enough to change him and affect him but nothing I said or did was enough to impact his life. He kept right on lying and cheating towards me. When I confronted his cheating, he put the blame back on me and tried to make me believe I was so stupid and did not know what the truth was. He tried to make believe I was misunderstanding the whole situation and that I didn’t “trust” him enough… wow. 🥺

Since Andrew, I put up a guard toward everyone. I did meet my husband and married him but I’ve battled trusting my husband and letting him 100% into my heart. I’ve almost expected him to lie and cheat. I’ve waited for “the let down” and I’ve waited to be disappointed. I’ve even mentally packed my bags to eventually have to move back home and YET my husband continues to show me he’s trustworthy. I’ve had to force myself to relax and get comfortable. I’ve had to work at convincing myself my marriage is good and will last forever.

I’ve not done all the work on my own!! I’ve prayed to Jesus over and over and over…. I’ve cried out for understanding and for the truth. Nothing has gotten better over night. It’s hard work to make progress daily. Each day is a new day to only grow as a person.

don’t let the narcissist steal your love, hope and dreams… don’t give up!! Don’t shut the whole world out over one or two bad apples. There is still people out there who CAN treat you with respect. No one is perfect!! Remember this, “you get what you give”!!! Maybe you’re scared to try again in love but some people are actually worth the risk!! 🥰 My husband was the nicest guy I ever met and I could literally feel a difference in being around him compared to my ex narcissists!!!

Don’t give up and don’t give in to the coldness brought on by the narcissist! Stay close to the light and continue to let love inside of you. Don’t lose your friends like I did… you can not survive alone!!

#emotional abuse #narcissistic abuse #self healing #unpacking #my story #self awareness #healingjourney #online relationships #narcissism #heartbreak #truth #hope #inspirational #motivational #overcoming narcissistic abuse #narcissistic personality disorder #dont give up #faith in jesus #jesus christ #love

[mytruthandbeauty]

23 May 2023

It’s late, I’m in bed ready for sleep, but I wanted to put this out there while I’m thinking about it and I can continue it tomorrow. Mexicans are very polite and they have an etiquette for greeting shopkeepers when you enter the shop. When you enter the establishment you always greet the person there with a “hola, Buenos días or buenas tardes,” depending on whether it’s morning or afternoon. Also when asking for something you always say please, por favor and thanks, gracias. I’ll elaborate tomorrow.

So, now it’s tomorrow or I guess it’s toda, but at any rate it’s a day later than when I started this post. As I was saying yesterday, the Mexicans for the most part seem to be a very polite people and I think it must be from how they were raised. Unfortunately, I was not taught as a child to always say please when asking for something and thank you when I received it. It takes continuous reinforcement of a practice before it becomes habit and stays with you for a life time. The habit of politeness was not something I was taught and now I wish it had been, because I genuinely feel embarrassment when I fail to say please when asking for something and realizing after the fact that I forgot to say it. I’ve seen some travel YouTubers talk about this too when they have gone from the states to another country and I know it’s not all Americans who are guilty of this crude or uncivilized behavior but it does seem that I am not alone in this seemingly uncouth behavior. For some reason it’s easier for me to remember to say thank you and I can tell from the expression on the person’s face when they are annoyed that I didn’t say please and when they are happy that I said thank you. It is a struggle for me, one with which I work on daily or at least every time I am out and need assistance and this little thing reminds me of how different cultures can be from one country to another.

Another form of politeness I’ve been pleased to experience is when Mexican men move out of my way on the sidewalk and this happens all the time. If they are walking two abreast one will fall back behind his friend to let me pass, so I don’t have to walk around them men from the US rarely do that in fact I’ve had some literally bump into me as they walk by, they don’t care and they don’t say excuse me. Americans in my experience are just rude people at least the men.

Another form this politeness or courtesy has taken that I’ve observed in Puerto Vallarta is how thoughtful and respectful vehicle drivers are towards pedestrians at street crossings. In much of the city there are no stop signs or traffic signals on many of the streets except where there is a larger intersection with more points of conflict between vehicles, yet in spite of this I find it very easy to cross most streets. There is a communication between you, the pedestrian and the driver, which goes you watch for the traffic and when there is the smallest break you make eye contact with the driver and then give them a hand signal by stretching out your arm and holding your hand palm side towards them to let the driver know you want to cross the street. This has always worked and the street is only two lanes wide and when the driver nearest you slows to a stop the driver in the other lane will also stop. There is no need to make a mad dash to avoid oncoming traffic they pay you the respect realizing that you need to cross and you’re not in a two ton box of metal and plastic that could afford you some protection if there was a collision. The only time I’ve seen a driver speeding along these streets is, I hate to say it, but someone who appears to be either American or Canadian and I’m betting their pale skinned self-centered self-important ass is an American and they don’t show pedestrians this common courtesy. I’m a life long pedestrian and when I was finally able to leave the states I made a promise to myself that I would from that time forward always live in areas that were pedestrian friendly walkable and had good public transport.

[keefwho]

January 14 - 2023

10:25 AM

I gotta stop isolating when I’m lonely. I know I get into this mental trap of thinking no one cares but it’s because I’m literally ceasing contact with others. Although trying to make myself be social doesn’t always help either. But I think it’s still better if I at least try to get myself out there. 

11:51 AM

I have that feeling again that I should be focusing all my energy on being productive. But I’m trying to stick to a plan instead of staying stunlocked all day. I’m trying to spend 1 hour doing anything I want to do or feel like I should do. I should be able to put a little bit of time into everything that way. 

4:21 PM

Its the weekend, nothing is expected of me. I’m supposed to follow how I feel, not how I think. I dont want to be stressed for no reason. 

8:38 PM

Another sad drinking night because I’m a loser I guess. And I’m constipated which is pissing me off. I just wanted a good Saturday. I got the same old shit. Unneeded stress and loneliness. If it’s always going to be like this then I don’t want to keep existing. 

Why the fuck am I so pathetic sometime. Why can’t I figure out why I feel like this. It has to be rooted in something, this isn’t just how I am. There is a cause and a solution. 

9:03 PM

I really am just tying my lack of social experience directly to my personal value. Even though I have reasons for how I turned out, I can’t help but feel like something is wrong with me for having never dated, never kissed, never had sex, etc. Even though these are things I was fine without, I have the overwhelming feeling I should do them because everyone makes such a big fucking deal about it. I also feel like it’s too late even though I know it’s not. But like, who wants to fuck around with a 26 year old virgin loser. 

9:52 PM

I dont know what to do. Maybe watch Twitch and put a little work into projects so I can feel just a little bit worth something 

I also haven’t had a good nut in like a week. I’ve nutted but its been soooo lame. I need some good release 

Everything fucking bloows

I submit, I surrender all my hope. I’m going to let my body relax and not move until bedtime unless I somehow feel better. I give the fuck up. I don’t want to work on anything? fine. No one wants to hang out? fine. My life going nowhere? fine. Who cares 

10:42 PM

I feel like my meager life will fall apart if I can’t pull myself together. Everything I have going for me will crumble and everyone I love will leave me. I’ll be alone and better off dead. 

I can’t even chat with my bestie because I’m bawling my eyes out right now. 

11:27 PM

FUCK how I feel, it’s all about how I think. No matter what I can still choose what I do. I keep forgetting that. I feel some amount of power in that fact. Even if I’m depressed I can still identify the things I care about and put work into them. I’ll feel better eventually. 

1:30 AM

I’m up late because I’m being foolish.

I wish I was more confident that people would be upset if they knew I was sad. I know my friends care just like how I care when they aren’t doing well. But I don’t really KNOW that when I need it the most. Because I do this stupid thing where I pretend they should know how I’m feeling and if they don’t reach out then they must not care. But I know how stupid that is. It’s just one of the many ways I end up sabotaging myself for some reason. I shouldn’t care that much if other people care. Not to the point where it hurts me. 

[suna-reversed]

Hello :)

Sukuna. fluff. Pretty please.

Could you write something about sukuna falling for itadori's best friend. You can throw some angst in there too because I am a masochist❤️

Sukuna x F! Reader 

oh god, this turned purely self indulgent halfway through. low key thinking of turning this into a series to give you the angst you deserve.

A/N: (reader is Itadori’s senior and is 18) (loosely inspired by the song “me and my husband” by mitski)

“And I am the idiot with the painted face

In the corner, taking up space

But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved”

——-

- You had been one of the few poor senior students who had been victim to what had been Itadori’s “elevator pitch” for more people to join the occult club early back in high school. [the said “elevator pitch” being him jumping out at random people with a white bedsheet over his head saying “boo” as he handed you the club form]

- You didn't end up joining the club. But you somehow did end up getting joined at the hip with the chaotic mess under the white sheet.

- Whether it was you two rushing to the theatre to watch Jennifer Lawrence’s new movie,  or going to a revolving sushi place [only to get pocky from a nearby vending machine instead because revolving sushi is apparently expensive], Itadori Yuuji had become a comforting and very important presence in your life.

- So of course when he suddenly dropped out of your life, being the worried friend you were, you decided to poke around a little only to find out that he was...dead?

- Maybe a few months down the line, you would’ve started to slightly recover from the tragic news you had just gotten. Instead, what you got was your supposedly dead best friend popping up days later to tell you that he ate a finger and now he was the vessel for some centuries old curse,,,

- Um yeah...safe to say that Yuji did not expect you to go into the fit of emotions that you did [boy had the audacity to call you dramatic for fainting and then crying while hugging him once you gained consciousness] 

- some time passed and Yuji and you didn’t see each other much with him practically training to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Still, simply happy to have him back alive, your brain managed to convinced itself that everything was still the same. 

- And it was when he’d sneak out a day or two from his heavy schedule and you’d be back to your normal routine of watching movies, stuffing your face with snacks, getting your face licked by the mouth on Yuji’s hand…

- ,,,wait what

- The first time the curse had made contact with you was simply out of annoyance of why the stupid brat even took the time to see someone as mundane as you so often.

- His plan was to simply scare you into leaving, knowing it would cause the brat pain.

- So he grabbed the opportunity when Yuji moved forward to brush off some popcorn dust on the side of your mouth, not only licking the side of your face but also being successful in slightly grazing his teeth against your tender skin. 

- Yuji had mentioned that being a vessel had caused some weird physical “abnormalities” for him. you didn’t understand it back then but at least knowing that had sort of prepared you for such an instance.

- So imagine the curse’s surprise [and an even further growing annoyance] when your eyes barely widened for a second before you burst into laugher, 

“Didn’t you train your dog to not bite?”

- by now, Yuji had jumped 5 feet away from you and was still halfway through his string of apologies, but upon hearing your reaction, he mused on your fake calm while letting out a chuckle himself, 

- “Guess I’ve got to get a leash for him” 

- By this point, the ever so indifferent curse had taken two teenagers talking about him like a mere annoyance as a personal challenge.

- And that’s how it started.

- He’d come out every now and then, licking your fingers as Yuji passed you something or making lewd remarks on anything and everything that you ever started a conversation about. 

- But you and Yuji barely paid him attention and it was an understatement to say that it infuriated the living hell out of him.

- Particularly you, who wouldn’t even be annoyed or sarcastic about his tactics anymore. Instead, treating him like a friend who was simply joining you and the brat to hang out. 

- He hated it. Hated how bright your laugh was. Hated how you made them stop every time you saw a stray animal just so you could pet it. Hated how your skin was as soft as a cloud and how you sometimes smelled like cherry blossoms. He’d kill you in an instant if he could ugh.

- it was a weekend and Yuji and you had been watching a movie, even though Yuji was barely paying attention. You knew he was tired as his large frame slumped over your shoulder. Pulling the blanket up to his face, you once again felt the wet feeling of the assaults you had grown familiar with on the side of your hand.

- “You could’ve just asked for a pocky if you wanted one, no need to lick it off my fingers you grumpy little thing”, you laughed as you stood up to go to the bathroom

- that snapped the final string. 

- Coming back into your living room, you wondered if Yuji had somehow gotten up in his sleep and managed to draw weird black lines over himself all in the span of 5 minutes. 

- ‘Yuji, what the fuck?’

- ‘Well well, now who’s acting like a grumpy little thing’ 

- The deep voice sent rumbles down your spine and you knew in an instant what had happened. 

- Even though your breath hitched in your throat and your body begged for you to run as fast away as you can, you held your ground as you simply tilted your head at the curse 

- “Well, I’d like my best friend back if you don’t mind.”

- You saw the smirk on Sukuna’s face falter for just a second before he crossed the space between the couch and you.

- Now as strong of a front as you managed to hold up until now, watching something like that stride straight towards you would have had even the strongest of sorcerers shitting bricks.

- Instinctively, you took a few steps backwards, but he simply continued to close the distance between the two of you until you were backed up against the wall.

- You flinched as he slammed a hand right next to your head and he seemed to gain immense satisfaction from that as he looked down at your startled face with a smirk plastered on his tattooed face. 

- Sukuna was sure that you’d be begging for his mercy any second now. His smirk widened and he was ready to mock your pleas as he saw you open your mouth to say something, 

- “ ...so much for a damn pocky.”

- All those other times you had caught the curse off guard were nothing compared to the “partially-confused partially-baffled” expression that he held on his face now. It almost made him look human. Almost.

- You didn’t realise just how long you were holding his gaze until Yuji took back control and apologized like a million times over, reassuring you that he would’ve never let you get hurt. 

- The curse didn’t show up for almost a week after that. And while you were grateful for not having to wash off your hands or face 14 times a day, you somehow felt anxious about its sudden disappearance. 

- All those worries were thrown out the window as he once again showed up while Yuji was passed out on the couch after a particularly tough session with Gojo sensei.

- Looking at the curse, you felt anger more than anything, how could he just drop out on you with no warning and then show up in the middle of your living room- ...wait a second, why the hell are you mad at a literal curse for not telling you he was taking a mental health break or whatever it was that he was doing? 

- While you sorted out through these conflicting thoughts in your mind, the curse seemed to be going through a similar crisis. 

- Having woken up in the brat’s fragile human body with no warning whatsoever, Sukuna wasn’t in the mood to see your face so soon again. He didn’t know why your physical presence unsettled him so much. All he knew was that he hated it. Even more now that he knew what you looked like all scared and small compared to his vessel’s towering build, and how you smelled even sweeter than what he had tasted, and how despite all that you still had the courage to stand up to someone as dangerous as him. Ugh, disgusting. 

- “The stupid brat passed out.”

- Such a simple statement caused you to snap your head up at him. But he didn’t wait for your reaction as he somehow managed to plop down on the couch while still looking graceful. Picking up the half eaten box of pocky, he warily pulled one out, eyeing it as if it was  a poisoned dagger before breaking off a piece and placing it on his tongue.

- “This is what you would risk your life for, brat?” 

- He turned his head slightly to look at you still frozen in place, staring at him with that doe eyed look that made his chest burn a little. Isn’t this what he wanted all along?

- “Are you simply going to stand there and gawk? I don’t bite-...well, not unless you ask me to.”

- He knew that would set you right back to your usual self,

 - “...maybe we do need to get a leash after all.”

- Sukuna internally grinned as he saw you move to the other side of the couch, ready to hear whatever more of the snarky comeback that you’d have (not that he was anticipating it, it was just the better alternative to being gaped at. Or so he told himself)

- “You ate the non chocolate covered part of the pocky by the way-”

- “As if a layer of this disgusting brown substance can make the rotten stick taste bette-”

- “Well aren’t sticks all you had to eat in yOuR TiME anyways?”- 

—-

- You somehow managed to fall asleep after the bickering, proceeding to sit in silence after you told him to not bother you while you tried to read. You wouldn’t admit it, but you were a little disappointed when he actually didn’t. Instead, he sat on the couch with a slight smirk still plastered on his face, continuing to simply gaze at you. your heart did lunges every time you slyly looked up from your book to take a peak at him. you wondered how many ways he had come up with to kill you so far. 

- On the other hand, the curse sat idly, watching you while his thoughts rumbled in his mind. Maybe killing you can be pushed off the agenda for now. There are much better ways to hurt the brat anyways aren't there? Perhaps he could use one of these brownish covered sticks to-...what is he thinking?

- He ultimately deems it stupid brat’s humane emotions and sheer stupidity that must be interfering with his thoughts.

- A loud sneeze snaps him out of his daze as he sees you slumped against a pillow, your book falling off your lap. And then he does something that he immediately decides that he would pretend to have not done for the rest of his existence. Luckily, the brat takes back control right after he does it anyways.

- But that thought slips his mind as he finds himself replaying the serene look on your face as he gently pulled the book out of your hands, and how his hands shook a little as you nuzzled your nose into the fabric of the blanket that he pulled over you. How could you have felt so calm around him?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjkxreader #jujutsukaisenxreader #yujiitadori #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #itadori x reader #sukuna #sukuna headcanons #jjk headcanons #sukuna smut #gojo saturo x reader #jujutsu Kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen hcs #sukunafluff

[phantomrose96]

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It’s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #long post #this idea is actually from uhhhhhh probably like 2 years ago #back when i was still in the midst of not being able to write anything so #stuck this idea in the microwave for this warm up fic

[heavenlyhischier]

only when you're high - rafe cameron

word count: 4.3k

summary: Rafe only ever talks to you when he's high, and you've eventually had enough.

warnings: angst i guess, language, mentions of drugs and alcohol, lil makeout sesh at the end

note: ik this isn't the request but i've been working on this for a while so here ya go <3 this is def not my best writing so dont judge it too harshly

3:53 a.m.

You had been dreaming about your cat taking over a world full of people with fish heads when the incessant ringing from your phone jolted you awake. You blindly flung your hand onto the nightstand, knocking over a half empty water bottle and a bottle of ibuprofen before your fingers grazed the cool screen. You picked up the device, nearly blinding yourself when you opened your eyes to see who was calling you at such an ungodly hour. Once your eyes adjusted to the screen’s brightness, the name ‘Stupid Kook’ was displayed across the top. You hesitantly swiped to answer.

“What in the flying fuck do you want,” You whisper yelled, propping your half-conscious body up with your elbow.

“Hey, baby,” He greeted, his voice dragging as if he was thinking too hard about his words. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

You stopped breathing for a moment, not sure what you were supposed to say to his weird revelation. You had been having a weird thing with Rafe for a few months now. After many drinks, you would often finding yourself making out with him in a secluded area. Despite your random make out sessions, he had never once called you to simply hear your voice. In fact, he hadn’t even called you before. It was usually always a quick ‘wyd’ text at midnight and nothing more.

“That’s weird, you’ve never called me before,” You pointed out, “You’ve also never called me baby before, so what’s that about?”

“Mm, I don’t know. Always wanted to call you that before so why not? What are you up to, baby,” He asked, his words slurring together in a way that could only happen while under the influence.

“You’re high aren’t you,” You sighed. Of course, he was high. You should have known that from the get-go. Rafe Cameron wouldn’t have called you sober; he never even looked at you sober.

A brief silence hung over the line, Rafe’s heavy breathing being the only thing coming through the receiver. “Maybe a little. Had a rough day, so I went to see Barry and now I’m at Topper’s. Talking to you.”

You couldn’t help but let a small smile grace your features; a smile that was gone almost as soon as it came. You let your elbow fall from its position, your head falling back onto the pillow that was still warm from when you were asleep. “How sweet of you. What are you doing, anyways? Shouldn’t you be getting shitfaced and taking some innocent girl to bed?”

He let out an airy laugh before speaking. “The only one I’d like to take to bed is you, and we somehow always stop before it gets to that point. Anyways, it’s just me, Topper, and Kelce, and I started thinking about us in the back of my truck when we were outside. Before I knew what I was doing, you answered the phone.”

Your cheeks flared red as images of Rafe’s hands exploring your body flashed through your mind, the feeling of his ring on your skin igniting something inside of you. His mouth latching onto the sensitive spots of your neck as your moans filled his truck. You let your fingers ghost over your lips as if you could still feel his own on yours. More memories of him exploring your body in every way but the way you wanted him most were running through your mind. Every time you wanted to give in to him, give in to your urges, but you couldn’t.

“You know, I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want you and I hate it,” He started, his words still slow, “I hate it because you’ll never let me have you.”

“Rafe,” You groaned, running a hand over your tired face, “I don’t really feel like giving myself to someone who only talks to me when they’re drunk or high. Someone who would rather be caught dead than with a pouge.”

“You know it’s not like that, baby. It’s complicated,” He tried, and you could tell there was a hint of unfamiliar panic in his voice.

“It always is. Guess I’ll see or talk to you next time you get fucked up. Goodnight Rafe,” You whispered before hanging up on the boy, ignoring his desperate protests.

1:38 a.m.

You turned the shower water off before stepping out onto the cool tiled floor, water dripping from every part of your body. You chose to ignore the buzzing coming from your phone, moving to grab the towel hung on the back of your bathroom door. However, the buzzing started again as you were drying off your legs.

“Who the fuck,” You groaned as you wrapped the towel around your still wet body. ‘Stupid Kook’ was making a second appearance, much to your surprise. “Yes, Rafe?”

“What’s up your ass,” He laughed his infectious laugh. You could picture him throwing his head back and his glazed over eyes twinkling with amusement, something you had only seen when you found yourself admiring him from afar.

“Nothings up my ass. Just don’t know what your high ass wants this time.” You gripped your phone in your hand and started to walk back towards your room. Your parents had fallen asleep hours ago, so you had to make sure you were quiet. However, that deemed difficult in the darkest hours of the night in your already poorly lit house. You bumped your hip and stubbed your toe on just about anything that was out in the open. Once you were in your room, you hastily shut the door and flipped the light switch on.

“Hello! Hello! Hello! Where are you,” Rafe yelled, making you wince and pull the phone away from your ear.

“Jesus, dude. Calm down, I was walking back to my room,” You chastised, doing your best to hold your phone in between your ear and shoulder.

“What were you doing? I missed you,” He pouted.

You ignored the swelling you got in your heart and said, “I was leaving the bathroom. I just finished showering. What are you doing?”

You grabbed a clean pair of underwear and a shirt you had taken from JJ after you had thrown up over whatever you were wearing that night. Rafe began telling you what he was doing, which was quite literally nothing. However, he quickly dove into a spout of how you were naked and wet and how badly he wanted to see you without any clothes on. Your cheeks were burning as he went on and on about all of the sinful things he wanted to do to you. You let him ramble on a bit more as you turned the light off once you were clothed and ready for bed.

“Okay, that’s enough, Rafe,” You stopped him, pulling your blanket back so you could crawl in bed. “So, calling me two times within a week? You falling in love with me?”

It was so painfully obvious that it was a joke, but you could practically feel the tension radiating through your phone from Rafe’s end. His abrupt silence concerned you because this boy was far from silent when he was doped out.

“Maybe I am,” He finally got out, and you couldn’t detect any sarcasm in it.

“Sure you are,” You rolled your eyes, blaming exhaustion for briefly clouding your judgment, “If you were in love with me, you’d actually talk to me when you aren’t too fucked to remember your own name.”

You started picking at a loose thread on your blanket as you let your mind wander to what life would be life if you had an actual relationship with Rafe. Going to parties with him. Hanging around the Island Club with him and his friends. Him doing lines off your body before having his way with you.

“I will talk to you when I’m not high,” His voice broke you from your thoughts, “If that’s what you really want.”

“I do,” You said way too quickly, “I mean, yeah sure. That would be nice, I guess.”

“Just text me and I’ll answer.” You couldn’t stifle the yawn that escaped your lips, but you did try and hide it from Rafe. Your attempt was no good, though. “You’re tired, go to bed.”

“No, I’m fi-.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Rafe shouted over you, “Talk to you soon, baby.”

Rafe’s name popped up on your phone screen every few days after he had gotten drunk out of his mind or too high to do anything other than find your contact. You didn’t mind it at first, but after you had texted him during the day and those messages went unanswered, you grew hurt and annoyed. You had tried asking him why he wouldn’t respond, but he always found a way to change the subject. You wanted to ask him about it in person, but you hadn’t seen him in almost a month. You wanted to ask him why he couldn’t bother to pick up the phone when he was sober, but wasted no time in calling you as soon as he got his bump in.

One of the nights he called, you offered to have him come over because your parents were gone, but he said no. Made up some excuse about how he was staying with Topper for a while since Sarah cheated on him and he wanted to be there for his friend. You understood that, so you didn’t push him after that. Then, the next time you told him about a party everyone was going to and how you wanted to see him there. You even told him to bring the other two. That time he told you he was staying away from parties for a while, wanting to stay to himself for the most part due to the constant stress from his dad. You knew how Ward could be sometimes, so it wasn’t hard to believe him and move on from there.

You wanted to be mad to him for only acknowledging you when he was high, but you couldn’t be. You’ve always wanted to feel wanted by somebody, and he made you feel like that albeit only when he was far gone from reality. You could deal with it as long as you got to talk to him, no matter how insecure it made you. Well, you thought you could.

2:25

Your parents were gone for the night, so you opted to watch Marvel movies in the living room. You were so invested in watching Iron Man and shoving popcorn in your mouth that you didn’t feel your phone go off the first six times. Or the fifteen times after that. Not that you would have cared either way. You knew the only person it could be was the boy who never wanted you sober. The credits began rolling across the TV, so you finally decided to pick up your discarded phone. You were shocked to see Rafe had called you eight times and texted you thirteen. Overall, his texts said the same thing.

Why aren’t u answering me :(

Call me pls

I wanna talk to you baby

It was if he knew you were finally looking at your phone because his contact popped up not ten seconds later. You rolled your eyes, but reluctantly answered.

“Y/N! Where have you been,” He whined into the receiver, “I’ve been trying to call you for like two hours.”

“Watching movies,” Your words were sharp and short, not particularly wanting to talk to him right now. You’ve nearly reached your breaking point with him.

Rafe could immediately tell something was off with you by the way you sounded. “What’s wrong, baby? Are you okay?”

You took a deep breath in, setting your bowl of popcorn on the coffee table after you paused the end credit scene. You leaned forwards and planted your elbow on your knee as you held your head in annoyance.

“I’m fine, Rafe. I’m just getting fed up with you only wanting to talk to me when you’re high or drunk,” You started, “I used to be fine with it because it once every couple of weeks, but now it’s almost every day and it’s annoying. You told me to text you when you’re sober, and I did, but you never responded. I try and offer to come over to you or have you come to me, but you always have an excuse. I know you want to be there for Topper and you don’t really want to be around anyone right now, but that doesn’t mean I have to put up with it.”

“Y/N, I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just-It’s complicated. Please understand that,” He was practically begging you to listen to him.

“Rafey, are you coming back to play beer pong with us,” A female voice suddenly cut through the sudden sound of music.

Your breathing stopped and your heart felt like it was being squeezed by Rafe’s own hand. A wave of heartbreak crashed over your entire body. “‘I just don’t want to be around anyone’ huh? Thought you were just spending time with Topper for a while? You know, if you didn’t want to see me, all you had to do was say so,” You whimpered, hurt now mixing with your anger and annoyance.

“No, wait,” He tried, yelling at whoever came in the room to get out, “Y/N, please. It isn’t lik-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. It is like that, Rafe. It is exactly like that. You don’t want to see me, and that is fine. I get it. Why would you ever want to be seen with someone from the Cut? It doesn’t matter, though. Don’t call me anymore. You lied to me. That is not something that I can forgive,” Your tears were too strong to hold back now, “I don’t care for liars, Rafe Cameron, and you’re the biggest one of all.”

You quickly hung up and turned off your phone, throwing it towards the end of the couch so you weren’t tempted to grab it. You grabbed the large blanket from the back of the couch, picked another movie, and let your tears fall as it played in front of you.

“Honey,” Your moms gentle voice broke through, “You fell asleep on the couch.”

You slowly opened your eyes, letting them adjust to the bright light shining through the giant window. The headache hit you like a ton of brinks, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut in pain. Your mom was hovering over you, her hand on your shoulder and her soft eyes pretending to not notice how puffy your cheeks and red your eyes are.

“I guess so,” You mumbled, pushing yourself up into a sitting position, “I’ll go lay down in my room. I’m still tired.”

She gave you an understanding nod with a caring smile and helped you off the couch. Her hand lingered on your back as if she wanted to say something to you, but she decided to leave it alone for now. You would talk to her when you were ready, if you ever were. You gave her a thumbs up when she told you her and your father would be out again most of the day.

Your feet dragged as you stumbled back to your room, using the wall to keep you steady. You pushed the door open with your foot and gave your cat, who was laying on your bed as if she owned it, a stupid smile. You fell onto the bed and pulled her onto your chest as you turned your phone back on. You were scared to confront the actions from last night, but knowing Rafe, he probably wouldn’t have bothered to even send you a text about it. You were quickly proven wrong the moment your phone turned back on. The vibration from all of the texts, voicemails, and snapchats felt like it lasted for five straight minutes. Nearly all were from the boy you wanted nothing to do with. Although, you noticed a voicemail from Topper, who you forgot even had your number.

Um, hey its Topper. Look dude, I don’t know what happened, but Rafe is freaking out like a bitch right now. He keeps mumbling shit about how he fucked things up with, which I didn’t even know you two were a thing but whatever I don’t really care. He kicked everyone out of my house and has been calling and texting you for like thirty minutes straight now so please call him back, so he shuts the fuck up. If not for him, do it for my sanity before I kill him. Uh, yeah, thanks, bye.

You sighed deeply after the voicemail cut off, your heart rate increasing at the thought of Rafe being upset. If he was bad enough that Topper of all people called you, you knew it was bad. You wanted to not care because of how he made you feel, but you did. You’ve always cared about the blond boy more than you cared to admit. You finally decided to look at the messages he sent you.

Y/N pls call me back

I’m sorry its not what it looks like and I know that sounds stupid but its true

Pls talk to me. I need u to talk to me

I promise that I never wanted to hurt u ok???

I love you, Y/N. Please call me or I’m coming to your house tomorrow.

The world stopped spinning when you read the last message. You kept reading it over and over again as if you misread it the first time. Rafe had never been any kind of affectionate with you until he called you baby. Rafe Cameron was not someone known to get emotional, so you weren’t sure if you believed his words. He was a liar and would do anything to get what he wanted, so what was different now?

You heard a knock on the door followed by your moms muffled voice, but you were too focused on the situation in front of you to notice who it was. Your eyes were glued to the screen, staring at the three words you never thought anyone other than your family and friends would say to you. The world around you was fading away, your heart feeling as if it was going to beat out of your chest as tears slid down your still puffy cheeks. You weren’t going to let him do this to you. You weren’t going to let him toy with you anymore.

“Y/N,” A deep voice dragged you out of your subconscious.

Your eyes darted over to the door and saw the last person you wanted to see. Rafe was standing there, his eyes wide and blood shot and he looked like total shit. His hair was a wild mess, nothing like its usual tamed state. You met his gaze and you wished you hadn’t. One look from him and you were puddy in his hands. One look and every thought you had about never seeing him again flew out the window.

“Hey, can we talk,” He mumbled, his bright blue eyes looking everywhere but at you. “Please.”

Not trusting your words, you gave him a swift nod and gestured to the spot next to you on your bed. You leaned to the side and placed your cat on the ground, watching as she rubbed herself all over Rafe’s leg before scampering away. His walk to your bed was painfully slow, and you wanted to tell him to hurry up, but you knew that was unreasonable.

“What do you want, Rafe,” Your voice was harsh, trying to ignore the urge to reach out to him. “What do you want to talk about? How you only use me for your own pleasure? How you only ever even look at me when you’re drunk or high? How you lied to me? Wanna talk about that?”

Your anger surprised even yourself. One second you wanted to hold him in your arms and comfort him, but then the memory of how he treated you came back and flipped a switch in your brain. You don’t know how you feel and you hate it.

“I deserve every bit of your anger,” He breathed out, letting his hand fall dangerously close to your own, “But please let me explain everything to you, okay?”

“Fine,” You gave in, “Talk.”

“Yeah, thank you, okay. I really do want to talk to you when I’m not absolutely fucked, I do. I know that it doesn’t seem like that, but its true. I just, I can’t. Every time I look at you, think about you, I hear my dads voice screaming at me that I will never be good enough for anyone. I have this thought drilled into my head every day that no matter what I do, who I am, I am just never enough. To me, you’re no exception to that. In fact, you remind me even more. Wait no.”

Rafe rubbed both of his hands over his face and tugged at his hair, afraid that he’s already fucking this up. “Rafe,” You gently spoke up, turning to grab his hands from his face. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

His eyes met yours and you could see how strained he was. There were too many emotions swirling in his eyes for you to pinpoint exactly what he was feeling. “Okay, um, okay. To me, you are way too good for me, so the only time I feel comfortable talking to you is when I’m high. I’ve never had trouble talking to any girl before, but you’re more than that to me. You’re more than just some girl to me and it scares me, so I feel like I have to be, yanno, not me. When I talk to you. I want to be with you more than I have ever wanted to be with someone in my life”

Your hand was still holding his as you let his words sink in. Him revealing how his dad truly made him feel made your heart ache for him. It made you want to grab him by the face and tell him how he is more than good enough. You wanted to let him in, but you weren’t sure if you were ready for the risk that came along with it. You’re not sure if you want all the things that came with being with Rafe Cameron. He’s followed by hurt and lies, and you do feel guilty thinking that, but it’s been proven true countless times.

“Rafe, listen to me,” You began, moving so you were straddling him and holding his face in your hands. His hands immediately came to grip your hips, and you are well aware that this was a more than compromising situation. “I understand that your father is probably the worst person we both know, but that doesn’t excuse you lying to me. I don’t know if I can trust you, no matter how much I may want to.”

You watched as tears gather in his eyes, and he was doing his best to keep them at bay. He had never felt the way he feels about you before, and he’s more than aware that his reputation precedes him. He knows that he’s done nothing more than prove how untrusting he is to you, but he wouldn’t let that stop him from trying to prove to you that he means what he’s saying.

“I know that nothing I say will fix what I’ve already done. I know that, but I can show you just how much you mean to me, if you’ll let me. We can go at your pace. Do things your way. Just, please, give me another chance to prove myself to you.”

You’re searching for any detection of a lie in his eyes, in his voice, but you come up empty. You wipe away the stray tears that broke through his wall of protection. You hesitantly placed your forehead on his, and you could hear him take in a sharp breath at the connection. Your eyes fluttered closed, your nose brushing against his as you weighed all of your options.

“Did you mean what you to me? In your last text,” You whispered, too scared to open your eyes and look at him. “Do you actually love me?”

“More than you know,” His breath was hot against your chin, and he pulled you closer into him.

You decided to take a leap, dive into something that scared you more than anything. Your lips finally met his, and Rafe wasted no time in returning the feeling. Your hands fell from his cheeks and clasped each other behind his neck, while his hands stayed placed on your hips, too scared to push you too far. You deepened the passion filled kiss by pulling him closer to you and running your tongue across his bottom lip. Rafe’s lips moved in such a sensual way that you almost didn’t know how to react. It was much different from the lust filled kisses you’ve shared in the past. You started moving your hips on top of him, an action that had him gripping your hips tighter than before.

Y/N,” Rafe breathed out after he broke away from you, “If you don’t stop, I don’t know if I can control myself.”

“Then don’t.”

i have not edited this so if you see a mistake lmk. love u

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #obx #obx imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagine

[scuttling]

If I Should Linger

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,979 (what is wrong with me??) Tags: 18+, NSFW, Best Friend's Dad Hotch, Confident reader, Flirting, Oral sex, Protected sex, Dirty talk, A little angst with a happy ending Summary: Your best friend stands you up at the bar, but it actually turns into the best night you've had in a long time—maybe the best night of your life. Unfortunately, things don't stay uncomplicated for long... *Requested by @hotforhotchner11 Link to A03 or read below! “I can’t believe you stood me up to have sex with a frat boy,” you hiss into your phone from your seat at the bar. Your best friend Julie—better known as Jay—is on the other end, and she’s completely ruining your plans for the evening at later than the last minute. She’s never on time for anything.

“He’s not a frat boy… yet. He’s rushing.” You pick up your gin and tonic to take a sip, but her comment makes you pause.

“He’s rushing? How old is he?” The breath she blows out before she answers tells you everything you need to know. Goddamn cradle robber.

“Twenty? Or, almost twenty.”

“Oh, you nasty girl. He’s nearly ten years younger than us.” At 28, you literally could not imagine being interested in a 20 year old. Anyone under 25 is practically an infant; what would you talk about?

“The pussy wants what it wants, babe. It’s more fun when they barely know what they’re doing.” Then again, you figure, she isn’t exactly doing much talking.

“That’s gross, Jay.”

“Is it any grosser than your thing for older guys? You’d fuck my dad if I let you anywhere near him, which is exactly why I don’t.”

“I would not fuck your dad—actually, what does he look like?” She groans down the line and you laugh. “I’m kidding. I’m trying to fuck someone’s dad tonight, but not yours.” You hear a choked laugh from beside you and you glance over at, objectively, one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen: he’s Black, bald, muscular, with a neatly trimmed goatee and a killer smile, and apparently your thirst for older men amuses him. You smile back. “Jay, I have to go; I’m embarrassing myself in public.”

“Okay, and what else is new? Bye!” When she hangs up, you lock your phone and turn to face the man at the bar.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget people are actually listening in places like these; there’s so much talking it’s all kind of white noise to me.”

“It’s kind of my job to listen to what no one else does, but I forget to turn it off sometimes,” he says, and no, that’s not intriguing or anything. “So you’re into older guys?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, and you lean in with your chin in your hand, elbow on the bar.

“Almost exclusively. You don’t look old enough to be someone’s dad, but I’d probably make an exception.” He laughs again; he doesn’t have a drink, so maybe he’s waiting for the bartender, but you sip yours.

“I’m flattered, but taken. I have a friend who’s probably your type; he doesn’t do one night stands, though. He doesn’t really do anything. We’re trying to loosen him up.” You hum thoughtfully, take a cursory glance around the room.

“I happen to be great at loosening older men up. Is he here?” He shoots you a smile, looks at you like you kind of amaze him.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Would you, if you weren’t taken?” He nods a little, like you’ve got a good point, and you both laugh. “Yeah, it’s a double standard. If you can walk up to a woman and ask her if it hurt when she fell from heaven, why can’t I walk up to an older man and ask if he believes in love at first sight, or if I should walk by again?”

“That tired line would not work on my friend,” he says, and you grin.

“I think you’d be surprised. But, you know him better, so why don’t you just invite me back to your table, since I got stood up by my friend and I’m all alone, and let me do my thing?” You swirl your straw in your drink, try to look flirty, and he leans in on his elbow like you did before.

“You know what? What the hell. If nothing else, he gets some attention from a pretty girl and maybe it boosts his confidence.” You smile—you like this guy already.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” He rolls his eyes, and then the bartender presents him with his drinks. You take two—one is a neat bourbon, that has to belong to the older man friend—and follow him to his table while he just shakes his head.

“Looks like you brought back more than drinks,” a pale woman with dark hair and bangs says with a smile when the two of you approach the table. He hands her one of the beers, takes the cocktail from your hand and gives it to a petite blonde with fair skin.

“Her friend bailed on her and we got talking at the bar, so I invited her to come sit with us.” You introduce yourself to the group, and the friend Derek mentioned might be your type? Egregious understatement.

He’s everything you like in an older man: polite, well-spoken, handsome, clean shaven, with a great head of thick, dark hair—he’s wearing an expensive watch, a goddamn suit, a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, and if Jay were here, you’d be catching her attention and panting like a dog, with your hands up near your face.

To someone without your more refined palate for older gentlemen, he may look like an average white guy in his early fifties, but you have to look down to make sure your panties haven’t dropped involuntarily. Just in case.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask, gesturing to the one next to him, and he shakes his head, pulls it out for you before he sits back down—yes, he stood when you approached the table. Manners, check. You’re trying not to drool.

You smooth out your skirt before you take your seat—you always dress for the man you want to attract, and tonight is no exception, so you’re wearing a black lace dress and nude heels; the dress is fitted, but not clingy, and not too short, and you know the right kind of man will find it appealing. So far, your handsome potential love interest Aaron seems to be looking respectfully; that may change, but you’re happy to see it, for now.

“So Derek mentioned you’re all in the FBI; are you the boss? You look like the boss,” you say with a playful smile, and Aaron looks a little nervous when he nods, makes eye contact.

“Until someone decides to overthrow me,” he jokes, deadpan, and your smile gets brighter. Dry sense of humor, check.

“I’d like to see them try; I definitely sense that you can handle your own.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Derek hiding a smile behind his hand. He knows you’re flirting, even if no one else does, and another reason you hope to take Aaron home is so you can wipe that smile off his face—but mostly because Aaron’s gorgeous, and you know it would be a very good time for the both of you.

“Let’s play darts,” Derek says to the other people at the table—you can’t remember their names at the moment, all your attention focused on Aaron—and they get up and walk over to the board, so it’s just the two of you.

Aaron clears his throat. “Thank you. What do you do for work?”

“I’m in publishing; a copy editor. Mostly Tom Clancy type action novels, and romance novels. Lots of heaving bosoms and cries of overwhelming pleasure, you know?” You take a sip of your drink through the straw, looking over at him as innocently as you can. He’s a little flushed; you’re a huge fan of that look on a man. “Do you ever read romance novels?”

“Uh, no. Not my genre.” He takes a sip of his drink, and you watch his mouth while he does.

“Not mine either. When you edit enough of them, they become wholly unsexy… and they never compare to real life.” You flick your eyes over his body, briefly but not subtly, and he gives you a glance back. Your heart beats a little faster in your chest. “So what do you like to read? Wait, may I guess?” you ask, setting a hand on his arm. He nods, and you carry on, leaning just a little closer. “So I’m going to guess you’re a fan of the classics, novels you’ve read a hundred times. I think you would tell me your favorite is To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say, tapping against his sleeve, “and maybe intellectually it is, but you actually feel more when you read Moby Dick. I bet your heart yearns for adventure—not that life as a crime solving FBI agent is boring, but it's all too real. Moby Dick is the perfect blend of adventure and fantasy for a man like you.”

“You’ve known me for all of ten minutes,” he says with a raised eyebrow, and you shrug and take a drink.

“True. But am I right? Or close?” He smiles, the first full, unguarded expression he’s given tonight, and you feel awesome for making that happen.

“My favorite book is Moby Dick. I make a point to read it at least twice a year. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” You pull back, take your hand off of his arm; you’ve laid the groundwork for touching, and he’ll have to make a move if he wants more. “People often tell you a lot they don’t intend to, and books are my thing, so it’s easy for me to connect the dots. I recommend books to people as a kind of party trick.” You stir your drink, and he shifts a little, sitting closer.

“Have you disappointed many people with your recommendations?”

“Oh, I make it a personal mission to never leave anyone disappointed,” you say, your voice low and sweet like honey. His eyes move to your mouth. You sweep your tongue over your bottom lip. “Derek said your friends are trying to get you to loosen up; can I ask why?” He flicks his eyes up to yours, frowns a little, like he’s not sure that’s something he’s ready to tell you; ultimately, he just sighs.

“I’ve been divorced for five years, alone for five years. They think it’s time I…” He trails off, shrugs.

“Get back in the saddle?” you offer, and he laughs lightly, agrees. “Is that something you’re interested in? You shouldn’t feel pressured into it if you’re not ready.” You might want to sleep with him so badly it’s sickening, but not at the expense of his well-being.

He exhales deeply and lifts his arm to rest it on the back of your chair; you want to smile, but the conversation doesn’t call for it, so you hold off.

“I think I’m ready, but how do you really know?” You turn toward him a little more, lean against his arm; it feels easy, comfortable, almost like a real date and not you flirting like your life depends on it and hoping to get a bite.

“I think you should wait to meet someone who makes you feel a spark, and then explore it. Maybe it burns hot, but doesn’t last. Maybe it’s a slow burn. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I think when you’re really ready to put yourself out there, you’ll know.” He holds your gaze, wets his lips, takes a breath.

“You’ve been flirting with me.” You do smile a little, then.

“Yes, Aaron, I have.”

“Did Derek put you up to it?”

“Absolutely not.” You touch his arm again, gentle, lean in close. “I’m genuinely interested in you. You’re everything I’m attracted to in a man.” His smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“Old and uptight?”

“Older, and kind, and capable of having a conversation about more than just sports and money, and handsome. Very handsome.” You lift your fingers from his arm, brush them through his hair over his temple. “I feel a spark. Do you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, and when you set your hand on the table, he covers it carefully with his. His hand is big, warm, softer than you’d expected, and you’re met with the sudden urge to feel it all over your body. “I feel a spark.”

“Good. Do you want to come home with me tonight? No strings attached—just to get you back in the saddle,” you say with a tilt of your head, and he nods.

“I want to.” You’re certain that the smile that crosses your face is softer, inviting, but you get the feeling he won’t kiss you while his friends could be watching. You’re actually surprised he’s touching you so openly.

“Okay, so why don’t you give me a ride home? I was going to have to call an Uber, since my friend didn’t show up, but you’re a gentleman, aren’t you? You wouldn’t let me do that.” He catches on to what you’re saying, the excuse you’re giving him to give his friends, makes a noise of understanding.

“Of course. I wouldn’t rest not knowing you made it home safely.”

“I’m not sure how much rest you’ll be getting tonight,” you murmur, and you rest your free hand on his thigh under the table, squeeze a little. He’s very firm, and you kind of melt. “But that’s a very sweet sentiment, Aaron. Are you committed to staying here much longer?”

“Not at all. Would you like to leave now?” You hold his gaze for a moment, want to be really sure about this; you’re no expert on body language, but you’ve been here before, and he really does look less tense than when you first showed up, more comfortable and open. All really good signs.

“Yes, please.” He squeezes your hand, then stands, smooths out his jacket, and tells you he’ll be right back while he goes to say goodbye to his friends. You stand too, finish what’s left of your drink, and pull out your phone to text Jay.

Taking home the most incredible man. Guess I don’t need my wingwoman after all.

J: Tell grandpa I said he better treat you right.

Please. He’s not that old. If anything, you can call him daddy. :P

J: You can call him daddy. Have fun ;) The ride to your apartment starts out quiet, but you try to fill it by asking Aaron more about himself. You keep your hands on him while you chat, leaning as close to him as you can while wearing your seatbelt, running your hand up and down his leg, over his arm while he shifts gears. You know it’s turning you on, and you’re fairly certain it’s turning him on as well.

You learn more about his job, that he basically solves crimes by judging people, which is kind of funny; before that, he was a lawyer, which you can definitely see. He has one child, a daughter who’s upset with him because of the divorce (someone’s dad, check), and a brother who lives in New York, no living parents. It’s more information than you usually get out of someone you plan to sleep with, but you really do like him, and since he’s not the one night stand type, you think more conversation is the right way to go.

He asks about you too, about your family and your job and your lame friend who bailed on you, and when he arrives outside your building, parks in the lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean in closer, smoothing a hand over his waist.

“I’m really glad I met you tonight,” you breathe, looking up at him, and he puts his hand on your cheek and you meet for a slow, easy kiss. “Hmm. I knew you’d be good at that.”

“I knew you’d be good at that, too. You have the most beautiful lips.” He brushes his fingers over them, and you take his hand, bring two of them into your mouth to suck softly. His breath hitches, and you feel your panties getting damp. God, he’s gorgeous. “Let’s go inside,” he whispers, and you slip his fingers out, drop a hand to his lap where he’s—oh, so perfectly hard it’s unreal.

“We could get started out here, have a little adventure,” you say playfully, fully prepared for him to say he’d rather not, but he just licks his lips and looks at you like you’re going to be the death of him, but at least he’ll die happily. That’s another look you’re a huge fan of on an older man.

You undo his belt, his button and his zipper, pull his cock out of his pants; he’s of average length, thick, makes your mouth water, and you lean in to use that to your advantage, getting him wet with your saliva and then stroking him in your hand. You look up at his face, and he’s got his eyes closed, head back against the headrest—so fucking sexy. You reach your free hand under his shirt, where he’s hairy, strong, but a little soft, just the way you like it, and he opens his eyes and pulls you close for a kiss that’s a bit harder than the last.

“You’re absolutely perfect,” he sighs against your lips, and you press closer for another kiss. You almost regret the adventure comment now, because you want to undress him, and touch him, feel him all over, but you’ll just have to be patient. (That’s never been your strong suit.)

“Are you kidding? You are… everything. If I could build a dream man, he would literally be a copy of you.” He makes a sharp, self-deprecating sound, and you lean down to get him wetter, move your hand a little faster. “I’m completely serious. I’m a little upset I’ve been going to that bar for so long and our paths never crossed.” One of his hands moves to your hair, and he pulls you close for a kiss; he’s ready to come, you can tell, and you want him to more than anything, so you cover his hand with yours and dip your head, sucking his dick like you’re desperate for it. When it comes to Aaron, you’re kind of desperate for everything.

“Oh, god. That feels so good, baby.” You moan at the pet name—is there anything better in the world than an older man calling you baby? Maybe just Aaron specifically calling you baby—and he tightens his fingers in your hair while you glide over him, tight and wet, until he comes in your mouth.

You swallow it down, pull off breathless, and then swipe your tongue over him so he’s clean enough that you can tuck him back into his pants. You look up at him from his lap, and he’s panting too, rubs his fingers over your lips, your chin, down your throat. You’re desperately horny now, soaking wet, and when you shift to sit up, he catches you for a deep, steamy kiss, and that does nothing to help your situation.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and ugh, your heart flutters. Seriously, who created this man? He’s incredible. “Now let’s go inside so I can make you come, too.”

“Definitely,” you agree with a nod, and you kiss him once more before pulling back and climbing out of the car, straightening yourself up. He does the same, then walks over to you, takes your hand, and follows you into your apartment.

Sex with Aaron is… talk about adventure. He fucks like—well, like he hasn’t done it in over five years. As soon as you get inside the door, he gets on his knees, pulls your panties down, lifts your skirt up, and eats your pussy with such enthusiasm you come with your hands in his hair, rocking against his face, in less than three minutes. Seeing him down on the ground in the full suit, just going to town on you, is not an image you’ll soon forget, that’s for sure.

After that, the two of you stumble to your bedroom, hands all over each other, tugging at zippers and discarding clothes—he has you keep your shoes on, and that makes you feel slutty like a porn star, and super hot—and you kiss, touch, moving your hands all over each other's bodies until he’s hard again. You stay in missionary, and after he slips on a condom from your bedside table, he slides into you, kisses your lips and your neck and your shoulders while he rolls his hips against yours.

It’s slow and sensual at first, and you drag your nails lightly across his back, tilt your head when he nips at your throat.

“Aaron, oh. You feel so good,” you breathe, scraping your fingers through his hair, and his thrusts get a little deeper, his kisses a little rougher.

“You’re incredible. So gorgeous.” He moves a hand to your breast, massages it while your bodies work; you hitch your legs up higher, moan, and pull him closer, your hands on his body, and he fucks into you more frantically, humping against you hard, wildly. You’ve never really gotten fuck you like an animal, but that’s kind of what he’s doing, and you’re into it, clinging to him, pushing into his thrusts like it’s possible to take him deeper than you are now.

God, he’s going to spoil you, ruin you for all other men. You’re going to have your best sex at 28 and then be chasing this feeling the rest of your goddamn life. It’s both amazing and horribly unfair.

“Yes, Aaron, yeah. Fuck me hard, fuck me deep.” He groans, pounds inside you, moves his hand from your breast to the back of your neck and stares down into your eyes while he absolutely destroys you. You come clenching around him, pulling his hair and digging your nails into his shoulder, and his mouth comes crashing down for a kiss while he thrusts through it and then stutters, his orgasm right behind yours.

You sag against the pillow behind your head, and he puts his weight on you, hand still clamped around the nape of your neck, and breathes hot against your throat.

You stare up at the ceiling, catching your breath, and thank fucking god Jay stood you up tonight. Aaron is very sweet, kissing you and holding you, murmuring against your skin, and the two of you go to the bathroom, get cleaned up, and then raid your kitchen for snacks, talking easily and laughing. He doesn’t look like he’s about to bolt, which you’d been a little worried about; in fact, he actually suggests taking your snacks back to bed, jokes about not getting any crumbs on your white sheets. Never one to kick a man out abruptly after sex, and especially not a man like Aaron, you agree, and you end up in bed again, which means…

Another frantically torn condom wrapper later, and you’re on your stomach, your nipples rubbing against the sheets. Aaron’s hands are on your ass while you work yourself on his cock, rolling your body, moaning desperately like you aren’t already two orgasms deep; his dick hits just right, and between that and the nipple stimulation you’re coming fast, bucking hard against him so he’ll follow.

“Fuck, baby, coming already?” He tightens his grip, slams inside you, plants one hand on the bed to change his angle a bit. “Let’s try for another; your body is so perfect, built for sex, built for me.” You groan, roll your eyes back because his dirty talk is hitting the spot, and the two of you fuck together, noisy and eager and hot, until he shudders, squeezes your ass hard and starts to come.

You’re so close, right on the edge, and you sound wild because of it, your moans high, whimpering, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you beg, grinding against him, and he puts both hands hard on your hips, rails you into the bed.

“I’m not stopping until you come for me. Come for me,” he murmurs, and he wraps one hand around the front of your body, rubs your clit, and you climax, squeezing your eyes shut, seeing stars. You moan his name, drop your hand to cover his where it rests against your pussy, and this time when his body drapes across your back like a weighted blanket, you sigh and close your eyes.

He kisses your back and shoulders, runs his big hands over your hips and ass, then slides off and guides you to the edge of the bed, lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom. You think absently that you could get used to being treated this well, and you must say it, because he presses a kiss to your lips and whispers, “I will if you let me.”

There’s a little talk in bed, after you’re cleaned up and cozy beneath the comforter, about going on a real date; Aaron seems nervous, like he thinks you won’t go for it, that all you wanted was this night of sex. And yes, while that’s typically your MO, something about Aaron is different. He makes you want more, things like dates and picnics and sweet lovemaking at night and kisses—all the kisses, everywhere, all the time.

You ask him to stay, and he promises he will, and you fall asleep in his arms. It’s the best you’ve felt in a really long time.

You wake up to Aaron’s sleepy, handsome face, and you kiss and smile into each other’s lips, because last night was great, but this is even greater. Your plan is to take a shower together and then go out for breakfast, but there’s a knock at your door just as you’re planning to step in.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” you tell him with a kiss, and you pull on your robe and peer through the peephole, then pull the door open. “Well, well; now you decide to show up.”

Jay steps in with a box of doughnuts and two cups of coffee, looking properly shamed.

“I know, I’m a horrible friend. I broke the slut code: stay slutty, but never at the expense of your best girl.” You crack a smile, because you could never really be mad at her, but especially not after last night. You’re about to say that, but she looks over your shoulder at the clothes still strewn about your living room and grins. “Holy shit. Is your old man still here?”

“He’s not an old man, and yes, he’s in the shower, so shut up.” She shoves the doughnuts and coffee carrier into your hands and brushes past you, toward your bedroom, and you groan. “Jay, no, come on.”

“I just want to get a glimpse of him,” she says, peeking her head into your room. She sees more clothes, and the condom wrappers, looks back at you with a cocked eyebrow. “Okay, someone had a good time last night.”

“Yes, it was fucking incredible. He’s a sex god, I’m not even kidding. He ate my pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in months, then fucked me twice, so hard and sexy, and then he asked me if he could take me on a date, Jay.” You smile wide, can’t help it. “I really like him, so I actually owe you for not coming out last night.” She smiles back, pulls you close for a hug, and you step back with your hands on her shoulders. “So thank you, and thanks for coming to apologize, but can you please leave? I really don’t want to miss out on some potential good morning shower sex.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s all from a place of love, and she turns to head out of your room.

“Okay, but only because cockblocking you would mean breaking the slut code again, and I can’t have my membership card revoked. I have a date with the almost frat boy again tonight.” She grins, and you shake your head, pull off your robe when you hear the door shut and head for the shower.

Good morning shower sex has never been so good. One month and twelve dates later, and you’re head over heels for Aaron. He is so sweet, and smart, and secretly funny, the perfect gentleman when you’re in public and an absolute manic in private, and you seriously could not have imagined a more perfect man.

Jay is maybe a little tired of hearing you talk about him.

You’re out for breakfast on a Saturday morning—Aaron is on a case in Indiana, or you’d probably be with him—and she sighs around a bite of french toast.

“I get it, he’s the best lay you’ve ever had in your life. He makes your pussy wet and your heart horny, or whatever. When do I get to meet the old man who’s got you wrapped around his big sexy fingers?”

“He’s supposed to be home tonight, maybe I’ll see if he’s feeling up to drinks?” Sometimes he’s really worn out after these cases, and you don’t blame him, but occasionally they must touch him in a way that makes him want to enjoy life, because you’ve had some nice dates the same day he gets back. You’ll ask, and if he’s not up for it, you’ll reschedule.

“Ooh, yes. I can’t wait to finally get a good look at the hunk who turned my maneater best friend into a monogamous whore.” You gasp, affronted, and she cackles, takes a sip of her iced coffee. Sometimes you can’t even remember why you’re friends—but she never fails to do something completely unexpected and sweet that reminds you eventually. “Hey, maybe now that you’re obsessed with this guy, you can finally meet my dad, since I don’t have to worry about you trying to suck his dick at first sight.”

You know that Jay’s relationship with her dad has been a little rough since her parents split up, and you’ve always thought that maybe you could get her to open up to him, to talk to him, if you could get to know him, but her fears about your taste for older men have always been hilariously real. As if you can’t control yourself; as if you’d ever actually date her dad.

“Well I’ll have to ask my old man; maybe he’s down for a threesome?” It’s her turn to act offended, and you laugh and send Aaron a text about this evening before you forget.

Can’t wait to meet the infamous Jay, he replies, and you won’t lie, you’re feeling really good about your two favorite people finally getting to know each other.

That night, you and Aaron beat Jay to the bar, because of course you do—that bitch is never on time for anything.

You’re feeling cute in a sexy turtleneck dress (the neck of which Aaron tugged down to place a hickey under when you rode him on the couch before coming here) and a set of earrings he bought you—you’re wearing a set of lingerie he bought you, too for later—and he looks gorgeous in a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

You can barely keep your hands off of him, squeezing his thigh, kissing his neck; you only give him an inch of space when he gets up to run to the restroom, and even then, the way he smiles and presses his lips to yours before he goes makes you want to cancel drinks and take him home so you can be alone.

But Jay asked to meet him, and you have been a little obsessed lately, so you want to do this and make her happy.

You look down at your phone, ready to hit her with some inflammatory where the fuck are you??? texts, when she drops into the seat Aaron had just vacated, breathless.

“Sorry, sorry. Traffic was really bad, and I got into this huge fight with my mom on the phone...” She pulls off her jacket, drapes it over the back of the seat.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, concerned. The two of them usually get along pretty well.

“Yeah, she’s just pissed because my dad has a new girlfriend—which is stupid, because she’s the one who wanted to divorce him, so why does she care? But anyway, I told her I’d meet her and be nice to her, because it’s important to him, and she expects me to take her side or something. I don’t know. Let’s just say I’m really glad I’m out for drinks with you and your old man so I can forget about my problems for a while.” She takes a deep breath for practically the first time since she started talking, then looks around, realizes it’s just the two of you. “Hey, where is he, anyway?”

“Restroom,” you say with a smile, but something more must creep onto your face, because she rolls her eyes playfully.

“And you didn’t follow him in there for a little stall action?”

“Ew, no. That’s more your speed than mine; we had sex before we came, anyway, look at this hickey.” You pull the neck of your dress down and she whistles, impressed.

“Congrats on having such good pussy, babe. I know you’re sickeningly obsessed with him, but it looks to me like he’s got it bad for you too.” You grin, instinctively want to gush over him, but you see him walking over out of the corner of your eye, so you hold off.

He’s frowning, though, and you’re not sure why.

“Julie?” Jay whips her head around at the sound of Aaron’s voice, and her eyes get wide.

“Dad? What are you…” You stand up abruptly, looking up at Aaron, and Jay stands too, looking between you, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I… We…” He swallows, looks at you like you’ve both made a terrible mistake. You’re surprised how much that look hurts, but you know you have to take care of Jay before you can feel sorry for yourself.

“Jay, listen to me, okay? I swear to god I didn’t know.” You’re begging, pleading with your eyes, your hands on her shoulders. “I did not know.” She shakes her head like it’s not making sense, but when she lets herself connect the dots, she brings up a hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh my god. Are you fucking kidding me?” She pulls away from you, looking at you like you punched her in the face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Jay, I didn’t—”

“Julie,” Aaron says, reaching for her, but she steps back, palms up.

“I seriously can’t believe this. You two… After every joke we made about me keeping you away from him?” She looks at you like you betrayed her, and you exhale, shrug sadly.

“It’s not like I went looking for him, Jay. We just… found each other.” You don’t look at Aaron, because if the last month hasn’t meant the same things to him, you’ll have to be okay with that. “I know it’s shocking, and I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what it feels like to find this out, this way.”

“You’re right, you can’t imagine. I just fought with my mom about my dad’s new girlfriend, and it’s-it’s you.” She laughs, humorless.

“You fought with your mom? When?” Aaron asks, crossing his arms, and it’s so clear how much he cares about Jay. Her eyes fly to his.

“On the fucking way here. She told me about your new slut girlfriend, and I was defending you! I told her I’d meet her if you asked me to, that I’d be nice because I know she’s important to you! And it’s you,” she practically spits, turning to you. “Such a whore that you’ll fuck anyone over forty who can still get it up, including my fucking father.” Her tone stings, and people are looking at the three of you, but you take a breath, remind yourself that she’s just angry right now, and she loves you, doesn’t mean that.

“Julie, that's enough. I’m taking you home and we can talk about this there.” Aaron steps past her, picks up her jacket, and glances over at you, but you’re collecting your things and and pulling up a rideshare app to get yourself the fuck out of there.

You head for the bathroom to wait it out until your ride comes, and you definitely don’t cry because the two people who bring you the most happiness in the world are gone and they barely even looked back. It’s five days before Jay shows up at your door with apology doughnuts and a bottle of rosé. You eat and drink and cry on each other, and then laugh at each other, and your heart feels a little healed by the end of it.

“I’m sorry I called you a whore. It’s just… what are the odds, after everything we said, that you would actually hook up with my fucking dad.” You laugh and take the last bite of your doughnut.

“You don’t think I was a little startled by that turn of events? I was as shocked as you. I knew he had a daughter around my age, but that’s not really what we talked about, you know?” She shoves half a doughnut in her mouth and cackles.

“You don’t talk a whole lot, from what I’ve gathered.”

“Didn’t,” you say, and your whole mood shifts. She looks confused. “We didn’t talk a whole lot. He hasn’t spoken to me since the night you found out.” She pulls out her phone, starts texting.

“Okay, I told him I was okay with you guys like, two days ago, so this probably means he’s spiraling. He tends to do that—get in his own head and beat himself up for things that aren’t his fault.” She looks up from her phone, gives you a soft smile. “Will you forgive me if I tell you he’s moping at home right now, and that I know he’ll be happy to see you?” You roll your eyes a little.

“I already forgive you, Jay, but if he hasn’t called me, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe he was looking for an out, and I gave him one, or maybe he can’t feel the same way I do because he knows we’re friends.”

“He told my mom about you, remember? He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t serious about you, and I don’t think he’d be acting this emo if he didn’t have feelings for you.” She reaches out, covers your hands with hers. “I’m really, really sorry I fucked this up for you guys. Weirdness aside, I know what good people you both are, and I hate that you were happy and I took that from you guys. I’m 100% supportive of you being my future step-mom,” she says with a grin, and you roll your eyes again and give her a hug and then jump up to get a shower.

You’re going to go get your old man.

When you knock on Aaron’s door an hour later, he looks surprised to see you.

“I thought you’d be Julie,” he says softly, and you sigh.

“I know. She sent me. She wants us to get our heads out of our asses, but I told her I don’t know where your head is, because we haven’t spoken.” Seeing him makes you feel a little better, because he does look like he may have been moping the last few days, so that must mean the spark is still there, right? “If you want me to leave, just tell me, and I’ll go; I’ll get out of your life and you can pretend it was just a casual thing, if that’s what you want.” Your heart aches at the thought, but you’d understand, if being his daughter’s best friend is an obstacle he can’t overcome.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says after a long, painfully drawn out moment. “I don’t want you to ever leave. And I could never pretend this was casual.” He steps forward—so handsome in a t-shirt and jeans it makes you long to press kisses all over his face, to hold him and be held by him—and his eyes are trained on yours. “I know nothing about us is conventional, but it doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to you. I want to be with you.”

You take a deep, calming breath, exhale and nod. Your hands ache to reach out and touch him.

“I want to be with you, but only if you can promise that if something comes up with Jay—Julie—we can figure it out together. I don’t ever want to feel the way I felt the other night, and while I get that you had to take care of your daughter, and I’m glad you two talked things out, I can’t just be abandoned if things get weird.” You approach him, wrap your arms around him, and sigh. He hugs you so tightly, rests his cheek against the top of your head.

“I promise. I know I could have handled that better, but the situation was just so...”

“I know, that’s okay. Family comes first—but just so you know, she gave me her full support to campaign to become her new step-mom,” you say, pulling back with a teasing smile, and he shakes his head and grins. “So, one last question: Are you ready to get back in the saddle, Aaron?” He leans in and kisses you so hard you’re breathless, weaves his fingers into your hair.

“Sounds like my kind of adventure.” Message sent with high importance: Do not disturb! Your dad’s indecent.

J: Gross. Thanks for the warning, mom.

That’s step-mom, to you. Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #prompt #request

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36 Questions to Fall in Love

Summary: When Derek bets Spencer that he cant make someone fall in love with him in a week, he doesn’t expect Spencer to marry the girl the next day

warnings: strangers to lovers, blind dates, betting, talks of: drug use, drug addiction, abusive marriages, rape, sexual assault, abuse, attempted murder, mass shootings, parental death, love confessions, elopements, opposite of slow burn

word count: 8K

A/N: this is based on a request I received a while back about this article

Derek was a betting man, to say the least. He knew Spencer was from Vegas, he also knew Emily couldn’t say no to a challenge and that Rossi had enough money to burn. Betting at work was the best way to have fun when he worked there, and now he can’t stop.

“I’m not saying con a woman into loving you, I’m saying let us find a girl and let’s see if she can fall in love with you, take a week off from work and just spend time wooing her, and in a week, me or Emily will hit on her, if she turns us down for you, then you’ve won.”

Derek explained it like it was simple, and yet the mere thought of being set up with someone was horrifyingly nerve-wracking. But he got Spencer to agree… unbeknown to him that he had another bet going on the side.

You see earlier that day he was invited to Penelope’s apartment, her younger sister was moving in for a little while and they needed a big strong man to help move the boxes. And like Penelope, Y/N was really chatty and overly friendly really fast. It was like he’s always known Y/N Garcia.

She explained to Derek how hard it was in California to find good men who want someone to love them, she’s tired of guys thinking she comes on too fast, she wants someone who wants to settle and have kids and be a dad. Not a Vain narcissist who only cares about what the city can offer him.

“The last guy I went on a date with literally ran when I mentioned I read a New York Times article about 36 questions to make you fall in love… I just want a person to love? Is that really so hard?”

A lightbulb goes off in Derek’s mind, and Penelope almost reads it.

“Spencer.” They both reply with the same cheeky grin.

“I bet you, you could be as insane as you say you are and he’d still be in love with you by the end of the week.” Derek teases, and the way she smiles shows just how interested she is.

—

Woo her.

The words have rattled around in his brain every second of every moment since Derek said he found a girl for him.

She was free on Saturday, all Spencer had to do was tell Derek where she should meet him and all Penelope had to do was not mention to Spencer that she had a sister, it was up to Y/N when Spencer learned that fact.

She’s already there at the restaurant when he arrives, he’s not sure what he was expecting when Derek said he found the perfect girl but it wasn’t this. He was thinking it was going to be a joke, that either no one would show or Derek was hooking him up with some hot blonde who was way out of his league.

She was beautiful in a nice dress, her makeup was stunning and she looked so content sitting there, waiting for him. Starring her ice water with a straw, she wasn’t paying any attention to the room, she barely knew he was there.

“Hi?” He said softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Hi,” she beamed up at him, that same unsure look on her face. Neither of them was expecting anything from the other, but they were pleasantly surprised.

“Spencer Reid,” he says, actually extending a hand to shake her’s because it’s the chivalrous thing to do.

She reaches out her hand, watching him take it and kiss her knuckle softly, she’s so surprised. “Oh, um, Y/N Garcia,” she whispers the name and his eyes go wide.

“Garcia?” He panics a little, sitting down in the booth and facing her as her face drops at his reaction.

“Did he not tell you I’m Penelope’s sister? I knew Derek was up to something,” she looked like it was all too good to be true, upset almost.

“He didn’t, he probably wanted you to tell me, I mean this all so we can get to know each other,” Spencer shrugs it off, interested in seeing why Derek picked her of all people.

“I guess,” she smiled again, “so what do you do?”

“I work with Penelope, I specialize more in psycho-linguistics and geographical profiling.”

She nods in approval, “I’m a high school English teacher.”

Spencer laughs lightly, “what’s that like?”

“Interesting to say the least, especially in California. Every kid there wants to be on TikTok, no one cares about reading any of the books I ask them too,” she just shakes her head. “I’m worried about the next generation.���

“Me too, it’s almost alarming how many kids are unsubs,” he agrees. She’s so easy to talk to, he’s suddenly not nervous anymore and the waiter is coming to take their order.

He never even opened the menu, “what looks good?” He asks Y/N, nervous and she can tell.

“I think I’m going to have the lobster, let’s go all out?” She shrugged again, both of them feeling more adventurous than normal.

“I’ll have that as well,” Spencer smiled, keeping eye contact with only her as she handed the menus back to him.

They ordered sides and appetizers, stuffed mushrooms and fresh bread, it was amazing. They traded small facts about each other, Spencer noticed a lot of Penelope’s quirks in her, she was very friendly and kind and funny. She loved to tease him and make him laugh, his stomach hurt by the time their lobsters came out.

“I’ve never done this before,” she admits, putting on her bib and holding the claw cracker in one hand.

“Neither have I, but I think it’s fairly simple you just need to apply the correct amount of pressure,” he demonstrates by picking up the crustacean and cracking it at its weakest point before twisting it open.

He’s surprised he did it, so is she as she copies is movements and struggles a bit. “You got it, come on,” he encourages her as she squeezed so hard her hands shake but the shell does eventually crack.

She smiles like she just won the science fair, overly proud as they stare at each other. Enamoured already by just how cute the other was.

“So, what do you do for fun outside being a fed?” She teases between bites.

“I like to spend my time finding new things, I tend to go to the same spots often but I’m always looking for new places. I like the theatre, the old cemetery is nice, I’m excited for the new phantasmagoria to open this fall,” he explains all his interests as he cracks away at his dinner. “I just like to try and appreciate what’s out there, after everything I see.”

“That’s really nice, I’ve always wanted to go to a phantasmagoria actually, science magic is the best kind of magic,” she says it like it’s nothing, almost embarrassed by the interest.

“Me too, I love magic,” Spencer lights up, “I can actually do some magic, hold on.”

He digs his NA chip out of his pocket, showing it to her quickly before making it disappear and reappear behind her ear and she was so smitten, “how the heck?” She asked as she reached for her own ear, shocked at the fact he could do it.

“Do you always keep a coin on you for that?”

He thinks about it for a second, not knowing if he should tell her or not. “No, I keep this on me for support.”

He places it on the table, she picks it up instead and inspects it carefully, “2 years is a really long time, I’m really proud of you.”

He feels like he falls in love with her in that moment, she places the chip back in his hand and smiles, “it’s not easy to admit nor recover from, it’s something you should be really proud of Spencer.”

“Thank you,” he blushes, “um, is there anything else you want to know about me?”

She bites the inside of her lip as she thinks, “actually I was reading an article the other day that said there are a list of personal questions you can ask someone and by the end of all of them you should be in love with the person.”

He thought it was a good opportunity to take a sip of water, upon hearing the word love he realizes it was a mistake. He chokes lightly, coughing as he puts the glass back down and apologizes.

“Love?” He repeats the word.

“I’m going to be real honest here Spencer, I don’t date to get my heartbroken, I date to find my life partner so if you’re not interested in marriage or kids one day tell me now,” she’s very stern about it and he can tell she’s gotten her hopes up and heart broken before.

“I want that too, I just didn’t expect you to be so upfront about it,” he’s honest, because clearly that’s what she wants from him. “What was on the question list?”

“Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?” She asks, remembering the questions easily.

“Wow,” he takes a moment to think about it, “alive or dead?”

“Sure, why not,” she shrugs.

“Probably biological Eve,” he comes to the decision rather quickly. “I’ve always been fascinated with the fact all humans can be traced back to one single women. I’m sure she was amazing, it must have been so interesting being the first women on earth.”

“That is the coolest answer anyone has ever given me,” she smiles, “I think I’d be boring and have dinner with Julia Roberts.”

“She’s a very talented actress,” he smiles, recognizing the name from Penelope’s movie nights. “Um, I have an eidetic memory, do you have the list I can just read it once and then we can spit it back and forth easily.”

She looks at him with wide eyes and a growing smile, “yeah hold on.” She takes out her cellphone and pulls up the article before handing it to him.

He reads it quickly and then hands it right back, she was amazed, surely it was a joke? “Would I like to be famous?” He repeats the next question to himself.

“No,” he’s very certain. “I’ve had some encounters with psychopaths who think they are my biggest fans, perfect match or my only rival, and it’s not fun. I’m sure being adored is lovely, but I don’t like the attention if it’s not from a good place.”

“So you want praise but you don’t want a stalker?” She dumbs it down slightly with a smile, “I definitely don’t want to be famous because I don’t like other peoples opinions about me.”

“That’s incredibly fair.”

“Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say?” She asks the next one.

“If it’s for work or my mother, yes,” he answers it completely honestly. “I prefer not to make phone calls, so when I have to make them I typically spend the day before panicking.”

She smiles, “well, if you ever need someone to call tech support and pretend to be you, I am really good on the phone.”

“Like Penelope?”

She nods, “we spent a lot of time talking on the phone when she moved to Virginia for your team.”

“That must have been really hard, I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned you yet?”

“I’m not really her sister,” she smiles, “I wish I was. I met her during a really abusive relationship and I didn’t feel close to my parents anymore, so my old name didn’t feel right either. Penelope and her brothers were the closest thing I had to family, so I took their name after my divorce.”

“That’s beautiful,” his smile is so soft, she wonders if he feels the same about Penelope.

“What do you consider a perfect day?” She moves on before she can pry into his personal life further, just to pry into his personal life further— in another direction.

“Nobody dies.”

“Even the bad guys?” She squints as she asks it, wondering if that was an appropriate topic for the first date.

“I’m not a fan of the prison system, and I’m really not a very big fan of suicide by cop, let alone lethal injection,” he explained. “Just because you’re a murderer or a psychopath doesn’t mean you have to die too, there is rehabilitation and a way to keep them sane and alive while keeping people safe. I just hate when people die.”

“Me too,” her smile is sad, “my perfect day would be having my parents back, I’d like to show them my degree and go out for ice cream and give them another hug.”

“We should have our perfect days back to back,” his voice is low, he was nervous to say it. “Cause then once you bring them back, I stop people from dying and they can stay forever.”

He sees her heartbreak as the tears well in her eyes, “that would be nice.”

“Um,” he clears his throat and then takes a sip of water. “When was the last time you sang to yourself, or someone else?”

“I was singing in the car on the way here,” she smiles with a sniffle, “I sing a lot actually. I’m always humming or tapping as well, if my mind is wandering then it has to make some kind of noise.”

“What is your favourite thing to hum?” He can’t stop himself from asking it, “I personally do the muppets, duh duh nanana, manamanah.”

She laughs again, and a tear slips out as her eyes close. She hurries to wipe it away, “I often find myself doing the teletubbies song, you know; ‘Tinky-Winky, Dipsy,’” she sings the words before humming the tune to match.

“That’s a good one too,” Spencer is really enthusiastic suddenly, the way he would be with Penelope. He was really comfortable. “If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?”

“Mind, because that’s how you keep a good body. If I can keep the strength and willpower to get up in the mornings and go to work and remember why I love being alive, I’ll be young forever,” she answers like it’s rehearsed.

“I was going to say I’d want my mind too, but the way you said it is a lot more elegant,” he teases. “My mom has Alzheimer's, you were honest about wanting kids and you should know that's genetic. I can also pass on schizophrenia and any other mental illness, like depression, bipolar disorder and most definitely anxiety—

“Spencer,” she reaches across the table for his hand, “breathe, that’s not scary to me. My grandma had it too, I’m not optimal gene-wise either.”

He takes a deep breath, “Sorry.”

“It makes you real to react like that, I don’t mind seeing that side of you. Fake strong men and men who compensate are the worst, in my opinion.”

“Mine too,” he agrees. “I am an anxious worrier, I barely sleep, I’m terrified of the dark, I have PTSD nightmares about my short stay in prison, and I cry a lot when I’m alone.”

“It was a mistake clearly? The prison stay, that is.”

“Yeah,” he nods, moving to the next question. “Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”

She laughs through her nose at the switch topic change, “well until I was 19 I thought my husband was going to kill me, then I thought maybe it would be myself, now I’m content dying in my sleep when I'm old.”

“It is ever-changing,” he agrees. “I have died before.”

“What did it feel like?”

She doesn’t ask how, she knows he was sober, she knows he’s been to prison, she knows he’s an agent. It wasn’t a surprise. Penelope even almost died once before, it was an unfortunate part of the job.

“Warm.”

“Like soothing warm, like drinking a hot chocolate, or that uncomfortable warm like being in a hot car?”

“Like a hug.”

Her lips purse, she hums a bit. “Yeah, my answer stays the same.”

“Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.”

“You like to learn,” she smiles again. “You enjoy the mysteries and the horribleness of the world because it keeps you grounded. You love your mom.”

“We love Penelope, our hearts have similar scars, life has been mean to us for no reason,” he adds 3 more for good measure.

“What are you grateful for in life?” She asks the next question.

“I’ve never said this before,” he prefaces, “but found family. If it wasn’t for my team, no matter who was coming and going over the years, anyone who has had my back. Anyone who loves me in any capacity. That’s what I’m grateful for.”

“We’re not even through the first set of questions and I can see why everyone loves you,” she admits. Moving far too fast, doing exactly what Derek wanted from her.

To scare him and see if he still stays.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Spencer stops the questions, “I can’t continue if I can’t tell you this.”

“Yeah, what’s wrong?”

“Derek and Emily bet me $20 that I couldn’t get someone to fall in love with me, he wanted to set this up and then hit on you in a week and see if you picked me over him, and it feels like a really shitty thing to do to you. It’s making me feel like you’re an object more than a person and I feel really bad about it.”

She just laughs and he has no idea why. “He bet me that I could be as insane as I am with most of my dates and you’d still want to stay with me after a week.”

“You’re not mad?” He worries, by passing her words and the implications of it all.

“No, did you truly mean how you feel?”

“Yes…”

“Then I accept your apology, you’re really kind Spencer. I believe you when you speak, I trust you,” she explains her reasoning and he settles once more. “You’re the most real man I’ve ever met, I think.”

“Thank you,” he smiles again, reaching out for her hand once more, “do you want to finish these questions?”

“Not really,” she smirks, “I think they were wrong about all 35 of them making you fall in love with someone.”

“How so?”

“It only took me 9.”

It’s so absurd they start to laugh, making eye contact, they feel delirious. His hand in hers, she squeezes it lightly and he never wants to let it go.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Sure, did you drive?” She asks.

“No, I walked over.”

She gets up from the table and takes his hand once more, “well, are we going to mine or yours?”

“Are you living with Penelope?”

“Yours it is then,” she teases, bumping his shoulder. This was going to be fun.

Spencer pays for their meal and meets her out front, he gets in her passenger seat and gives her the directions. “Do you want to finish the questions on the drive?” He asks.

“Hmm, well, 11 is a long one, if you want to start telling me your life story in graphic detail? Or we can jump to 12 and you can tell me what super ability you’d like to wake up with?”

“Have you ever watched star trek?”

She’s not expecting that, it makes her take a double-take, she laughs lightly, “Yeah, why?”

“Deanna Troi can sense peoples emotions, I think that would really help with my job,” he explains it easily. “And in times like this.”

“I can just tell you,” she offers, pulling into his apartment complex, she can tell why he walked.

“You don’t have to yet, let it simmer,” he smiles softly, he’s not ready for her to make a decision like loving him when she really doesn’t know everything yet. “Come inside?”

She nods, getting out and taking his hand again for the walk inside. His house is green, and it makes sense. There are door wooden bookshelves and the distant smell of old books and spilled coffee, it’s dusty and old and very Spencer.

“Can I tell you some of my story?” She asks as she kicks her shoes off.

“Absolutely,” he follows her lead, “do you want anything, wine, water?”

“Wine would be nice,” she smiles, following him to the kitchen, “you know my favourite place to talk to someone is in the kitchen.”

“Why?”

“It's the heart of the house,” she smiles slightly, “that's what my mom used to say. This is where all the love happens.”

He loves her and he knows it already, she makes him happy and calm and if she’s in the heart of his house she might as well know all of his own heart.

“I was born in Vegas,” Spencer admits, pushing his life story past his lips before she can stop him or else he wouldn’t.

“My mom was a professor, my dad is an attorney, I have always been really smart and not so athletic, I enjoy chess and reading and I had big thick glasses as a child. My mom participated in a murder and my dad covered it up and that ruined their marriage but they blamed it on her schizophrenia when he left. And then I was left to raise her when she was supposed to be raising me. I cared for her until I turned 13, I left her during the weeks and my aunt would make sure she was okay and I would travel back and forth from CalTech and Vegas on the weekends.”

She can see the exhaustion on his face at just remembering it.

“I got my licence at 16, and then I took her car and it was easier. When I was 18 I put her in a sanatarium and sold her house and took a road trip with my friend to Virginia to go to the academy. He didn’t like it after a week and asked me to go with him to New Orleans and I didn’t— I met my mentor and joined the BAU instead. I was kidnapped and drugged by a man with DID… I died and then his personality switched and Tobias brought me back. I had an addiction to Dilaudid for a few months after, then I got sober after visiting Ethan in New Orleans.”

“Was he good to you?”

“Wonderful,” he smiles, “he was my shoulder to cry on for a long time and I didn’t realize how much I needed him in my recovery until we got a case and I had a reason to see him. I missed a plane and ignored my friends to just be with him. He’s the reason I got clean, not anything else… he told me that I was too special to hate myself, and he was right.”

“He was,” she smiles. “He sounds lovely.”

“And then, the first time I saw my mom after putting her in the sanatarium was because she told parts of our case to a man who lost his daughter, and he did a lot of messed up stuff… like he shot my co-worker. She was another special person to me—“

“I’m so sorry.”

He smiles, “she lived, don’t worry. I loved Elle, she was amazing but the bureau didn’t see that. She was a broken toy to them, we all become one eventually. I miss her a lot.”

She walks into his space and wraps her arms around him, giving him a hug as he rests against the counter, she makes no attempt to move back. Holding him in the heart of the house, close to her own. He holds her back just as tight.

“Maeve, she was another person I loved who got shot, she died. I see her sometimes when I sleep, she visits me when I’m in the most need. I’ll always love her, but she’s gone. The only other woman who claims to have loved me was a psychopath who is dead now too, she framed me for murder, had me drugged, kidnapped my mother and the list goes on and it’s not pretty. In prison she had a lot of bad things happen to me, I have scars that will never heal and a part of me was lost but I’m okay now.”

They have a moment of silence in the middle of their stories, she absorbs it while preparing her own, rubbing his back as her cheek stays pressed to his chest.

“I was born in California, my parents were high school sweethearts, they made me at prom. Learned that from the scrapbooks,” she laughs against his chest, “they were great and then they died when I was 14, it was a mass shooting at a mall, and I went to a foster home. I married the oldest son in the home after he groomed me for a few years… I met Penelope when I was 20 and she helped me get divorced and back on my feet and her brothers protected me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry you relate to loss.”

“It's the one thing that unites us all, really,” Spencer’s voice is barely a whisper. “When you think about it, we’re all born and we all die, the only difference is how we fill the middle.”

They never get to that bottle of wine he mentioned, she pulls back and asks the next question as she drags him to his bedroom. “If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?”

“If I get to have kids.”

She drags him into the room and closes the door, “that was going to be my answer.”

“Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven't you done it?” He asks as she starts to take her clothes off.

“Sleep beside the love of my life.”

“I’ve never woken up beside the love of my life,” he replies with a soft smile and follows suit, getting undressed down to their underwear before climbing in bed.

“Greatest accomplishment?” She asks as they settle in, laying her cheek on his chest once more.

He takes a moment to think of everything he’s done that has been good, and one really stands out. “there was a case a few years back, we found a bunch of kids who went missing and returned them to their families and gave answers to the families of children who didn’t make it. Days like that feel like a reward.”

“Getting divorced,” she pushes the words out quickly.

“Most valued friendship?” He asks, knowing she doesn’t need to explain herself.

“Penelope.”

“Derek.”

“Most treasured memory?”

“When JJ placed her son in my arms and told me I was his godfather,” his voice is hushed and she knows it’s because he doesn’t want to cry. “It's the closest I’ve gotten to being a father so far.”

“I got an end of the year present when I was first starting out, this girl told me that I was the reason she enjoyed reading again and it was the reason I started teaching, I’ll never forget her. Tammy Brownlee, she graduated in 2009 and we’ve been Facebook friends ever since.”

“Most terrible memory?”

“My parents dying.”

“You’d think mine would be dying right?” He asked, she nodded against his chest, “it was actually being held down by 3 men, getting a sock shoved in my mouth while they beat me.”

She kissed his chest softly, “I’m sorry, I know that feeling. Mind you, he was only 1 man, it’s not a good feeling.”

“If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living?”

“If it’s definite; not like a chance or a cancer statistic, if it’s like this is the day you die no ifs and's or butts, then I’d just continue as normal and have 1 really awesome day right before,” she smiles against him. “Make the most of it all.”

“If I was dying a year today, I’d ask you to marry me.”

“Already?” She laughs, thinking he’s kidding.

“You want a nice husband and a kid? I will be good for you as long as I know you, and I’ll have as many kids as you want me to help you make.”

She’s silent as she thinks about it. “What does friendship mean to you?”

“Someone who is there for you even when they don’t want to be, even when it’s hard,” Spencer whispers, thinking about his friends.

“It means hacking the government and voiding a marriage and changing someone's name so they can escape,” Y/N whispers. “don’t tell the feds she did that too.”

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?”

“I crave it and hardly receive it, but I give it out like it’s a sample at costco,” she snickers at the example she gave. “It’s something that people have always admired about me and yet it’s also the thing that scares people away. When I love, I love hard and it’s full and annoying and you will feel suffocated sometimes, but just tell me when and I’ll back off.”

“I don’t know how to ask for what I need,” Spencer whispers. “But I need someone to love me like that.”

“The next one is to alternate 5 good things about each other,” she rests her chin on her hand as she looks up at his face in the darkness, “soft.”

He pauses for a moment, bypassing the easiest one and saying pretty, instead, he says; “you’re honest.”

“You’re very caring,” she replies.

“You see beauty in the world still.”

She smiles at that one, “you make the world beautiful.”

“You are beautiful.”

“And you’re handsome, that’s my 4th,” she keeps track in her head.

“You’re true, to your heart, your promises, everything.”

“And you’re real, you see the world for what it is and you don’t try to change it for the better. You want to make it manageable,” her explanation is the longest one yet. “Was your childhood happy, and do you feel close with your family still?”

“I write to my mom every single day and I drop the notes off weekly, and no,” he doesn’t want to cry, but he feels like he might again. “It was liveable, I made it.”

“Mine was happy until I was 14, then I was alone, I have 1 living aunt and she is strange but I get a card from her every Christmas,” Y/N adds. “I’d like to think your lack of love and my need to fill the world with what I miss from my parents will make a really good family dynamic.”

“Me too.”

“How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?” She asks, “I think I know already, but it’s the next one.”

“She hit me a few years ago because I made her take some medicine, she hit me once when I was a kid too…” he whispers them so that they stay a secret, if they can’t be heard else where then they don’t exist in his mind. “She was a wonderful mother but the worst memories stick out the most now. She’s forgetting everything and all I can remember is how hard it’s been on me, like a bad son.”

“My mom was my best friend, and I still talk to her every day, I bring her and my dad around with me in my necklace,” she pulls the chain on her neck and shows him the little jar. “Mom, Dad, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is my mom and dad.”

He holds it in his hand and tips it gently, “nice to meet you.”

“The next one is weird,” she changed the topic again.

“Make three true "we" statements each. For instance, "We are both in this room feeling…" Spencer says it verbatim. “We are both feeling understood.”

“We are both hopeful.”

“We are both falling in love,” Spencer ends the feelings with the most prominent one.

“We are,” she agrees with another smile.

“Finish this,” he insists on moving forward, “I wish I had someone I could share…”

“The rest of my life with,” she whispers this time. “If we become besties, what’s something I should know?”

“I think I’ve told you all the important stuff so far,” Spencer thinks hard, pausing for a moment. “My butt is ticklish?”

It makes her giggle, “that is a good one. My sides and the bottom of my feet are ticklish too.”

“Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you've just met,” Spencer reads the question back from memory, “don’t be afraid to be too honest.”

“I like that you know how I feel but I hate that you’ve been hurt. I like how you listen to me, and I really like how comfortable you make me feel. I’m almost naked in your bed right now and I know you’d never, ever hurt me, and I haven’t felt that in a really long time.”

“I like that you are indulging me in the dream of becoming a husband and a dad one day… most people say it’ll happen but they never picture it. No one has ever said yeah id have your kids. I like that you know what you want and you’re actively looking for it.”

She moves up so she can hold his face in her hands, “only 7 more. Is it working?”

He nods, “my most embarrassing moment is the time I had a wet dream on the work jet.”

She laughs and then covers her mouth in panic, “I’m sorry that’s not funny.”

“It is, it’s fine,” he smiles. “I was dreaming about kissing this actress we helped, she actually did kiss me in the pool, so I guess it was bound to happen.”

She leans in and presses her lips against his, holding his cheeks in her hands his wrap around her waist as he holds her there. She peppers smaller kisses to his lips before pulling back, “we both cried in front of each other already today, so next question.”

“Tell me what you like about me already?”

Her hands trail his chest and down towards his boxers, he’s hard again from just kissing and she smirks, “this is promising.”

His hand on her back unclips her bra, “I love boobs, not even going to lie. They are my weakness.”

She pushes the straps down and tosses her bra aside, pressing her naked chest against his, she moves on. “What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”

“Being called insane, saying I'm seeing things, or acting crazy, those are things I don’t like to be told because they make my anxiety worse.”

“Noted,” she smiles. “I talk to myself a lot so get ready for that.”

“Okay,” he smiles, she’s way too easy to be real.

“I don’t want to mention my last husband from here on out, I think if I get married again I will never tell anyone I have a first husband,” she’s firm in her words.

“Technically, Y/N Garcia has never had a husband,” he reminds her.

Her face lights up at the realization, “you’re right.”

“If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven't you told them yet?” Spencer asks.

“I regret not screaming at my ex before I disappeared but I wanted to live.”

He hums, understanding how it feels. “There isn’t anyone in specific I’ve wanted to tell this to, but I wanted to kill people when I was in prison. It made me really angry being in there and I let myself dream about killing people who hurt me and then I almost did kill someone.”

“Remember what you said about bad guys?” She whispers a helpful tip, “even the worst people deserve to have a chance at life. And you’re not hardly as bad as the worst people you’ve met.”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “Thank you.”

“This place burns down, what’s one thing you’d run back inside for? Outside of people and animals…” she asks the 3rd last question.

“The book Maeve gave me.”

“The girlfriend who died?” She confirms, and he nods. “If my place with Penelope burned down, I just want my necklace and I don’t take it off that often.”

“The next question is interesting,” Spencer thinks about it, “Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing, and why?”

“I’m glad I wasn’t at the mall with my parents, if I saw them get shot it would hurt more,” she whispers. “I’m sorry you had to see Maeve die like that.”

“In a way, I’m glad I saw Maeve get shot, otherwise I wouldn’t have believed it. She never felt real to me and then she was dead…”

She just hums, “Share a personal problem and ask your partner's advice on how he or she might handle it,” she whispers the last question.

“Also, ask your partner to reflect to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen,” Spencer adds in the second half.

“I need to find a place to stay now that I’m here, I don’t want to keep living with Penelope. As much as I love her, I want my own place,” Y/N admits.

“I think I’m in love with this girl that I just met and I don’t know if it’s too soon to ask her to look for a house with me?” Spencer pretends to sigh, “she’s super cool and I think we’d make some nice kids. I would love some advice.”

“Has she told you she loves you yet?” She teases.

Spencer shakes his head. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too, Spencer,” she replies, leaning in one more time to kiss him.

It’s deeper this time, she breathes him in and rests her forehead against his as she breathes between them.

“How did that work?” She whispers, truly amazed at how easy it was.

He shrugs, “it’s a good questionnaire.”

“You were really honest, your heart is really pure and I would like to get to know you more, but I feel like I know everything?” She shakes her head while she talks, overthinking all the things she has learned, “I don’t even know what could be left?”

“My birthday is October 28th?” He whispers, “we have a lot to discover yet.”

—

When she doesn’t come home in the morning, Penelope knows she’s at Reid’s house. She just doesn’t expect to walk in and find them naked in Reid’s bed, out cold and cuddled together with their clothes all over the room.

It looks like something happened. If only she knew the truth.

“Oh my god?” Penelope’s voice wakes them up and Spencer scrambles to make sure they are covered by his blankets.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N shouts as she wakes up.

“I came to see if you were okay. I expected one of you to be on the couch, I didn’t think it went this good?”

“We just slept in the same bed, I promise,” Spencer turned bright red as he panicked, “we just got to know each other and talked all night, in what we normally sleep in.”

“Uh-huh,” Penelope smirks, “so I take it the 36 questions worked?”

“Perhaps,” Y/N smirks back at her sister.

“Do you use it on many people?”

“No one has made it past the first question,” she smiles at him instead, kissing his cheek as Penelope watches.

“That’s my queue to go, um… yeah, wow, I didn’t see this happening so fast,” Penelope is shocked but in the best way.

She leaves just as fast as she arrived and Y/N settles back into Spencer the second she closes the bedroom door. “You know, if she’s not going to believe us we might as well do it? If you accidentally get me pregnant then we can move fast and no one will question it.”

He laughs, “accidentally, is the key word there.”

“My parents made me at prom after crushing on each other for 2 years… I think knowing each other for 2 days isn’t the weirdest way to start a family?”

“Honestly,” Spencer lets out a sigh and her happy mood drops to a more serious one. “I was a little worried that we’d wake up this morning and you’d change your mind.”

“Why?”

“In the heat of the moment, learning everything about each other and saying I love you was really exhilarating, but I have a hard time believing it,” he admits, “not many people mean it, or stay around after they tell me they love me.”

She cuddles back into the crook of his neck and holds him as tightly as possible, wrapping a leg around him for optimal coverage, “I am staying right here, because I love you, Spencer.”

“Okay,” he whispers. Sounding like he still doesn’t believe it.

“I love you because you’re honest, you want what I want and you’re truly kind. You’re friends with my sister, you’re smart, you would make a great dad, you won't hurt me, you are really nice to cuddle with, and I know you mean it when you say you love me because it’s not a word you use lightly.”

“Are you my girlfriend now?” He wonders aloud, “cause if you really want to have a kid, I have my mom's old wedding ring in my closet, and I would rather be married to you before we do that?”

“Okay,” she whispers, tears welling in her eyes as she hides her face in his neck, “the courthouse is literally just down the road?”

“We can get breakfast together after?” Spencer adds, rubbing her back as they plan, he wasn’t scared anymore.

“Penelope will kill me if she’s not there, can we have her as our witness?” Y/N finally sits up to look at him, pulling away to sit on the bed, still shirtless.

His smile while he tries to keep eye contact with her is so funny, she giggles a little as she hides her nipples behind her palms and cups her boobs.

“I’m pretty sure she’s still in my living room,” Spencer giggles, “Penelope!?”

She comes back in then, “yes?”

“We’re going to the courthouse to get married, wanna come?” Y/N asks with an embarrassed smile.

“Yes!” She cheers, “I’ll go get you a dress!”

And then she’s off again, this time actually leaving Spencer’s apartment. “What if we don’t tell Derek, and let him hit on me next week anyway?

“Then you can say ‘sorry I have a husband,’ and he’ll body slam me to the floor,” Spencer laughs nervously, “the whole team is going to be so pissed they missed my wedding…”

She frowns, “send out a mass text, tell them to meet us at the court house, it’s their day off right?”

“You’re right,” he smiles.

This was going to be interesting.

—

Walking out of the courthouse, hand in hand, she’s in a white dress, he’s in a suit he’d probably wear to work, Penelope is crying and the whole team is waiting outside for them.

At the bottom of the courthouse steps, they all clap and cheer, throwing rice at them like an old movie, Spencer’s smiling so hard his cheeks are burning. Y/N introduces herself to everyone, hugged over and over by everyone she should have met 15 years ago.

Derek is tapping his foot, waiting for Spencer to come and hug him, “what the fuck?” He asks as Spencer steps into his space, wrapping his arms around him and shaking his back and forth.

“Nice try, I’ll give you $20 as a thank you,” Spencer teases as he pulls away. “She is perfect.”

JJ and Will are busy talking to Y/N when he turns around, Mike and Henry not far behind them. Spencer walks over and wraps Henry up in his arms, the kid was growing way too fast, Spencer loved him so much it hurt sometimes.

“Y/N, this is my godson,” Spencer introduces them, “Henry, this is Y/N.”

She gives him a big hug too, “do you have any cousins, Henry?”

“No, but I was 8 when Michael was born,” he smiles, “and I’m getting old enough to be a good babysitter?”

Spencer laughed, messing up Henry’s hair quickly with a smile, “I’m sure by the time you’re a cousin you’ll be great.”

They take a group photo outside, Spencer and Y/N in the middle, everyone was smiling. It was the first time all of them had been in a photo together, the entirety of Spencer’s found family. Now they were Y/N’s too.

She hyphenated her last name, Y/N Garcia-Reid, and their kids would share the same one. He was not only about became a father thanks to Y/N, but Penelope would also become an Aunt once more. It was like a gift that kept on giving, seeing Spencer and Y/N create a little family of their own.

—

She cried her eyes out when she met Diana. She wasn’t expecting to be so emotional, but then Diana was lucid and very welcoming and sweet.

“It’s going to be a pleasure having you as my daughter,” Diana smiles, thinking it was just a nice thing to say.

Y/N cries and holds her so tight Diana almost can’t breathe but she lets her hold her as long as she needs to, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome?”

“I haven’t had someone to call mom since I was 14,” Y/N whispers, “if that’s okay?”

Diana hugs her just a little too tight in response, “you can call me mom whenever you want.”

“Just until you become a grandma,” she whispers again as she pulls back and Diana’s attention snaps to Spencer.

“Are you trying?”

He nods, “we want kids, we’re not getting any younger.”

Diana wraps him up in a hug and he almost falls off his chair at the sheer force of it, she was so happy for him. She knew this was all he’s ever wanted; because he would be good at it, he had all this love in his heart, and he wanted to show his father how easy it is to stay.

“You’re going to be a great dad, Spencer,” she holds his cheeks as she pulls away, “I’m proud of you.”

He cried. It’s all he’s wanted from her, and now he has everything right here in this room.

—

When they find out they’re pregnant after the first try, it’s really funny to them. It was all working so well, it was a little too much for them at first. They were looking for a house, she was looking for a permanent teaching job but Spencer convinced her to wait until after the baby is born to go back.

They name her Morgan Garcia-Reid as a thank you for Derek’s little bet, and before she’s even 6 months old they’re pregnant again. By the time they have 4 kids under 5 they take a break and just enjoy their little family.

To think Derek gave them 7 days to fall in love… and then they lived happily ever after.

taglist: @g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

[foreveranevilregal]

Can we have a snippet where Pepa is insecure about her looks compared to her sister and asks Felix if he really wants her and Felix just starts comforting her and listing everything he loves about her and it lasts an hour or so?

Ugh, my prompts are technically closed for the time being, but I love this one so much and I have no self control. Warning for body image issues.

Félix and Pepa have always been more the hands-on type...

It was a gorgeous sunny day. Like most people, Félix and Pepa had decided to take advantage of the nice weather and spend some time outside. They were sprawled out under a tree in the park, enjoying the sunshine in a sleepy stupor, when Pepa spoke up.

“Why are you with me?”

“What do you mean, why am I with you?” Félix gaped at her. “I’m with you because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Pepa sighed, propping herself up on her elbows. “I know, but why me? There are so many other women in the encanto you could choose over me.”

“There is no one in the encanto I would choose over you.” Félix pressed a kiss to her lips. “You are the only woman for me.”

“Why though?” she persisted.

“Why?” Félix tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Well, you’re incredible, strong, smart, kind, hilarious, beautiful, brave, full of life, and did I mention beautiful?” He offered her a toothy smile.

She whacked him on the arm halfheartedly. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Who’s lying? I meant every word I said.”

“Yeah, right. You’re just trying to make me feel better.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“No, really.” He turned to face her. “Which part don’t you believe?”

She averted her eyes bashfully, mumbling under her breath.

“I didn’t catch that, mi amor.”

She took a deep breath. “I said, I’m not beautiful.”

Félix did a double take. “Are you serious? You, not beautiful?”

Pepa glared at him. “Yes, Félix. I know I don’t look like all the other women. Take Julieta-“

“I don’t want Julieta, I want you.”

Her glare darkened. “I didn’t mean literally,” she gritted out through her teeth. “Julieta looks like a proper woman, with curves and everything. Which is how every woman looks, except for me, apparently.” She gave her body a dismissive once-over, casting it a dirty look. “No, I had to be flat chested and straight up and down. I look like a boy.”

“Pepa, you do not look like a boy.” He reached out for her hand.

She yanked it away. “I do too,” she sulked, twisting the ring adorning her left hand. “You should go find someone better to be with. You deserve better than me.”

“Like Julieta?” He grinned. “Ow!” He winced when her hand made contact with his arm. “I was kidding!”

“It’s not funny,” she grumbled. “Boys always thought she was prettier. The only reason they talked to me at all is because she’s so quiet. I was always their second choice.” She exhaled. “I was the one they settled for when they struck out with her.”

“Come here.” Félix sat up and curled his arm around her, pulling her into his side.

Against her will, she found herself leaning onto his chest, savoring the feeling of his fingers running through her hair.

“You are not now, nor have you ever been, anything other than my first choice,” he spoke gently, combing through her hair. “And if you don’t know that, then I’ve really failed you.”

“Félix, that’s not what I meant…” she backtracked. “You’ve always been very kind. I’m just insecure.”

“It’s my job to ensure you know how loved you are,” he asserted. “How lovable you are, in every way. I wish you knew how I see you…”

Her hand stopped rubbing circles on his chest. “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me how you see me. Please,” she pleaded. “Because I cannot for the life of me understand why you’d rather be with me than anyone else.”

“Okay. Well…” he started, his fingers still running through her hair, “I already went over your personality and how amazing it is.”

“You left out ‘moody’,” she pointed out with a stormy look in her eyes.

“Pepa, I’ll say it as many times as I have to. I want all your moods. I want all your weather. I want all of it. All of you.” He brushed aside her bangs to kiss her forehead. “Any other objections?”

She shook her head, snuggling closer to him. “I think that covered it.”

“Good. Now as I was saying, your personality is amazing, and I’m not just here for your looks.”

“That’s a relief,” she scoffed. “Imagine that disappointment.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” he chided softly, tracing patterns over her arms with his fingertips. “As I was saying, I’m not just here for your looks, but Pepa…you’re stunning. And I’m gonna tell you every part of you that I love and why I love it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Shouldn’t take long then. Go on.”

“Let’s start at the top…” His fingers returned to her head. “I love your hair, Pepa.” He tangled his hand in her hair.

“My hair is too unruly,” Pepa deflected. “And too bright.”

“Your hair is as spirited as you are,” Félix corrected her. “It’s big and fiery and the way it gleams in sunlight…” he sighed wistfully. “Well, I could just look at that forever.”

“You’re such a sap.” Pepa’s words didn’t have any bite to them.

“Only for you, mi vida.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Now where were we?”

“There’s more?” she asked incredulously.

“Of course there’s more! You didn’t think I only like your hair, did you?”

“You do really like my hair…”

“I do, but that’s far from the only thing I love about the way you look. We’re going to be here a while.”

“I don’t have anywhere I need to be.” She closed her eyes, savoring his warmth against her skin.

“Next, I love your freckles.” He lightly poked a few spots on her face.

“My freckles?” She scrunched her nose.

“Yes. Someday, I’m going to kiss every last one of them.”

“That’s going to take a really long time,” she commented.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m in no hurry. But stop trying to distract me!” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I love this too. When I kiss it, it scrunches up like a little bunny’s nose.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“How could I forget?” He clapped his hands to his cheeks in mock horror. “I love these too.” His fingertip traced over her eyelids. “I love your eyes: green and vibrant like a spring day. And I especially love the way they light up when you’re happy.”

“Félix…” She rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation. “Are you actually going to sit here and tell me you love every part of my body?”

“Yes, I am,” he answered simply. “Because they’re all part of you, and I love you.”

Pepa huffed but made no further protest.

“I love these especially,” he flicked her lips with his thumb, “because all my favorite things come from them. Kisses, jokes, conversations, songs, laughter. They’re the keepers of so many wonderful things.” He leaned down and kissed her deeply.

When they parted, she looked at him in a daze. “You’re not too bad yourself,” she flirted.

He shook his head. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. About why you, Pepa, are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He continued. “I love seeing the little gap between your teeth.”

She was taken aback. “Really? Why?”

“Because you only show your teeth when you’re smiling, so when I see it, I’m seeing you at your happiest.”

She beamed, a rainbow springing up above her head.

“Just like that.” He pushed her hair behind her ear and started peppering kisses down her neck. “I love this because I love to see the way it makes you unravel.”

Her breath hitched. “We’re in public,” she reminded him breathily.

“That’s too bad.” He detached his lips from her delicate skin. “Because I love the way it looks after I’m done sucking on it.”

She pursed her lips, holding back a moan. Wisps of fog swirled around them.

“Yeah, I know you like that too,” he crooned, trailing his fingers down her neck to rest on her shoulders. “But like you said, we’re in public. And my list is far from finished.”

“How much more could there possibly be?” She wondered.

“I’m just getting started, amor.” He kissed her shoulders, pushing her sleeves off to uncover bare skin. “I love the way these shimmy when you dance.”

“I am a good dancer,” she conceded, a proud smile blooming on her face.

“You’re spectacular,” he agreed. “The way you lose yourself in the music and just let it take over you is a sight to behold.”

“I just feel it,” she said. “I don’t know how to explain it. It becomes part of me.”

“And everyone watching can see that. It’s a joy to watch you dance.” His hands left her shoulders, walking down her arms to her hands. “I love these.” He held up her hands to his face. “I love the way they feel in mine. And these.” He kissed each of her fingers individually. “Though, I have to say, this one is definitely my favorite.” He wriggled her left ring finger, the sun glinting off the ring gracing it. “Because it means you’re mine.”

She blushed. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever, then.” He squeezed her hand, then continued his journey, ascending up her side. “Of course, I’m sure you already know I love these.” The side of his finger grazed the edge of her breast.

Pepa scowled. “They’re inadequate and disappointing. You need a magnifying glass just to find them.”

“You sell yourself far too short.” His finger ran over the small swell hypnotically. “Sure, they’re not big. But there’s enough there to satisfy both of us.” He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Especially when I use my mouth…”

Pepa squealed. “Félix…” she whined. “Not here.” She squirmed in place, fighting for breath in the sudden humidity.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” His hands left her breasts, settling into her waist. “I love the way my hands fit here.” He gave her sides a small squeeze, then moved one hand to caress the flat plane of her stomach. “And this I love because it’s where our babies are going to grow. The start of the family we’re going to build.”

She hummed contentedly. “That’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he stressed. “It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. And these,” his hands gripped her hips, “these I love to watch shake to the beat of the music.”

She chuckled. “Does someone want a special dance when we get home?”

He gulped. “You know I’ll never turn down a dance from you, mi corazón.” His hands stretched lower, squeezing her ass. “You already know why I love this.”

She smiled at him seductively. “I do, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Ah, too bad we’re in public.” He shrugged his shoulders, smiling playfully. “It deserves some more private appreciation.”

“Is that so?” she purred, practically pawing at his chest.

“Easy,” he warned. “Don’t start something we can’t finish here.”

“You’re no fun,” she complained, but there was still a sliver of a smile on her face.

“Just a few more things on my list,” he assured her. “I’ll hurry up, I promise.” His hands ran down the length of her legs. “I love these; they’re so long and beautiful and look amazing when you walk, and dance. They also feel pretty amazing wrapped around me,” he quipped. “You know, when we…”

“Félix!” she hissed, turning a deep scarlet and eyes widening. “Not here!”

“Oh, I guess we better hurry up. I never said I loved your patience.” He smirked. “Because you have none,” he clarified.

“Shut up!” She groaned. “Come on, finish your list so that we can finish.”

“Only two more things,” he promised. “I love your feet,” he nudged one of her feet with his own, “because they move so gracefully on the dancefloor. And finally,” he placed a hand over her chest, “my favorite part of you.”

“What is it?” Pepa asked, awestruck, her heart thumping wildly.

“Your heart, Pepa. It’s so filled with love, and you choose to share that love with me. What more could I ask for?”

“Hopeless romantic,” she muttered, covering her blushing face with her hands.

“You love it.” He took her hands in his own, looking her in the eyes. “Do you believe me now?”

“I do.” She kissed him. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Pepi.” He reciprocated the kiss.

“That was a very thorough list,” she noted. “Although…” she trailed off.

“Although…” he prompted.

“It seemed to be missing some parts of me that I know for a fact you appreciate.” She tilted her head suggestively, glancing downward.

“I seem to remember mentioning something about showing some more private appreciation to those parts of you.” He snaked his hand around the small of her back, splaying it out, and pulling her even closer to himself.

Her lips on his ear brought shivers down his spine. “What are you waiting for?” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

#pepa madrigal #felix madrigal #pepa x felix #felix x pepa #tw body image #brief pregnancy mention #blink and you'll miss it #i could be persuaded to write a part 2 #felix has ruined me for real men #asks #Anonymous #foreveranevilregal writes #writing answered prompts #writing encanto #writing feliepa #this is the single sappiest thing i have ever written