#wanted to paint the man himself inside his funny cube

[youngblood-valkyrie]

cooking...

(wip)

#my art #half life #half life: alyx #gman #spoilers #i guess?? idk if it's still a spoiler or not #anyway... i mentioned a hexagonal shaped canvas in the tags of my last post... #wanted to paint the man himself inside his funny cube #its still a wip and idk what im doing most of the time but i think it looks alright already #bought some more metallic paint just for this. this bitch is gonna be shiny af

[that-damn-girl]

(1) Daze of Pollen

(Work in Progress - 1 of 8; Slow updates)

Daze of Pollen Materlist

Pairing: (cis)fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson

Words: 1800+

Warnings: None except language?

Summary:  Bucky, Steve, Sam and you are in the safe house post mission when a retrieved Hydra device activates, releasing a kind of pollen you don’t know of, but the effects of which are soon discovered.

A/N: To all my horny bitches out there, I’m sorry the first chapter isn’t smutty. I didn’t plan on keeping the entire first chapter as the intro but it just...happened. Also, This is my submission for @buckyssoul​​ ‘s Rae Hit 1k Marvel Writing Challenge. I’m sorry for the delay. Hope you like it!

It is a strange concept, really. We don't always get what we want. But  if we do, it's when we least expect it, in the most strangest of ways as well.

Call it your good luck, fate, destiny, a simple mere coincidence, or whatever. You were grateful for that night in the safe house regardless. For the first and the last time, you could say that you were thankful for a little Hydra contraption.

It all started during a peaceful dinner. You and your group of friends were relaxing after a successful mission, treating yourselves with any and all comfort food available in the safe house. The mission was anticipated to be much harder than usual; the only reason why Bucky and Sam had asked you and Steve to accompany them. Quite unexpectedly, the mission went smoothly and it seemed there was no need for the extra help they had requested. But considering the mission consisted of scoping out an abandoned Hydra base, being overly cautious was preferred than being overconfident. One never knew the levels of villainy Hydra truly possessed.

Oh, you were about to discover the truth in that statement just fine.

Bucky sat across from you on the dining table, Sam to your right. The duo played catch with a balled sheet of paper, their half eaten meals abandoned on the table. You and Steve conversed with them while enjoying your respective sandwiches.

It was true that Steve had given up his Captain America mantle to Sam, a man just as deserving of the title, but hadn't completely retired. He didn't get out on the field anymore, but used his excellent strategic skills in planning the missions sometimes, especially if it included Hydra. 

All of you would have been enroute to the Compound had Rhodey and Scott not hogged the quinjet. None of you minded though. With the four of you together, it was very much like a quiet night in with close friends. Unbeknown to you, it wasn't going to be particularly quiet much longer.

"Does it smell funny to anybody else here?" Bucky asked, pausing midway while rocking his chair. Squinting his eyes, he glanced around himself to locate the source of the smell, a deep frown etched onto his features.

Steve took a tentative whiff, you and Sam doing the same. "No pal, I don't smell anything."

"It's…" Bucky closed his eyes, taking in deep inhales. "It's faint but it's there. I'm sure of it." 

You and Sam glanced at each other, a raised eyebrow followed by a shrug. Suddenly Bucky sat up with a start, his gaze fixating on a corner of the room. Following his line of sight, you found the hard black stacked containers with the Shield logo which held the Hydra files and devices you had retrieved from the base earlier in the mission. 

"It's coming from there, I think." Bucky stood up and reached the stacked containers in only a few long strides. Before any of you could stop him, he lifted the cover to inspect its contents. 

Immediately a puff of bright yellow powder-like substance was released from the inside, as if a smoke bomb had been triggered. Bucky coughed as the coloured dust hit his senses. It didn't take long for the particles to dissipate in the air. Soon the clean air around you was shrouded with the yellow dust, leaving all of you a coughing mess.

"What is it?" You wondered, one hand waving in front of your face to get rid of the dust while the other protectively covered your nose. It was no use though. It was everywhere, the particles so fine they slithered through the gaps between your fingers. You could do nothing but inhale it as you coughed helplessly. The particles stuck to the insides of your mouth. You couldn't feel them on your tongue or the roof of your mouth, but the dryness that followed was a sure shot indication. The tangy scent of it overwhelmed your senses, making you wonder how could you have missed it.

"Look inside the container, Bucky. See what released it." Sam instructed with broken words in between the coughs.

"Fucking Hydra," Steve muttered under his breath.

Following Sam's orders, Bucky peeked inside and pulled out a wooden cube. It was small enough to be grasped in his palm. One of its faces had the ugly red symbol of Hydra painted on it. The cube was heavily cracked along the sides. Had Bucky not held onto it firmly, it would have fallen apart right then. 

Sam, you and Steve drifted closer to Bucky as the yellow dust gradually dissipated into nothing - or rather as the most of it was already inhaled by you all. The cube appeared to hold some carvings in a language you supposed was Russian. 

"I...don't...understand…" Bucky's fingers drifted across the letters as he tried to make sense of it. "Fuck!" With widened eyes, Bucky retraced the words, confirming what he had read. Throwing the cube across the room, he started pacing the room, his head hidden behind his palms. 

"Come on, man, you're scaring me." Steve said, approaching his friend.

"You should be!" Bucky yelled, all his frustrations coming out on the wrong person. He loudly groaned, rubbing his forehead, "I'm sorry. It's just that…"

"What is it, Bucky?" You asked.

Bucky looked at you, his gaze sweeping over your form. He bit his lip, an almost remorseful look coming over in his eyes. In a much softer voice, he said, "I don't know how to explain it. I don't know where to start."

"Do you know what the yellow dust we all inhaled was?" Sam asked. 

Bucky replied after a long pause. "It was a sort of pollen which Hydra had engineered." 

"Hydra modified...pollen?" You asked. The idea sounded as bizarre to you as snow in the Sahara. "What?"

"No- Well, um, yes," Bucky took a deep breath before he started explaining. "Hydra could never replicate the super soldier serum they used on me. But they needed more super soldiers. It hardly ever happened that anybody else would succeed in recreating those serums so that Hydra could steal. They decided that if they couldn't transform using the serums, they would...breed super soldiers. That's when Project Growth started. These pollen were engineered to assist in it." 

"How did the pollen assist Project Growth?" You asked, confusion dripping from your voice.

Bucky glanced at you but quickly diverted his gaze, unable to keep the eye contact. "Project Growth was about using super soldiers like me and those four others to... impregnate willing women. Conception with super soldiers is harder than usual for some reason. So they came up with this pollen to aid the process. It's an aphrodisiac. They called it sex pollen, because well, it increases one's sexl drive... by a lot. So much so that it might be fatal if the person exposed to it doesn't, you know, climax."

"What? Are we gonna want to fuck like rabbits then? Become Hydra's breeding bitches?" Sam asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

"The experiments were never successful. They did it a couple of times and it never resulted in a pregnancy. This box," Bucky gestured to the broken cube lying on the floor, "I don't know how or when but it got activated somehow." He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea if the pollen inside it was a sample of those failed experiments or if that of a new one. Either way, we don't have long before the effects would start showing."

There was a lull in the room, the implications of what Bucky said sitting heavy on everyone's minds.

"We can keep ourselves locked in our separate rooms until it wears off to...get ourselves off." Steve's cheeks were tinged a deep shade of red as he proposed the idea.

"It's not that easy. Trust me, I've been through it." Bucky looked at Steve. "It's something about needing another person's touch; a sense of intimacy. No matter what you do on your own, it won't ever be enough. It would send you in a daze of lust, where the only thing you could focus on would be to anyhow satiate yourselves. You would desperately want another person to touch you, no matter who or what gender. You'd need them to touch you." He glanced at each one of you. "I'm sorry, but it's going to be nasty."

"So what you're saying is, it's basically fuck or die?" Sam said.

"When you put it that way…" Bucky tried to think of a better phrase but finding none, he replied, "-Well, yes."

"I don't know what to say," You crossed your hands in front of your chest. To say that you were shocked was a massive understatement. You couldn't even begin to believe that any of it was true.

Unconsciously, your gaze drifted over each of the men in the room. They all stood with a hard look on their handsome faces, lost deep in thought. You weren't sure if it was you or the pollen due to which you felt yourself get wet, your panties gradually dampening and sticking to your form. 

Truth be told, you had always wondered what being with these men would feel like, what fucking them would be like. Would Sam choke you in a sensual manner with those bulging arms of his? Would Bucky keep you pinned to the bed with his thick thighs? What would gripping America's Ass feel like when Steve would be pumping his length into you?

You bit your lip, your mind conjuring up a train of lewd images. You wondered if it all would come true that night. Though you had considered them insanely attractive since the day you had met them, you never dared to act upon any of your desires with either of them. They were your close friends, and you'd be damned if you'd destroy it for a night of pleasure.

Now though, you had no other option but to fuck them if you valued your life. On any other day you would have laughed boisterously had anyone suggested such a thing, but it was your reality right then. 

You realized it didn't have to be a necessarily bad thing though

Huffing dramatically, you stood straighter, hands falling by your sides. With a newfound confidence, you asked, "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

"What?" Steve asked, dumbfounded. 

"At one point or the other, we would eventually go crawling to someone. I don't think we'd be in control of ourselves if it would make us that desperate. Avoiding the inevitable makes no sense. It's better to start it while we are still able to make conscious decisions and consent to being with each other. At least I'd prefer that."

The men looked at each other, a silent conversation happening amongst them. Bucky asked, "Are you sure, Y/N?" 

You smiled. "I am, Bucky. If it's gonna be this way, then I'm glad it's the three of you. Are you guys sure though?"

Bucky glanced at Sam and Steve before smirking, "You bet we are, babydoll."

You walked closer to Bucky, standing on the tip of your toes as your arms curved around his neck, excitement thrumming through your veins. "Let's get this show started then."

Chapter 2

Blog’s Main Masterlist ||  Tag lists

I’m taking requests if you want a particular kink to be featured. Send me an ask or text me for the same or to be tagged.

Thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x you #sam wilson x you #bucky barnes x y/n #steve rogers x y/n #sam wilson x y/n #sex pollen

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Seahorse (Spencer Reid x Trans Male!Reader) NSFW

Summary: Spencer and Y/N have always wanted kids. Here’s the time Spencer was brave enough to broach the subject of how they would go about it. Plus a few more times after that.

AN: @imagining-in-the-margins​ came up with the idea of Spencer’s trans bf having a baby amidst man many many prompts for Spencer x male!reader to indulge my daydreaming and I ran with this prompt. 

Thank you to @writing-in-april​ for being my beta on this one! Couldn’t have done it without you, beebs <3

This is the NSFW version. If you are under the age of 18, please do not read! Here’s a SFW version of the story.

Word Count: 5.7k words 

Content Warnings: Trans man is pregnant, coming off testosterone, impregnation kink, pre-op sex, allusions to Prison!Spencer.

Masterlist // Gif Credit // SFW Version

The halls echoed with the unbridled joy of little ones calling out “Nemo” and “Dory” at the sight of the clown and surgeon fishes. Spencer bounced on the balls of his feet as he looked around the next room in search of his goal. He stopped when Y/N spared a look in his direction, away from the tank that had captured his attention for a solid five minutes.

“JJ sent me a video of a shrimp solving a Rubik’s Cube the other day.” He grinned.

Ah yes. JJ had also sent Spencer a video of little Henry swinging a mini softball bat about just like Spencer had done. For one game and one game only he had insisted, despite Y/N’s own resolve that he looked hot in the kit.

The walk through the tunnel was the slowest slog Spencer felt, but it was the only attraction in the aquarium to properly distract him. Lights above them filtered through the water, bouncing off the painted walls of the tank in a blue glow. Various species in a perfectly balanced ecosystem swam around one another without a care in the world. A particular stingray flapped its body against the glass, and three children nearby laughed at its funny shaped mouth.

“I used to sit on my mum’s shoulders when we walked through these. Touch the ceiling as if I could pet the fishes.” And Y/N’s hands stretched up over him, his eyes following a shark that slinked overhead, “When I got too old, I’d just press my nose against the glass and stare back.”

Nerves returned at the sight of a circular tank in the centre of the room holding something familiar. Seahorses curled their tails around the plants that waved together like a crowd at a concert. Little babies bobbed about the parents, translucent and wriggly.

Spencer coughed and spoke while Y/N took in the creatures, “Did you know that the seahorse is the only animal where the male carries the children?”

Suddenly his throat was dry; the words he’d been rehearsing dragged to a halt. Y/N turned to face him properly, guiding Spencer to the left as a little girl stood on tiptoe to see the seahorses as he continued to struggle.

“Well, that might not be true actually.” Spencer choked a little on his words, his voice’s volume steadily declining into a soft whisper, “I know that some human men can have babies.”

Y/N’s face clouded with doubt for a moment. Then it clicked and his face cleared, “Spencer, tell me what you’re getting at.”

Spencer twisted his hands around one another, “Have you ever thought about us having kids… biologically?” He watched Y/N’s Adam’s apple dip as he swallowed hard

“You mean like me being pregnant?”

“Yes, have you considered it an option for us?”

The conversations of other aquarium patrons were forgotten as Y/N took his gaze away from Spencer. His eyebrows were low as he considered his words carefully. Y/N always thought about the implications of what he was saying, maybe a little too much. Spencer could be biased though; his impatience did not mix well with his anxieties.

Eventually, Y/N turned back with a brave face and said, “I’d have to think about it some more.”

“Ok.” Spencer nodded, his chin wobbling a little.

There was hope though: he needed to think “some more”. Implying Y/N had thought about this before.

Near the end of their trip, Spencer did find himself in a staring contest with a little seahorse plushie with large eyes and an anatomically inaccurate tongue hanging out. In all honesty, it was kind of ugly.

“Spencer, come on. You know how I get around stuffed animals.”

How empathetic his boyfriend really was, projecting feelings of love onto the inanimate objects then making the excuse that he had to buy it now.

Spencer did have to leave the toy behind though. Out into the sunlight of the parking lot, he winced before he put his sunglasses back on.

“Park?” Y/N offered his hand and smiled. It was an olive branch, something to say that Spencer’s query had not ruined their day out together.

Spencer accepted and squeezed his hand. “Park.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Y/N had a hand on their lower belly, some space between the fingers as if there was an invisible bump there to accommodate. His head had tilted while he thumbed over the air.

As drowsy as Spencer was from work, his mind was focused without a distraction on what he had seen through the ajar bathroom door. He could barely pay attention to the Doctor Who episode Y/N put on. In fact, he doubted anything could take his attention away from the idea of having a child with-

“What do you think about me being pregnant?”

Spencer’s eyes shot wide open, then they were covered slightly by his inquisitive eyebrows in his attempt find an answer. Especially with Y/N looking on him while he waited for him.

“I think you’d be so beautiful carrying our baby. But if you wouldn’t be comfortable, then I wouldn’t make you. We still have surrogacy, fostering, adoption to consider,” was his answer. Never a lie, but the truth was always softened.

Seemingly satisfied, Y/N looked back at the episode. But Spencer couldn’t wait anymore, forgetting about anything else in the world except for this.

“What do you think, Y/N?” His body leant in towards his boyfriend’s.

Squirming in their spot on the couch, Y/N hummed before he answered, “I froze some of my eggs before I started my transition. I also sold some, for a down payment on a house or my wedding.”

Spencer’s heart thrilled at the possibilities. A house together? Matching suits at their wedding? He almost neglected to think about the fact that pregnancy was suddenly a very viable option for their future.

Regardless of Spencer’s many, many thoughts, Y/N continued, “And I thought that perhaps, if I found the right person, I would like to carry their child.” His palm opened up to him and Spencer instantly took it. “I know you’re the right person, but I’m not sure I want a baby now.”

“Of course,” Spencer lifted Y/N’s hand to his lips, “Whenever we’re both ready.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer pushed the dirty bedsheets into the washing machine; it wasn’t that big a deal. If the blood didn’t come out, then they could always buy a new set. Although they should really be saving money for decorating the nursery.

“Spenceerrrr.”

As the machine rumbled into life, Spencer returned to Y/N, curled up on the sofa with a heat pad to his gut. No amount of warnings from their doctor could have prepared Spencer for how emotionally straining it was to see his boyfriend suffering. Y/N was taking this a lot harder than Spencer – and rightfully so, it was his body that was changing.

“Why did I have to have such strong paternal instincts?” He grumbled with his eyes still closed.

Spencer let out a laugh, but it was cut off quick when Y/N whimpered loudly. He knelt down before him and cupped his face. Y/N’s cheeks were warm; his hands clung to Spencer’s wrists like a lifeline.

“What do you need?” Spencer asked softly and Y/N sighed, keening into his cooler palms.

���Can you tell me I’m handsome please?”

“You are the most handsome man in the world, and I adore you every minute of every day.” Spencer kissed Y/N’s pouting lips gently, “Handsome inside and out, I never wanna think about life without you. You just make everything in my life better.”

His fingers moved to brush away a tear that slipped down Y/N’s face and over the ridge of his nose. But he missed and it dripped onto the pillow.

“You’re doing so much for us, for our baby.”

“It’s not even real yet,” Y/N sniffled. His hands finally released Spencer and pressed the heat pad into him.

“It’s gonna be.” Spencer bumped their noses together, “We’re gonna be dads.”

A hoarse laugh met with a hint of a groan in Y/N’s chest, “Yeah. We’re gonna be dads.” That sound and those words were all Spencer needed to feel better. But he wished the same could be said for Y/N. The only thing he could provide was a promise of future relief:

“How about we order in tonight?”

“Ugh, yes.” Y/N burrowed his face into the pillow.

When their bed was made up properly, Spencer and Y/N cuddled together. Unfortunately, Y/N was restless, trying to find a comfortable position while his painkillers kicked in. Spencer kept his complaints to himself, allowing himself to be shifted around in Y/N’s hunt for relief. Honestly it was the least he could do.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“The reproductive process begins when a male and a female seahorse do daily pre-dawn dances, intertwining their tails and swimming together.”

“Well, it’s nearly nine, so definitely past dawn.”

“I’m trying to be romantic, Y/N.”

Y/N adjusted the bed sheets around his middle, “We don’t have tails either and - if I remember correctly - your last sexy swimming encounter ended poorly.”

Spencer flushed at the memory of Lila in the pool; another memory turned the pink to red. Y/N had laughed so hard his gut ached when Spencer told him about how awkward he had been around Lila. This was before the context of the case had been disclosed, promptly removing the space for any more laughter.

“Baby?”

Y/N was touching his face. Spencer’s head emptied itself of all thoughts of Lila. This was not what he wanted to be thinking about right now. Y/N’s laughter maybe, but none of the rest.

Tucking a curl behind his ear, Y/N leant in close, “If I’m ready, and you’re ready, you know what happens.” His eyes wandered down Spencer’s face, “And it’s not swimming together.”

But, just as their lips were about to touch, Y/N jerked away from him. “Wait, I gotta brush my teeth first.”

Spencer moaned with indignation while falling backwards onto the bed as Y/N disappeared from view. A few seconds later, he heard the electric toothbrush buzzing. With a burst of energy, he stripped himself down to his underwear – a petty way to get back at Y/N who had made it very clear that undressing Spencer was one of his favourite parts of their sex life.

When Y/N returned, with the minty freshness he apparently desired more than his own boyfriend, he said “What? You already did this morning?”  His eyes looked down at Spencer’s chest and his lips twitched into a pout. 

Spencer held back his grin, keeping his triumph at retaliation to himself as he said, “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard, Spencer.”

And with that, Y/N crawled onto the bed, over Spencer’s body and kissed him silly.

Any remaining thoughts of sleep were dispelled as the men took turns worshipping each other’s bodies. Impatience chased them in their desires, deliciously enticing them to push the pleasure further and faster. While Y/N kissed his neck, Spencer’s thoughts fixated on how perfect his boyfriend felt pressed up next to him. He couldn’t wait anymore, he just had to get inside him.

“Let me put a baby in you, Y/N.”

A whine passed through Y/N’s lips at his words as he adjusted his grasp on Spencer’s body, a hand in his hair to pull him back in.

“Do it.” He whispered into the space between them, “Please.”

As quick as they appeared, the insecurities Spencer and Y/N were holding released. Their moans harmonised when Spencer finally pushed into Y/N. His legs wrapping around his skinny waist, luring him in. Spencer was enraptured by the feeling of his boyfriend’s weight against him. God, he wanted to go slow, appreciate Y/N for all he was worth. But his greed got the better of his intentions, eating up all of Y/N’s encouragements – both the words and the noises snatched from his throat.

When they were both spent, Spencer and Y/N sagged into the mattress, wrapped up in each other and the covers. The burning warmth of their bodies drew up two soporific smiles on their faces.

“You know, a seahorses’ body shape means that they’re inept swimmers, and they can actually die of exhaustion.”

Y/N poked Spencer’s sternum. “Is that your way of makin’ fun of my stamina? Give me a few minutes; I’ll be on you like a rash.”

Grinning at such a prospect, Spence continued, “They also mate for life monogamously.”

He felt two fingers touch his cheek, "Spencer, I love you and your endless fountain of knowledge.” Y/N paused to peck the corner of his lips, “But I’m not actually a seahorse. And, though I do plan to mate with you for life, if you wake me up before the sun is above the horizon for a ‘dance’, I'm gonna suffocate you with my new body pillow.”

“Oh, you got your pillow?”

“It’s en route.” Hence why Y/N was content to use Spencer in lieu of said pillow.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

When Spencer disclosed to Hotch that he would need some time off because he and Y/N were considering having a kid, first thing on a Monday morning, Hotch didn’t let anything on. There was a hint of a hint of a smile though. His eye wandered to the school photo of Jack he kept on his desk, and he was greeted with the memory that Jack almost shared a name with Emily’s cat.

Naturally, Rossi found out next. Technophobe Spencer Reid had left his computer screen on a website for baby blankets, and Rossi had been the one to pass by first. After turning the monitor off, Rossi took Spencer aside in the break room and spoke about how wonderful it was that he was going to be a father. Then he kissed both his cheeks, leaving with misty eyes and a smile that he wouldn’t explain to Penelope passing by. Spencer blinked then finished making his coffee.

The next conference room meeting – the same day and just for an update on the paperwork deadline - Spencer simply decided to drop the information that he and Y/N were planning on having a kid as if it was his thoughts on their next unsub’s motivations were.

Three seconds of silence later and an uproar exploded.

From then on, the week was filled with pokes and ribbing at his upcoming parenthood. A peek into the future.

After making her a cup of coffee, Spencer sat opposite JJ at her desk and asked for advice. Her response: offering Spencer the opportunity to babysit Henry more. Obviously he accepted; more time with his godson was always a good thing. Then she went into how parenting was just a natural thing that he would know when the time came. Not very reassuring on its own, but with his best friend’s support, Spencer felt a smidgen better.

Penelope admitted that she had saved outfit ideas on Pinterest for Spencer – among other members of the BAU. When Spencer dared to enter her lair, she showed him several. Apparently that wasn’t even a dent in her collection, and she had already placed an order on a little bow tie. Spencer left before she tried to organise a shopping trip; neither Spencer nor Y/N were really fans of retail therapy.

Derek was teasing away, “Spencer and Y/N are gonna be baby daddies.” And every single time, Emily would join in. She liked to claim she was the reason Spencer was having a kid, reminding him of when JJ was pregnant. He had been incredibly weirded out by the baby kicking, but Emily had asked if he had considered having “baby geniuses” and he never gave an answer.

To be fair, Spencer never could have seen this coming. That made it all the better.

Apart from when Derek began supplying a realm of baby names, that varied from “oh that’s actually cute” to “oh my god, why would you even consider that a name for a real child?” Spencer was happy to rank them aloud for him.

The cat was only half out of the bag though.

Now Spencer had always been affectionate when he and Y/N were together. But the second it spilled into their public lifestyle, Y/N knew something was afoot. He was quick to pick up on this when he went to collect Spencer up for a chilled date night and Spencer kissed his cheek in clear view of the entire bullpen.

“You told them, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t wait, but I do have my paternity leave arranged!”

The team swarmed to deliver their congratulations. And it was then that they revealed that they all thought that Spencer and Y/N were planning to adopt or look for a surrogate. Their embraces didn’t spoil the unexpected second part of their announcement; Y/N looked like he’d simply put on a few pounds rather than gained a baby bump beneath his button-up. Naturally, there was even more of a hubbub than before when they discovered that Y/N was already pregnant.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“Spencer, baby, you gotta calm it with the ocean theme.”

“But…” he pouted, holding up the finished mobile. Brightly painted sea creatures and chunks of coral dangled delicately in a circle. Sure enough, there were orange seahorses hovering about their habitat.

“It’s very sweet and I adore you for it,” Y/N kissed Spencer. “Not everything has to be related to seahorses though.”

“I guess not.” Spencer’s defeated tone did not last long. His face brightened and he whipped a blanket adorned with little seahorses and bubbles at the edges out of the cot. “But - this online store was taking commissions, and you always say support small businesses!”

Thank god Y/N had been the one in charge of painting the walls. An underwater mural would have been a step too far.

“You, Doctor Spencer Reid, are so…” Y/N’s hands were up in the air between them, searching for an adjective to describe Spencer appropriately. Then he settled those hands on his shoulders and Y/N kissed him.

When they drew away, Spencer spoke, “I’m so what?”

Y/N shrugged, “Just so.” He kissed him again, lingering longer than before and smiling as Spencer’s hands touched the obtrusive roundness of his belly that pressed into Spencer’s stomach. They were so close to meeting their little bubba.

“So are you.”

“Ok, don’t have a go, I bought this before the ban,” Y/N held out a gift, wrapped in sea-green tissue paper and bearing a blue bow.

Folding the blanket neatly over the bars of the cot, Spencer eagerly yet daintily unwrapped the present. As the tissue paper fell to the carpet, his hands trembled.  Eyes shining, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the latest scan that was framed by tiny seahorses to thank Y/N.

There was more still, as Y/N explained, “There’s another behind there. I’ve seen the state of the one in your wallet.”

“It got caught at the bottom of the pouch,” Spencer said quietly, unbending the catch on the back of the frame. Sure enough, two of the same photographs spilled into his waiting palm. Truth be told, Spencer had already taped his torn photo together again and it was going to stay in his wallet. This spare would be in the post soon, on its way over to his mother. God, she was so excited to hold a baby again. The photo album would have to do for now.

“Could you maybe recant the ocean ban? Because I saw this and I knew it would really go well with the blanket and the mobile.”

Sighing, Y/N’s head tilted back, “What is it?”

The pretence of annoyance couldn’t be maintained towards Spencer’s face beaming back at him as he held up a wonky looking seahorse plushie. It wasn’t the same one he’d seen before. Some heartfelt child had taken pity on that one and given it a forever home. No, this was a perfect little present for his bubba.

Y/N thought so too as he let a grin settle onto his face.

“Ok, we can keep this one. But no more from now, alright?”

“I suppose. Besides, our baby isn’t our seahorse. You are!”

“You better not buy us a fish tank for my birthday.” A spike of nerves hit Y/N when he couldn’t quite catch Spencer’s eye to confirm his word. “Spencer? Promise me... Spencer!”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“How are you feeling, Baby Daddy?” Derek hugged Y/N who was reclined in his bed. His body pillow propped him up for his visitors.

Y/N wrinkled his nose, “For once, I wish I was a real seahorse and I could have just sneezed her out.”

Katia Nikola Reid definitely looked like she’d been sneezed on when she first entered the world, screaming her teaspoon-sized lungs out. Named after a hero of both Y/N and Spencer, one day old, bundled in a blanket, she scowled at Spencer’s dopey face looming over her while Emily held her tight.

A hoard of presents huddled in the corner of Spencer and Y/N’s bedroom. Emily thought it’d be a great idea to bring the baby an Ikea shark that was bigger than the child – and would definitely take up around half of her cot.

“She’s already got him wrapped around her pinky finger.”

“Yes, she does,” Spencer agreed giddily.

Next, Derek took her in his arms, untucking her arms from the blanket swaddle to give her a fist bump. He swayed her about the room while Katia relaxed a little more. The deep humming in his chest soothed the wrinkles on her forehead. Katia stretched as if to touch his face, and her mouth gaped at him.

“Aww, baby genius is ready for a nap.” Derek yawned too, “Who’s gonna micromanage me while I put her down?”

“Me! Me!” Y/N said, his enthusiasm muted by tiredness. Spencer leapt to his side, helping him out of bed, his teammates watching fondly as he did so. Y/N was allowed out the room first, Derek close behind and clicking his tongue at little Katia.

“She’s so sweet,” Emily said, her eyes on the pair’s backs and the dangling loose blanket from under Derek’s left arm. “I’m so happy for you both.” And she hugged Spencer tight; Emily always gave such good hugs. Good thing she was going to be around to give plenty to his daughter.

Then, down the hall, he heard Derek say with sarcastic resignation, “Oh Spencer, I thought Y/N was kidding when he said no more seahorse themed items.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Y/N ended up climbing into the bathtub with Katia. Even as she had grown into her chubby features, looking more and more like him and Spencer with each passing day, she was still so small.

Sitting up with her in his lap to help her out, Y/N lowered her into the warm water. His fingers tenderly rubbed the blackcurrant scented soap on her tummy, copying her expression as her tongue poked out between her gums. Her jerking legs rejected the water that Y/N’s hands cupped to rinse the bubbles off.

“Oh!” Y/N said in surprise as Katia sneezed, “Bless you.”

He heard the front door go, but he let Spencer follow the clues to their bathroom. Sure enough, the Doctor soon entered with his jacket shed, already rolling his sleeves up as he dropped onto the bathmat. A hand curled at Y/N’s chin as he kissed him before it stroked over the damp wisps of hair on Katia’s head.

“Hello. Hi.” His voice was that bit more delicate as he caught Katia’s eye and welcomed her big gappy smile.

Y/N tilted his head towards Spencer. “Good first day back?”

“I missed you both.” Spencer swished the water around by Katia’s side, “Isn’t it incredible how she’s experiencing all of this for the first time?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Spencer giggled away as the surrounding bathwater yellowed and Katia flapped her arms.

“Mind your language.” He said without any weight to his warning, “Our little girl can’t help it.” Then he stood and prepared her towel, a deep-sea blue that brought out her eyes. “Can I feed her tonight?”

“Of course, baby,” Y/N agreed as he lifted Katia out of the tub, where Spencer caught her and bundled her up with skilled speed. As he dried her off, Katia cooed away to herself. She did get a little pissed off when he dressed her up in a clean nappy and a sleepsuit, but Spencer couldn’t take her crumpled expression seriously without the tears.

The rocking chair had to be one of his best investments for his daughter’s room. It soothed Katia from the darkest of tantrums, a familiarity that swayed her. She fit so perfectly into Spencer’s arms and he fit so contentedly into the seat. Her eyelashes fluttered slowly shut as she drank more milk.

Not quite strong enough to sit up on her own, Katia leant fully into Spencer’s hand while he burped her – thankfully not for long. Then it was off into her cot.

Y/N watched him from the doorway as Spencer stroked the apple of Katia’s cheek while she drifted off into slumber. An effortless smile danced on his lips even as he switched the lamp off and welcomed Y/N over to see their sleeping babe.

“Love seeing you with her, Old Daddy Spencer teaching her everything she’ll need to know.” The kiss that followed was certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s nursery, so he took Y/N by the hand, leading him into the hallway. Even then, between the short pecks that pressed against his lips, Y/N continued to talk, “Is this how you felt while I was pregnant?”

Breath hot against his face, Spencer swallowed hard while Y/N said, “Seeing my handsome boyfriend carrying our child? I think I get it now.”

His hand slipped up Spencer’s shirt. It was crystal clear what his intentions were. Spencer was already close to panting when he pulled Y/N flush against him. With more desperation this time, they fumbled around their home until they made it to their bed. Spencer’s hands aligned with the stretch marks on Y/N’s thighs as he grabbed them and pulled him on top.

He huffed as Y/N’s teeth tugged and released his bottom lip, “We have to be quiet.”

“I can be quiet.” Y/N ripped off his shirt in one smooth movement, “Can you?”

Spencer couldn’t give an answer. Instead he pulled Y/N back against him as they fell onto their sheets.

Their first time in months, it didn’t last very long, but it was exactly what they needed.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The biggest surprise of the evening was that Rossi put down his drink to hold Katia. To be fair though, he had already had a few. Hence why he was singing and dancing around the garden with Katia in his arms. What a sight to behold, it eased the pain of Derek and Hotch’s absence, their own kids to take care of now.

Eventually Rossi relented, allowing Penelope to take Katia, turning to Y/N who had kept a watchful eye on his actions, “Promise me you’ll bring her over when she’s allowed to eat food.”

“I can’t give her your food for her first taste. She’ll be disappointed for the rest of her life,” Y/N joked, Rossi letting out a boisterous laugh that made Katia giggle in turn.

Penelope got to hold Katia next and show her off to Henry who was very intrigued to learn more about his godsister – Spencer told him that was who Katia was and it stuck. Henry became Penelope’s little shadow until they found a seat for him and a cushion for his lap to hold the baby. His joy unbridled at such a responsibility was adorable. He posed for many photos, while Katia for once stayed quiet.

Spencer was tired but the best kind of tired. A night in with friends, watching his boyfriend and his daughter be welcomed as much as he was, it wasn’t a surprise but it was always a delight. And this moment right now, Y/N cradling Katia’s with one hand squeezing her little foot before he planned to take her into Rossi’s office? What a life they had cultivated together. As he sipped his drink, the bliss in his tummy was not doused by it.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Slouching on the sofa, Spencer watched with tired eyes as Katia stumbled in the room, her hands held in Y/N’s while she waddled between his legs. Her round face lit up at the sight of Spencer. Her pace increased beyond her abilities and Katia swung forward a little as she almost fell over.

“Oh dear,” Y/N cooed while Katia got back to her unstable feet. “That’s it, there we go.”

Spencer wished he had the energy to properly appreciate this moment, especially since both his boyfriend and their daughter were grinning like they shared a secret.

Katia dropped down onto her nappy-cushioned bottom then began to crawl over to Spencer’s feet. His hands, although dirty, rough and near ruined, accepted her offer and lifted Katia up into his lap. They stayed for safety around her middle, keeping her sat up straight as she looked on him with those big eyes. Eyes that were fresh and untainted copies of his own.

Y/N sat down beside Spencer, leaning in close to Katia so he caught her attention, “Hey, why don’t you show your Daddy what we’ve been practicing?”

Looking away from both her Dads, Katia drooled and pushed her fist in her mouth. Y/N waved until he and Spencer were back into her line of sight.

“Go on, sugar plum.” He pointed to Spencer, “Who’s that?” And he mouthed the answer to her.

“Dadadadadada.”

It was barely above a whisper. But her little grin, the top of a tooth poking out of the centre of her bottom gums, the way Katia looked at Spencer when she said it? A soft “oh” fell from Spencer’s lips and he clutched her close, her chubby arms barely reaching around his neck. His breath shaking out of him, he kissed the thick thatch of hair that had sprouted in his absence. He could feel Katia whispering “Dadadadada!” again.

“That’s me, Katia, I’m your Dada.” He sniffed back the sting in his eyes at the absolute proof that, in his time away from her, she had remembered him. When he moved away, placing Katia back into his lap, he closed his eyes as Katia’s scrabbling fingers rubbed across the tip of his nose.

Katia made a sudden attempt to stand, throwing her entire bodyweight towards Spencer. Spencer’s breath was snatched from his lungs and the tension remained even after he caught her with ease.

“You ok?” Y/N said and Spencer noticed that his hand was supporting his against Katia.

Spencer nodded weakly, “Hmm, you?”

“Better now.” Y/N let his hand go and began rubbing Spencer’s back in the same circular motions that Spencer rubbed Katia’s.

A tug snagged Spencer’s head to the left and he tutted as Katia grabbed at his cheek, “Ow, Katia, no.”

Instead, Katia took a fistful of the next thing she could find, which was Spencer’s hair, and she cried out an identical (if higher pitched) “Ow!”

“You hurt Spencer, not the other way around, Katia. Stop faking.” Y/N scolded playfully.

But Katia repeated Spencer’s outburst again, “Ow!”

Y/N lifted Katia’s little fist from Spencer’s hair, and it immediately clamped down on Spencer’s finger as an alternative to wave about.

Spencer kissed her hand, still so tiny and forgiving against his. He looked at Y/N, blinking fast as he half-heartedly said, “She’s so like you.”

The lock of hair Katia had yanked on curved around Y/N’s touch as he put it back into the disarray of fluff that stood around Spencer’s head, “That’s funny, because I think she’s so like you.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Tilting the pram onto its back wheels, Spencer pushed it up the step and into the aquarium tunnel. Katia lay back in her seat while gumming on her blanket corner. Her eyes were ready to take in the sights.

Y/N knelt before her, suffering a few kicks to his knees from Katia’s excitement. Her pram clips were undone. Little Katia was released into her Daddy’s arms then plonked up onto his shoulders. Her starfish-like hands pressed up against the glass. Her mouth became as wide as her eyes as she pointed at the stingray rippling past. She had seen fish before (Carl and Rosalind at home) but never like this.

“Yeah, that’s a ray, Katia,” Y/N rubbed his fingers over her back, his hands still to keep her steady.

Spencer pointed his finger right next to hers, “They use their electro-sensors, not their eyes, to find their meals which consists of shrimps, clams, and -”

Katia shrieked – interrupting his and she smacked her hands against the glass. No one seemed to mind though. Some patrons in the tunnel even chuckled at her behaviour. Like she needed any more encouragement, especially with Y/N grinning up at her and tickling her sides to elicit more laughter from his daughter.

When Spencer’s hand dropped, Katia shouted again. A little confused, he returned it and Katia took his finger in her hand then began dragging the tip across where the ray was.

“She wants it as a pet, what do you say, baby?”

“I thought you said not to get you any fish for your birthday.”

Eventually Katia was returned to the pram. Her head was thrown back to watch the rest of the tunnel go by. Then she hid her face in her blankie once they were out in the last few exhibits. There was a little tug of war to get her to let it go (she was a lot stronger than Y/N gave her credit for) and see the one other exhibit that both parents were invested in.

Taking her hand again, Spencer squatted beside the pram. “Hey look, the men seahorsies have the babies. They’re just like your Daddy.”

“Your favourite Daddy,” Y/N ruffled Spencer’s hair while Spencer pretended to be outraged. Katia caught onto the dramatic expression Spencer was wearing and copied him with a gasp added for good measure.

“What d’you reckon, any of these were babies when we went to visit last time?”

“Well, Y/N, the lifespan of these seahorses is approximately a year. So they could be.” He knew it was unlikely but, for the sake of the smiles on Y/N’s and Katia’s face, Spencer let it be.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #my writing #smut #wc: 5k+ #yes katia is named after a character from professor layton #and nikola tesla #r: male #r: trans male #spencer reid x trans male reader

[catgrump]

oumota 42 for the angst/fluff perhaps?

Alright gang I’m diving into so many of my AUs for these requests it’s not even funny

WELCOME TO THEATRE AU! This ended up being a pretty decent length too lol I worked on it all day so I hope y’all like it!!!

For set-up: Kaito & Kokichi are both studying acting in my specific Theatre AU

🌻🌻🌻

Kaito looked at his watch and sighed. Where the hell is he?

The emptiness of the rehearsal room was daunting. A tiny room of painted cinderblock walls, cold linoleum tile floors, fluorescent lights, soundproofing boards, and empty furniture made of simple shapes.

Kaito had gotten to the space early, for once. He barely slept last night since this ungodly hour was the only time he and his scene partner could get where they were both free.

He leaned forward on the bench. The metal back was getting uncomfortable.

He looked back at his watch. Now he’s five minutes late. Is that like him? He barely paid attention to him in class. It’s not like he chose Kokichi to be his scene partner; they’re doing this for a grade.

“Sorry I’m late!” A sing-songy voice chirped through the door as it opened.

Kaito looked up and saw Kokichi: just who he expected. He wasn’t expecting him to be so chipper before 9 AM, though. How could anyone? Kokichi adjusted the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder, causing the paper bag he was holding to rustle

“It’s fine,” It wasn’t, but this wasn’t a fight Kaito wanted to pick.

“Hey, your hair looks nice,” Kokichi told him as he gathered his stuff on a rehearsal cube

Impulsively, Kaito ran his fingers through his hair to try and remember what he did to it today— that’s right: nothing. He brushed through it and walked out the door because it was so damn early he didn’t have time to style it.

Confused and embarrassed— and confused why he felt embarrassed— Kaito replied “Yeah, uh, thanks. You too.”

You too? Where did that come from? Kokichi turned to him with just as much surprise as Kaito felt. “You think so?”

And now Kaito was on the spot. Maybe it was sleep deprivation, or maybe it was hunger, but he didn’t think he was lying. Nothing wrong with noticing a guy’s hair looks nice tied back, right? Just a simple compliment. Gritting his teeth, Kaito just nodded back in response.

He kept his focus on Kokichi as he explained why he was late. Kaito didn’t really care that much. They were both here now. They need to rehearse this damn scene.

But as Kokichi was talking about the line at Bagel Bros being longer than he expected, Kaito noticed how... clean he looked. Does he always dress sharp? A cardigan over a button down and some jeans that fit him... really well. He looked down at the hoodie and sweatpants he chose for himself and felt underdressed.

Kokichi put the paper bag on top of a different rehearsal cube and picked it up, waddling toward Kaito with his script dangling from his mouth

Kaito furrowed his brow, “Sure Kokichi, I’ll help you,” He sarcastically remarked at his obvious precariousness

Kokichi moved the paper bag into his lap as he sat down and put the script beside him. “Oh if I wanted your help, I would’ve asked.”

Well shit, seems like Kokichi can dish it as well as take it. Kaito shook his head and smirked as the bag rustled some more. Kokichi reached his hand inside and pulled out a bagel wrapped in a piece of parchment paper. “Here,” he shoved it in Kaito’s direction, “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d like so I just got a plain one.”

Kaito was caught off guard. He gently took the bagel from Kokichi’s hand, somehow worried he’d snatch it back like it was a prank. “You didn’t need to—“

“Oh then next time I won’t; thanks for saving me the meal points!”

As Kaito took a bite, Kokichi continued, “Maybe next time you can buy me breakfast,” did he just wink?

Kaito swallowed. Hard. “Hehe, just a little joke!” Kokichi chuckled as he took another bagel out of the bag and took a bite himself

For some reason, Kaito felt like that wasn’t entirely true. But he couldn’t think about that right now. He grabbed his script from beside him and opened it up. “So, how do you wanna do this?”

Through bites of food, Kokichi replied, “Let’s read through the lines and if we come up with any immediate blocking ideas, pitch them.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They read through the scene relatively quickly. No one spoke up about any ideas. They just delivered the lines. It’s only a three-minute scene, so it’s not like a read-through was a waste of time.

Kokichi chuckled as he flipped back to the first page. “You know, I really wish I could play Don. I mean I totally get why it’s you; I look way too young.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Kokichi looked at Kaito, dumbfounded. It was almost insulting. “Did you read the whole play?”

Apparently the look on Kaito’s face was enough of an answer. “You didn’t,” he sighed, “Great, now I have to explain it to you.”

“Hey, I’ll pick up a copy as soon as—“

“No, this is important. We need the context of everything so we can actually block the scene. We aren’t just going to half-ass it.”

Kokichi took a deep breath and straightened his posture. He looked really serious. “So Tennessee Williams is Don. When he was in his late 20s, he fell in love with a dancer. That’s Dick. But “Dick”, AKA a man named Kip, didn’t reciprocate his feelings. So he wrote this play to cope. Like a catharsis. The whole thing screams 1940s, but I felt for Don. Knowing the object of your affection is just out of reach.”

He paused. He was looking directly at Kaito. Kaito desperately tried to read his face. Why was he so difficult to figure out?

Kokichi laughed under his breath. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Kokichi smirked

“Okay, so,” Kaito tried to guide the conversation back to the work they needed to do, “I guess we need to talk boundaries? If you’re saying that my character is,” the next words were unexpectedly a knot in his throat, “in love with you— your character... we’re probably gonna like, make contact, right?”

Kokichi still had that smirk on his face. He stood up with his script in hand, and started strolling around. Kaito followed him with his eyes, “Yeah, I can see Dick leading him on,” Kaito suddenly felt like he was caught in some kind of game, “Like at this part where he starts talking about Don’s eyes for the first time.”

Kaito had to crane his neck as Kokichi made his way behind him. And in the blink of an eye, Kaito felt an arm wrapped around his shoulders. “You don’t listen to me,” Kokichi read from the script, “you look at me all the time with those crazy eyes of yours but don’t understand what I say.”

Flustered feeling the waffle-knit fabric against his body, Kaito didn’t think to grab his own script. He leaned in to read Kokichi’s, making their heads touch, “I could if you said what you mean,” was Kaito’s next line

“I mean just what I say,” Kaito could feel Kokichi’s breath on his skin as they continued to read

“But what you say makes no more sense than— than hieroglyphics make sense to a man that knows just English.” Kaito had no problem reading these lines just a few moments ago. Why is he suddenly so tense now that Kokichi is this close?

And then he suddenly pulled away. “Well— like I said, I was joking,” Kokichi bounded away, embodying the dancer he was playing, but dropped character before continuing, “Was that okay?”

Kaito swallowed as he looked at the confident smirk Kokichi had on his face. “Y-yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah that’s fine.”

“Oh good,” Kokichi smiled, “I could hug you all day; you’re stronger than I imagined.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t worry about it! How about we take it from the top?”

Prompt from This List: feel free to send a request!

Tip jar available on Ko-Fi if you enjoyed it 💛

#I brought out a collection of plays for this #like I read a fuckin book #the play is The Parade by Tennessee Williams btw #danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa fic #drv3 kaito #kaito momota #danganronpa kaito #kaito x kokichi #oumota #kokichi oma #kokichi ouma #drv3 kokichi #danganronpa kokichi #kokichi x kaito #danganronpa theatre au

[narniaandplowmen]

to say the truth (or lose his love)

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 2898 words.

Part 1 of the to say the truth (or lose his love) series

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply Complete

In order to fulfil his contract, Geralt has to either kiss his true love, or find the Faery Queen's lost son. He assumes the latter will be easiest.

Jaskier had been feeling antsy for almost the entire day now. He didn't exactly know when it started, but as he looked at the apple Geralt had handed him in lieu of lunch, he suddenly realised that his insides were shaking and he was not at all hungry.

“There's a town three hours north.”  Geralt announced as Jaskier was contemplating the implications of his ever-growing anxiety.

"Ah! Lovely! An actual bed to sleep in tonight!”  He tried to measure his voice, but he knew Geralt could hear the artificiality of it. He had never been a very good actor.

“Hm.”

As they travelled in uncharacteristic silence, Jaskier's antsy feelings only grew and grew. Instead of becoming louder, as he usually did when he was nervous, he turned almost as quiet as the stoic Witcher himself.

“You okay bard?”

“What? Oh! Just looking at these beautiful trees, and all those-”  Jaskier’s voice broke as he suddenly realised that alongside the path grew "buttercups." Fuck.

“You sure you're okay?”

“I'm sure!" Jaskier was sure he was not okay, and he did not know who he was trying to get to believe otherwise.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

“Fae.”  Geralt grumbled before the bard could even ask what the new contract was. "Been stealing the grain. Poisoning the cattle. The mayor's wife is about to give birth, they're fearing a changeling.”

“Aha.”  Jaskier just replied. “Are you waiting till tomorrow?”

“Sun’s still up for another few hours. Might as well try to find them now.”

“Yes. Right. Well. I'll just. Wait here for you to come back. Don't step in any circles, okay?”

And off the bard went, waving his lute questioningly at the innkeeper. Geralt rose an eyebrow, surprised that Jaskier hadn't insisted on coming along, as he usually did. Not that he minded. When the little town's mayor had told him about the village’s problems, Geralt had dreaded the prospect convincing Jaskier to stay behind almost as much as he was dreading fulfilling the contract. Not that he was going to complain, dealing with those damned Fae would be enough of a bother without the ever-blabbering Jaskier digging himself into holes he would not be able to climb out of. Still, weird. The sharp smell of anxiety hadn’t left the bard since early that morning, and Geralt made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. Just to make sure he stayed okay. Not because they were friends , but, well, Geralt couldn’t imagine that an anxious bard could earn a lot of coin. And winter was coming up, and Geralt wasn’t so heartless as to leave Jaskier for the winter without any sort of security that the man would be okay. Not that he spent his time in Kaer Morhen worrying about the bard. No, they weren’t even friends.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The Fae were not hard to find. Geralt had stumbled upon the first circle less than half an hour after leaving the village, meaning they had been living there for longer than the mayor had insinuated. Which also, Geralt realised, meant it would be more difficult to make them leave. He grunted and grabbed one of the sugar cubes he usually reserved for Roach, tossing it into the grass in the middle of the circle of blooming dandelions. A voice like the softest bells immediately replied.

“Witcher! Our Queen has been expecting you!”

Their Queen. That explained the proximity to the village. If the Court was big enough that it was ruled by a Queen rather than a Lady, it was properly able to defend itself against angry, overconfident villagers.

“What an honour,”  Geralt grunted sarcastically.

“She's straight ahead,”  the little fairy, a tiny green thing, pointed. “Take a right at the Oak, she's waiting near the buttercups.”

The creature said the final word as if they were supposed to mean something to him. He supposed they did. The bard's clothes always had a buttercup pattern. Not that he had been staring at the bard, no. He had just noticed it whilst repairing one of Jaskier's doubles. Just to stop his whining, not because he cared. He was just a nuisance, making his life more difficult every step of the way.

Ignoring the fairy's pointed look and carefully manoeuvring around the circle, Geralt made his way to the promised Queen.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

“You're back early! I don't suppose the Fae were incredibly forthcoming and ready to move immediately?”  There almost seemed to be hope in the bard's voice.

“No.”  He sighed. “They want payment.”  

“Of course they do. And surely they weren't as forthcoming as to actually tell you what they want?”

“They were.”

“Wait what?” the surprise in Jaskier's voice was genuine. “Since when does m- a Fae Queen clearly state what she wants? That makes it suspiciously easy.”

“How did you know there was a Queen?”

“What did she want? Honey? Fish? Coin?" Jaskier pointedly ignored the question.

“True love's kiss.”

“What.” Geralt almost wished he could have a painting made of the stunned look on the bard’s face. Just because it looked so funny, not because it made the bright blue eyes stand out gorgeously, not because it emphasised the beautiful curve of the young man’s eyebrows, not because- Geralt quickly shook his head.

“She wants me to kiss my true love. Or, alternatively, she wants me to deliver her son home.”

“Ah. So. Great, I'll- I'll go get my stuff. Leave you to- to find Yennefer.”

“Why would I try to find Yennefer?”

“You just said 'true love'?”

The Witcher rolled his eyes. “Yennefer is not my true anything. Now, did you see any suspicious adult men here during your performance?”

“Did I what now?”

Geralt started humming.

“Geralt! Are you singing?! And not even one of my songs?”

“Sh! I’m trying to remember...” And, to Jaskier’s flabbergasted surprise, the Witcher started to softly sing.

“Twenty years he’s come and gone, in winters lies he here.

But now, my child, the time is come, for him he holds so dear

to say the truth, or lose his love, the lute will let you see

my son, at last, should travel home with him he loves or me,

to him he loves or me. ”

Jaskier stared at him, eyes and mouth wide open. “You can sing.”

“That’s not the point, Jask-”

“You. Can. Sing!” The bard now truly sounded offended. “And you say that’s not the point? Geralt, How many times have I tried to get you to sing along with my songs? My ballads? And not even just in public! You refused to sing when we were sitting next to a campfire gods knows where-”

“Jaskier!”

“I have to say Geralt, if I knew it took a meeting with m- with a Fae to get you to sing I would have-”

“Your lute,” Geralt interrupted. “The lute should reveal the fairy prince. Did you see anyone strange whilst I was gone?”

“You can sing.”

“Anyone in the audience? Jaskier, please.”

“Nobody in the audience looked out of the ordinary, Geralt. And I doubt that the fairy prince would calmly stop to listen to music so near to his mother’s court.”

“The Queen said that she knew her son was in the village. We have to ask around, see if anyone here disappears during winters. That must be something people notice.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jaskier laughed, and Geralt couldn’t help but detect a bit of bitterness in the bard’s voice. “But if you’re so insistent, I’ve been asked to perform again when everyone has put their children to bed. So you can sit there and endlessly wait till your medallion starts vibrating or whatever, but I am pretty sure it won’t. There will be no fairy princes in the audience tonight.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

There were no fairy princes in the audience that night. Instead of staying hidden in the shadows, Geralt had wandered through the inn during Jaskier’s performance, carefully observing the guests. He had spoken with the innkeeper, the mayor, a few women who were all too willing to gossip about the ins and outs of everyone in the village, but he had heard nothing that could help. He kept thinking about the words the Queen had sung. The time had come for someone to say the truth? Who? The person the prince held dear? The prince himself? And why would the prince lose that person if the truth wasn’t spoken? He stared blankly as Jaskier carefully wiped the lute down, inspecting it for any potential damages. The lute will let you see.

“Jaskier.”

“Oh, are you done brooding?”

“I need to borrow your lute.”

“Wait, are you telling me you cannot only sing, but also play? Twenty years we have been travelling together, twenty long years and-”

“Not to play. To see.”

“Listen Geralt, if you don’t know the difference between glasses and an instrument I don’t know what to-”

“The song, Jaskier. It says the lute will let me see the prince, so maybe I have to hold the lute.”

The bard looked at him doubtfully.

“I won’t let any harm befall it. I know how important it is for you, Jaskier. I promise I won’t damage it. I will protect it like- Like I protect Roach.”

“Fine. But if you-”

“If something happens to it, I will do everything in my power to repair or replace it. I swear.”

“Good.” Jaskier bit his lip. “And make sure you return it before dinner. This is a well-paying crowd.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Geralt felt like a fool, wandering through the village holding Jaskier’s lute. It didn’t help that the lute wasn’t helping. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, nobody knew of anyone disappearing during winters, and, as far as he could track, there were no secret lovers either. So he did the only thing he could think of, and, lute in hand, walked back into the forest.

This time it took even less to find the fairy Queen. She seemed to be waiting for him, unsurprised that he came alone.

“You brought the lute.”

Geralt nodded. “I am sorry, your highness, but I have been unable to find your son. If you could but tell me how he looks li-”

“Give it to me.”

“What?”

“The lute. Give it to me.”

“It is not mine to give.”

The Queen smiled and waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Witcher, I know how much it means to the one it belongs to. He will get it back.” Geralt just looked at her. “He will get it back, whole, undamaged, in the exact state as it is now, before sunset.” the Queen specified. “I mean no harm to your bard.”

“He’s not my-”

“The lute, Witcher.”

Geralt sighed and, carefully not to enter the circle, handed the lute to the brown-haired lady.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

She did not break it. She did not enchant it, or cut its strings, or anything else. Instead, she played. One of Jaskier’s songs, Geralt recognised it. Not that he listened to the bard when he played, he tried to tune it out most of the time, but it wasn’t like he was completely able to avoid hearing the endless stream of music that joined him every place he went. After that song was done she played another, and another, and another. All of them written by Jaskier. She did not sing, though some of her servants would hum the occasional line or dance along.

It was getting late when Geralt spoke again. “You are a talented player, Lady, but I promised I would return this instrument to its owner before dinnertime. I could fetch you another lute from the village, if you want?” He knew from experience that even slightly antagonising a Fae court would make his task of getting them to leave exponentially more difficult.

“Ah, no, I think I like this lute better. It carries memories, you know,” she replied, continuing to play. Geralt was surprised at how suspiciously amiable this entire contract had gone. Any other Fae would have deviously tried to trick him by now, or forcibly dragged him into the circle. “Besides, the lute is not yours. I will return it to him who owns it.”

Fuck.

“You want me to fetch Jaskier.”

“Oh, there is no need for that. He is already on his way. He is pretty pissed, Witcher.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The moment the words left the Queen’s mouth, Geralt heard the distant footsteps of the bard. He indeed sounded angry, but, as Jaskier came closer, Geralt noticed he smelled more of fear than of fury. Geralt frowned. Jaskier was never afraid. Sure, he would be scared of husbands he cuckolded, or the monsters Geralt fought, but never scared like this.

“What the fuck, Geralt. I lend you my lute, you promised you would keep it safe, and you hand it over to someone else? A Fae Queen? Are you mad? Are you short of a few marbles? A few thousand marbles, perhaps?”

“Hello, Julian.” The Queen said, before Geralt could say anything in defence of his actions. “You know I won’t ever let any harm come to your instrument.”

“I know m- I know. But he didn’t!”

“I promised him I would not harm the instrument, and I promised that you would have it back by sunset. He had no reason not to give the lute to me.”

“He still should not have. Give it back.”

“Come and get it.”

“Why now? Why like this?”

“It’s been twenty years, Julian. It’s time. And since you refuse to do it, I am forcing your hand. He has to know. You’re being unfair to him by keeping silent. He will discover someday, anyway. You have to make a choice, either reveal it now, voluntarily, or I will force you.”

“Fine.” And before Geralt could say anything, before he could step forward, grab Jaskier and drag him away, Jaskier stepped headfirst into the fairy circle and grabbed his lute from the Queen's outstretched hand.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

He didn’t die. Or faint. Or grow old rapidly. Jaskier just stood there, next to the Fae Queen, cradling his lute, and nothing changed. Geralt blinked. That was not true. Something did change. He became a little taller. His ears were a little bit more pointy. His smile a little wider, and everything about him became more regal than any king Geralt had ever seen.

“What. The. Fuck, Jaskier.”

“Geralt,” the bard said, with a mocking bow, “meet my mum. Mum, Geralt. Though you already knew that.” He stepped out of the circle, still firmly clutching his lute, and Jaskier became, well, Jaskier again. Not that he had ever not been Jaskier, but still.

Geralt just stared.

“I am sorry Geralt, I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I didn’t know you, and then Filavandrel gave me this lute, and- and I just sort of started following you, and- You never even admitted I was your friend! The only time we ever talked about Fae you just told me you thought all of them were cheating bastards!” Geralt winced. “Yennefer never told you? I am sure she knew. And- I mean, I never aged! We have been travelling for two decades and I still look as young as when we first met! Do you mean to tell me you never noticed?”

“I thought- Your salves and-”

“Those can’t completely stop someone from ageing! I-” Jaskier’s voice suddenly went from exasperated to really quiet. “I’m sorry. I’ll go grab my stuff from the inn. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no Fae will ever harm you. I- I’ll see you in a bit, mum.” And with those words, Jaskier turned away and left.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

“He did want to tell you, you know.” The Queen’s voice sounded from behind him. “He was just afraid of losing you. I hoped this would give you two a push in the right direction, but it seemed like I was wrong.”

“Jaskier’s a faery?”

“Jaskier is my son. He is High Prince of the Summer Court, and will inherit my throne in a couple of centuries.”

“Centuries? He is immortal?”

“As long as he doesn’t get himself into too much trouble, yes, he is.”

“Jaskier’s immortal. He won’t die.” Geralt stared in the direction the bard had disappeared in as his brain and heart rapidly embraced feelings had refused to acknowledge for the past twenty years.

“He has lived for over six hundred years, and he will live at least another ten times that.”

Geralt ran.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

By the time he arrived at the inn, Jaskier had already packed his belongings and was saying goodbye to Roach. “Jaskier!”

“I’m sorry Geralt.”

“I love you.”

There was a loud twang as Jaskier’s prized lute hit the ground.

“I love you. And I didn’t tell you, and I didn’t tell myself, and- I thought you would die, Jaskier! I thought you would die, and leave me here, and it was easier just to pretend I didn’t like you than to admit it and see you grow old and leave-” Geralt’s words were cut off as the bard’s, his bard’s, lips hit his. The smell of flowers, the taste of honey, the soft touch of Jaskier’s hand on his cheek- It was beautiful and gorgeous and real.

“You don’t hate me? For keeping this secret so long?”

Geralt just shook his head and kissed.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The village’s cattle were safe, in the end. So was the harvest, and the mayor’s child, or any other baby born, for that matter. The Witcher had fulfilled his contract and received his coin, and by the time a young Oxenfurt graduate passed through the village singing a song of a white-haired Witcher and his Faery love, the people had long forgotten about their own encounter with the White Wolf of Rivia. It was not like they could know that every winter, Kaer Morhen bloomed wild with tiny, yellow flowers. Or that, every summer solstice, the Fae Queen’s celebrations were attended by a witcher. Or that, for many, many, many years to come, a humble bard and a friend to humanity, with rings on their fingers, would travel the Continent, never leaving the other’s side.

#jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geraskier ff #the witcher ff #q #onceuponadisneyqueue #onceuponadisneypotter

[crystalwillow]

Paint By Numbers

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Hayley McAllister (F!MC)

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags: @mrs-ramsey @rookie-ramsey @schnitzelbutterfingers @eleanorbloom @vibrantlyjaz @whippedforethanfreakingramsey @obsessedheehee @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey

This is an idea that @mrs-ramsey had, and I give all credits for this to them. I’m just the writer in this situation. Nonetheless, I hope I have done it justice and that you enjoy reading! I will also be bringing a part two to this little series but it’s going to take a little longer to write because I need to research a few things and I want to add more detail of Hayley’s personality.

====================================

The cool crisp late autumn air filled Hayley’s lungs as she enjoyed the walk to Edenbrook in the early morning sunrise, that shone a beautiful hue of golden light across her features. She stopped for a brief moment and took out a phone to snap a selfie to send to her boyfriend, making sure to attach a cute message.

After smiling at their text conversation for a brief second longer, she then shook her head as a small chuckle escaped her lips as she carried on into the hospital, making her way up to the diagnostics room. As soon as she opened the door, Ethan’s head whipped up from the paperwork he was filling in on the desk and he greeted her with a wide smile, dropping his pen on the desk as he walked around with his arms open for a hug. Hayley giggled as she walked into his arms and felt them fold around her in a tight hug.

“You’re warm.” Hayley sighed happily as she breathed in his scent.

“And you’re as cold as an ice cube. Did you wear a coat this morning?” Ethan asked, concern in his tone that matched the look on his face as Hayley looked up at him.

“Of course I did. I may make dumb mistakes and decisions sometimes, but I’m no fool.”

Ethan chuckled. “Of course you are.” Hayley was about to protest but his next sentence cut her off. “You’re a fool for me just as much as I am for you.”

She chuckled and playfully hit his chest just as the door swung open. “Nice save Ramsey.”

“Morning lovebirds!” Baz chimed happily as he took a seat and grabbed a case file. If the comment had come from anyone else, Ethan would have silently fumed and sent a death glare, but, because it was Baz, Ethan made an exception. Because realistically, who could hate Baz Mirani? Hayley and Ethan returned his good morning and joined him at the table with matching smiles. 

As the day went on Hayley found it harder and harder to catch a breather, let alone a full break. As she left a patients room her pager buzzed, almost as if a gift from God himself as she registered who it was from. Stuffing it back in her pocket, Hayley made her way to the cafeteria where she scanned the crowd for his face, all but bounding over to take the empty seat next to him as she spotted him smiling in her direction.

“Thank you for the page Ethan. Work-related reasons or not. I’m thankful to finally have 5 minutes off of my feet.” She said with a quick peck to his cheek. Ethan smiled and took her hand in his, returning the sweet gesture.  “The pleasure is all mine.” he answered with a grin as he slid her a mug of coffee. “You’re drinking coloured dishwater now?” she teased with a smirk. One which he returned slyly as he said “Hayley. Please.” with a slight playful roll of his eyes.

“So... what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to invite you over to mine tonight. For a date night.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“And what should I wear to this date night?”

“Your oldest set of comfy clothes. It could get messy.” He grinned

“... Okay Ramsey. I’m intrigued. What time?”

“9:45pm, sharp.”

“I’m there.”

Ethan broke out into a smile before leaning closer and giving Hayley a kiss before saying goodbye and heading back to work. The day passed by almost too quickly, not that Hayley was complaining. She was excited to get home and changed to head over to Ethan’s, intrigued to see what he had set up for this date night. Her phone buzzed on the table as she applied a light coat of mascara to her lashes and quick swipe of lip gloss. She smiled as she picked it up.  

Soon Hayley was in a cab and halfway over to Ethan’s when the cab came to a sharp and sudden stop.

“Is everything okay?” Hayley asked the driver

“Road block. There’s an accident ahead of us.”

Hayley looked out of the window and saw she could walk the rest of the distance. Paying the driver the amount she would normally pay, plus a small tip she gathered her belongings and got out of the cab, walking to Ethan’s apartment complex, pressing the buzzer for his apartment on arrival. The main door clicked open and she went inside making her way up to Ethan’s apartment, knocking on the door. It took a couple of seconds, but the door swung open to reveal Ethan in shorts and a baggy t-shirt covered in paint stains. He smiled at her, eyes shining from behind the lenses of his glasses. Hayley thought she had seen it all, but she had been proven wrong again. Does this man ever not look incredibly hot? she thought to herself as she stepped inside and shrugged her coat off.

“You braided your hair.” Ethan said as he played with it

“Do you like it?”

“It’s very pretty. And your highlights look brighter than this morning. Did you do something to them?”

“No... Did you drink a love potion?”

Ethan laughed as he let the braid fall from his hand, Hayley hugging him tightly.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just excited for tonight.”

“What do you have planned exactly?” Hayley asked curiously

“Well. I can tell you now you’re here. It’s a paint by numbers.”

“Painting... by numbers?”

“I researched ‘calming and intimate date nights’ and this was a suggestion I found. Besides, I think once the picture is finished, you’ll love it.”

Hayley looked at Ethan skeptically as he took her hand, gently pulling her into the living area where he’d set up a sheet with 2 glasses and a bottle of their favourite wine, the picture they’d be painting with 2 brushes, as well as a pot of water to rinse the brushes in. Hayley’s heart swelled as she noted all the effort he’d gone to in setting tonight up.

“Shall we?” he asked with a smile

“We shall” Hayley responded with a smile and a peck on his lips as they took a seat on the sheet. Ethan poured some wine and they started with the painting.

“So.. apart from research. What inspired this spontaneous date night?”

Ethan took a moment to calculate his answer before speaking with a smile. “The thought of us just spending time together. Talking about us and not the hospital. Just... relaxation.”

Hayley smiled softly at him as she watched the concentration on his face as he filled in a spot of the picture. “What’s this a picture of anyway?”

“You’ll see.” Ethan responded quietly as he kept his concentration.

They painted in a comfortable silence until Hayley’s stomach started to grumble causing her to blush.

“Hungry?” Ethan asked as he cleaned and dried his brush.

“Maybe a little.” Hayley confessed.

“Let’s take a break for dinner. I made your favourite Italian meatball recipe.”

“You did?” Hayley gasped, excitement in her eyes as she looked at him. Ethan nodded as he laid his brush down, getting up and extending a hand to Hayley. She dropped her brush in the jar of water and took his hand with a smile, allowing him to pull her up and they made their way to the kitchen. After they had heated their food up, they sat next to each other at Ethan’s kitchen island and tucked in.

“So... tell me more about your short run as a troublemaker.” Hayley grinned taking a bite of the steaming hot food.

“Well.. what do you want to know? I’ve told you almost everything there is to know.”

“Hmm. Then tell me this. Is that side of you still there?”

Ethan looked at her with eyes full of mischief as he ate his food. It was all Hayley needed to know the answer to her question. “I’d like to meet him sometime.” She commented with a sly smile and small chuckle which Ethan matched.

“You’d be lucky.”

“Really? I think I could inspire him to come forward one day.”

Ethan gawffed as if the statement was a funny joke, but Hayley just fixed him with a looked that made his eyes go wide in realization.

“You’re serious?” he asked as he swallowed his sip of wine

“Deadly.”

“Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?” he said with a teasing undertone.

“I’d go careful if I were you Ramsey. You seem to forget I know your weaknesses.” Hayley grinned as she wiggled her fingers at his sides.

“No! please!” Ethan begged as he started to laugh, standing and abandoning his food on the counter

Hayley stood up finishing her bite. “5 second head start. Go.”

“AH!” Ethan yelped as he ran out and towards his room. Jumping in the closet to hide from Hayley. She wasn’t far behind and came into the room just seconds after him. “Where did you go?” he heard her call out as her voice headed towards the bed. He listened as she searched under the bed and then moved into his en suite, taking his chance he opened the closet door and ran out back to the living area.

“You sneaky-!”

He laughed as he heard her burst into the living area behind him.

“You can’t attack me here.” He panted lightly. “You’ll ruin the picture.”

“You got lucky this time.” Hayley said as she turned her attention back to the painting. “What is this? A bird?”

Ethan laughed. “Way off with that guess there babe.”

Hayley pouted at him as she took her seat on the sheet again. “Don’t laugh at me, you meanie.” She huffed playfully. Ethan sat next to her and pecked her cheek. As they settled back into painting, talk turned to the final months of what college was like for them.

“I remember it being quite stressful. Compared to my work now at Edenbrook, I’d say it was more stressful.”

“Than your work now?” Ethan asked, flicking a curious glance at her.

“Yeah. I mean.. you went through it, you know how stressful it all is.”

Ethan nodded. “The successful feeling as you graduate is worth it though. Wouldn’t you say?” he asked

“Oh definitely. When did you graduate, by the way?” Hayley asked as she loaded her brush with more colour.

“it was a Thursday in May of 2011. The 20th to be exact.”

Hayley gasped as she dropped her paintbrush on the sheet next to her knee.

“Babe? Are you...okay?”

“Thursday May 20th, 2011?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I graduated Thursday May 20th, 2021. That’s...”

“...Exactly 10 years to the day apart.”

Hayley nodded, Ethan losing the grip he had on his brush too and their gazes met each other.

“That’s.... weird. I feel weird.” Ethan muttered

“I.... Butterflies.” Hayley whispered holding her stomach, smiling at him softly.

“Me too.” Ethan responded as he held her hand.

They sat and reveled in the blissful moment holding each other’s hands.

“We... should finish the painting.” Hayley said as she rapidly blinked away the tears in her eyes.

Ethan nodded and picked his brush up off of the floor. Hayley copying his action and soon they had the painting finished. Ethan placed his paintbrush in the water and stood up, wiping the wet paint from his hands onto his clothes.

“Do you see what it is?” he asked as Hayley filled in the final corner

“Yes. It’s a blue corner.” Hayley answered sarcastically as she placed her brush in the water too.

“No. Come and stand with me and look.” Ethan urged.

“You’re awfully excited tonight.”

“I’m on a date with a woman I love. Why would I not be excited?”

Hayley rolled her eyes with a smile as she walked over to join him and look at the painting, gasping as she looked over it and recognized what it was.

“It’s a fox!” she exclaimed

Ethan grinned at her like a child who had just made their parent proud, but it seemed more adult and intimate than a parent child moment. Hayley smiled back at him before pulling him closer for a kiss.

“I love it.” She whispered

“Good, because I’d expect a refund if you didn’t.” he chuckled quietly.

They cleaned up the supplies and put the picture on Ethan’s dining table to dry overnight, before finishing their food. They didn’t mind that it had gone cold again, it was sort of like the perfect end to a perfect date. Hayley insisted on washing the plates up since Ethan had organized the whole night and she felt like she needed to return something to him. So, as she washed the dishes, Ethan settled himself in on the sofa with a notebook and pen. Hayley came through a few moments later with their glasses of wine refilled and handed Ethan his.

“What you got there?” she asked.

“Hrm? Oh, just my thought journal.”

“You keep an idea journal?”

“You don’t?”

Hayley scoffed and pushed his knee in mock offense. Ethan closed the book and placed it on the coffee table.

“I was actually about to start jotting about us graduating exactly 10 years apart. I find it curious.”

“What’s curious about it?”

“You aren’t... wondering how the universe done it? What it could mean?”

“The universe obviously done it because it’s smart, so are we and it meant for us to be soulmates that had more than one thing in common.”

Ethan nodded and sipped his wine. “The possibilities are endless though. If you really think about it.”

“Yeah.” Hayley yawned

“Getting tired, babe?”

“When you said relaxing, I didn’t think you meant that relaxing.” She chuckled and placed her glass on the table before cuddling into his side. Ethan kissed the top of her head, placing his glass next to his before falling back on the couch, pulling Hayley with him.

“It might be safer to go to bed.” Hayley informed him with another yawn, “I’m approximately 5 seconds from closing my eyes.” Ethan chuckled. “I’ll just carry you.” He answered. “mmm. Okay. Goodnight.” She mumbled as she closed her eyes. “Goodnight Hayley.” He whispered, covering them with a blanket.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning Hayley stretched out with a yawn as she woke up, slowly opening her eyes after rubbing the sleep from them.

“Good Morning, beautiful.” Ethan said from where he stood in front of the mirror.

“Morning.” Hayley yawned back with a small wave.

“Breakfast?”

“I’d love some.”

Hayley smiled as Ethan lifted her from the bed and carried her to the kitchen.

“What do you feel like?”

“I’ll just take some toast. I don’t want oil or anything to get on your suit.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind cooking you some sausages or bacon.”

“I’m sure. Just some toast and orange juice please.”

Ethan smiled and made them some breakfast. They sat and ate together before Hayley headed off to get ready for work, then they headed off together hand in hand as they decided to walk in to work, and stop off for coffee and donuts for the office on their way. As they made their way up the stairs to the office after reaching Edenbrook, Ethan cleared his throat.

“I need to tell you something about last night.” he said nervously

“What is it?” Hayley asked

“The dinner. It wasn’t what I originally had planned.”

“It wasn’t?”

Ethan shook his head as a blush crept up his neck. “I had originally planned to cook you a traditional Japanese dish but... I kind of burnt... well, everything.” He admitted shyly as Hayley held the door for their floor open for him. “Thank you.” He muttered as he walked through.

“You know.” Hayley said catching up with him. “I appreciate the thought and effort.”

“That may be, but it wasn’t the most perfect that it could have been.” He sighed dejectedly.

“Hey. I was there for the activity and you above the food.” She soothed as they entered the office.

“You enjoyed the activity more than my company?” Ethan said as he put his bag under his desk, mocking offense.

“We painted a cute fox! Foxes will always be my number one.” Hayley joked.

“You can be so rude, Dr. McAllister.” Ethan laughed as Baz entered the room, signaling the start of their day.

--------------------------------------

Later in the afternoon Hayley stopped Sarah as they past each other in the hallway.

“Oh, Sarah!” she exclaimed with a smile. “Have you seen Dr. Ramsey? I’ve been trying to track him down to give him these results of our patient, but I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Um, no I haven’t. Sorry.” Sarah smiled apologetically. “Although, I did overhear him talking to Dr. Mirani, Zaid that is, earlier about keeping you busy but making sure you left work on time today.” She added before turning around and carrying on down the hallway. Hayley headed to the diagnostics office in a confused daze at the information she had just heard, not noting that she almost ran into Baz coming out of the office as she reached the doors.

“Woah!”

Hayley snapped out of her daze as she heard his voice. “Baz! I’m sorry, I was-”

“In your own world? Yeah, no kidding.” He chuckled. “What’s got you so zoned out?”

“Ethan.”

“Figures.” Baz said in a teasing manner

“No. Not like that. He’s left early, telling Zaid to keep me busy but make sure I leave on time today. Not work even a second of overtime.”

Baz looked at the wall with a curious look “huh. That’s rich coming from the man who sometimes pulls all-nighters in this room.”         He stated as he pointed into the room.

“You don’t say.” Hayley replied sarcastically with a smile. Baz laughed and they stuck their tongues out at each other in a joking manner before continuing on with their days.

Later that evening Hayley’s shift had been over for at least 2 hours as she trudged to the locker room on tired feet. As she exited after getting changed, heading towards the main doors, she spotted Ethan sitting in a chair looking conflicted.

“Ethan?” she said as she got within earshot.

Ethan looked up at her and stood without saying a word, heading to the doors. Confused, Hayley followed him almost running to keep up with his long strides.

“Ethan, babe wait up!” she called out, but he didn’t stop. “Oh for crying out loud. ETHAN JONAH RAMSEY WILL YOU STOP!” she shouted, turning the heads of the few people who were around them in their direction, but she didn’t care. Ethan had stopped in his spot and was looking at her quizzically.

“I thought I told Zaid to not let you work a second of overtime today?”

“You did. But we had a triage in the ER that required all available staff in the last two minutes of my shift. I wasn’t just going to walk away from it Ethan. I was still on the clock.”

Ethan sighed deeply and turned around, carrying on towards his car.

“What’s... Ethan. Will you just tell me why you’re sad and acting so weird?”

“Weird? Hayley. I just wanted you to see my surprise for you and enjoy making sushi with me before we leave for 3 weeks.”

“Leave? Where are we going?”

Ethan got in his car with a sigh and Hayley made her way to the passenger side getting in before he could drive off. He leant over to the glove box compartment as Hayley closed the door and pulled out an envelope, placing it in her lap. “Take a look.” He said sadly. Hayley looked at the envelope curiously as she turned it over, gasping when she pulled out what was inside.

“Tickets to Japan? Fo-for three weeks?! Ethan I- I’m so sorry... I..” she sighed, now feeling a little guilty even though she couldn’t help getting held up in the ER.

“We’re supposed to meet your parents and godfather at the airport. They’re coming too.”

“My par- Ethan.. did you pay for five people to-”

“Yes. Hayley. I paid for a family holiday to Japan for us.”

“A fami- Ethan.” She sobbed a little and a tear dropped onto the envelope.

As his words sank deeper, Hayley cried harder. He saw himself as her family and arranged a surprise family trip for them and she had ruined his whole evening by staying behind. She tried to find words, but she was too in her current emotion that she found it hard to speak, only able to make a few strangled sounds as she looked at him.

“We still have a little bit of time. Let’s go home and grab our suitcases, and I can show you my surprise before we leave. Yeah?” Ethan suggested, swiping Hayley’s tears away with the pad of his thumb. Hayley gave a small nod with a sniffle and soft giggle. The journey home didn’t take long and soon they were walking inside, Ethan’s hands over Hayley’s eyes as he guided her to the wall where his surprise was.

“What’s the surprise?” Hayley asked with a smile as their footsteps stopped.

“You’re about to see. Ready?” Ethan asked.

“Yep.”

Ethan uncovered her eyes and she took a moment to blind and adjust to the sudden light. Then she registered the wall. Their painting hung there for everyone and anyone to see with a small piece of paper stuck underneath it. ‘Painting by Number’s date with Hayley. 26th October 2023’

Hayley turned to Ethan with a wide grin to find him blushing shyly behind her.

“Is it too cheesy? I can take it down if it is.” He urged

“What?” Hayley chuckled. “No way! Keep it up. I think it’s cute and a very thoughtful gesture.” She said with a kiss. Ethan let out a deep sigh of relief as he embraced her.

“I hoped you’d say that.” He chuckled. “But we need to grab our bags and head to the airport now, or we’ll miss our flight.”

“What about the sushi?” Hayley pouted.

“I made it all myself and put it in throw away tubs for us to eat on the way there.” Ethan smiled. “It’s on the kitchen counter. You grab that and I’ll grab the bags.”

“But I haven’t packed.”

“Well I guess it’s a good job I know my girlfriend and have a key to her other place of residence then isn’t it?” he teased as he poked her side.

Giggling and writhing away from him, Hayley made her way to the kitchen to grab the sushi, then met Ethan at the door. They got in the car, headed to the airport. Ethan was smiling the whole way, but wouldn’t tell Hayley why no matter how much she bugged him and pushed for him to say. A few hours later they had boarded their plane, Hayley sat comfortably between her godfather and Ethan, excited for their holiday in Japan.

#choices stories you play #playchoices #pixelberry studios #choices open heart #open heart #open heart: second year #oph f!mc #dr ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #pb ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #pb oph f!mc #ethan x f!mc #ethan ramsey x f!mc

[porterdavis]

Can anyone help...

Forty years ago or so I came across a short story that I photocopied, stapled together and cherished for many years. I loved it so much I read it to my children a page or two a night. They loved it so much they would demand I start anew when I reached the end. I've lost it.

The story, unsurprisingly, involves horse racing. I always thought it was written by Dick Francis, the famed jockey-turned award-winning author, but a search of his work fails to turn it up. When she heard it my wife broke the news to me that it was a children's story, since the horses could talk to each other. They didn't talk to the humans, however, so I'm sticking to my belief.

The protagonist was a thoroughbred named Top Gallant, who we meet as a yearling when he is the precocious speedster of the paddock, playfully out-running all his compatriots in bursts of coltish bravado. One day however, he stepped in a gopher hole and broke his foreleg. The farm's veterinarian was able to set the leg, saving his life, but Top Gallant's racing career was over before it started.

The next year he would stand as close to the farm's gate as he could to watch his friends head off in vans to places called 'sales'. Most of them never returned. Some who did later left in other vans to go to places called racetracks, of which they would tell fabulous tales of racing against horses from far-away places in front of huge crowds. One of them, Funny Face, won several races and became quite famous. He would swan around the paddock when he returned and Top Gallant would lower his head and feel sad.

As the months went by Top Gallant tried hard to get better, His leg had healed a little crooked, making his canter look a little lopsided. He tried a few times to gallop but the pain made him pull up within strides. He was vaguely aware of a small, older man watching him from the fence near the stable, but paid him no mind. Something inside him made him want to run farther and faster, and every day he did just that.

A few weeks later Top Gallant saw the old man again, this time accompanied by the important-looking man he knew was the owner of the farm. They were talking in low tones, looking at him, the owner shaking his head at first, later acceding with a shrug and walking away. The next morning Cecil, as he learned the old man was called, entered the paddock with a racing saddle and tack. Top Gallant stood motionless as Cecil put this strange equipment on his back. The cold steel of the bit made him throw his head back but Cecil calmed him with hand and tone. In an instant Cecil swung himself up onto Top Gallant's back and they stood stock still as they each sussed out the other. With a cluck and a subtle shift in weight they set off in a slow jog.

This went on for weeks. As a pair they cantered around the paddock, then one day Cecil led him to the training track. Top Gallant recalled the stories of Funny Face, racing against other horses in fierce competition, and he wanted to sprint down the track as fast as he could, but Cecil kept a snug hold on him, only letting him breeze for short distances before pulling him up. One day as he was breezing he saw the owner standing at the rail with a stopwatch. Cecil steered him over to the rail where the men had a low conversation.

Things began to change in his life. He was moved to a stall in the main stable where he was washed and brushed. A man came and put lighter shoes on his feet The man who had travelled with Funny Face started coming around with sugar cubes and apples. Then one morning Cecil and the groom walked to his stall, deep in conversation, Cecil was holding a faded set of racing silks. "These were the silks I wore when I rode Commodore to the Triple Crown" Cecil explained to the groom. Top Gallant knew Commodore was his father! What were they up to?

The next morning the groom loaded him into a small horse trailer which badly needed a fresh coat of paint. He and Cecil climbed into the cab of the truck and Top Gallant was riding off the farm for the first time in his life. It was late in the summer, fall was fast approaching. They pulled through the gate of what was a small racetrack deep in the countryside. Fewer than one hundred people were in the stands.

After a few whirlwind hours of strange places, sounds, and horses, Top Gallant was led to a small walking ring where he was reunited with Cecil, now wearing the faded silks he had so proudly worn a decade before. As they walked onto the racetrack Top Gallant's heart began pounding, his nostrils flared to take in huge gulps of air. He didn't know how to explain it, but he knew he was where he belonged. He tried not to feel the bolts of pain that shot up his leg with each stride as he warmed up.

He was here to race.

[OK, I'm not going to ruin the ending. Remember, I didn't write the original story, but damned if I don't have a few tears in my eyes as I write this. Can anybody please point me to the author and title of this story?]

#top gallant #funny face #dick francis #thoroughbred racing

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Thirteen - Like Ants Do

Fall was already making an appearance, painting the trees that lined the road to Terry’s ranch in reds and oranges. I always loved the season and everything it symbolized: the hot beverages, the crafts, and the colder weather that made me put on an extra sweater, but not cold enough to discourage me from leaving the house. The thing I loved the most, though, was the trees. It was like they were preparing to die and chose to go out with a bang, showing us how astonishing they could be, coloring the landscape for us so during the winter we would remember what it was like to have beautiful trees. Fall was the first step of a beautiful end, and, simultaneously, the promise of a magnificent beginning.

Inside the car, however, there was the energy of a painful start that still held the potential energy of an even more painful ending. A week had passed since Owen’s adoption, and we were faced with a very different child than the one we used to visit every weekend. The funny extroverted version of Owen seemed to no longer be available and gave way to a morose child who seemed on edge all the time.

For a week we tried to connect, and although it wasn’t all bad, it was nothing like we had expected. Owen seemed to have no excitement over his new house or his new room, and was yet to touch any of the toys we had bought him, busying himself with the books alone. He mostly kept to himself in his bedroom, and would only come out for activities with us if we insisted on it. The only thing that seemed to have some kind of effect was asking for him to help with chores, like setting the table or preparing dinner, which he would do quietly and cautiously, as if afraid to mess up somehow.

I couldn’t complain though, Victor was having it way worse. Even though it was difficult, I could still interact with the boy, but my husband wasn’t having such luck. Owen looked at him with frightened eyes, and avoided him like the plague, turning to me the rare times he needed something. Hence our trip to Terry’s farm. We hoped that a new activity, an exciting environment, could bring the boy out of his shell. To be honest, this small excursion was our Hail Mary.

Victor turned down the dirt road that led to the iron gate, focused on his driving. He had done his best to look casual and nonthreatening, wearing a gray sweater instead of the usual dress shirt, maintaining a relaxed look on his face. I obviously could see through it, noticing the clench in his jaw and the tension on his shoulders. And Owen apparently did too, as he almost curled in on himself in his seat, training his eyes on the scenery outside, and had yet to make a single peep.

Susan and Terry were waiting for us in the garden when we parked our car.

“Hey! How are you all?” Terry greeted us with a hug. “And who is this gorgeous young man?” She grinned at Owen.

“Owen, this is Terry, my aunt, and her girlfriend, Susan.” Victor held Owen’s shoulder fatherly. “Terry, this is Owen.”

“Nice to meet you!” Terry extended her hand for Owen to shake, which he politely took. “Your father tells me you like animals.”

“My father?” Owen made a confused expression, looking at Victor. “Yes…”

“Fantastic! I will show you the horses later.” Terry took Owen’s hand and motioned us to follow her. “Mina made iced tea, come have some.”

We followed her to the patio where a set table was already waiting for us. I sat down, saving a seat for Owen between me and Victor, my eyes on Owen, trying to assess his mood. The boy sat next to me quietly, his eyes on the ground. I took the iced tea pitcher, while Victor went inside to call Mina.

“Would you like to try some? It’s delicious.” I asked softly.

“Yes, please.” He took the glass from my hands, taking a sip. “Yum, it’s great!” He whispered, his eyes shining.

“See? I told you.” My heart jumped to see him relax, even if just a little. “You’ll love it here, you’ll get to meet Naia and Onyx.”

“You think I can ride them?” Owen’s eyes widened.

“Maybe not today, but we can definitely feed them.” I grinned.

“Andrea!” Mina greeted me, Victor following her. “How are you, dear? And this beautiful child… You are Owen, right?”

Mina crouched to his height, a sweet look in her eyes.

“Do you want to know what I’m making back in the kitchen? Victor’s favorite delicacy, saltwater taffy. Do you want to help me stretch it?”

Owen looked at her with wide eyes, excited to have that new experience. Until Victor spoke sternly.

“It’s alright Mina, he can stay with us, you don’t need to take him to the kitchen.” He spoke somewhat bitterly. “I’m not my father.”

Ouch . Bringing his son here was unfortunately making Victor relive some of his childhood memories, and for a second, everybody stared at him like he had said a dirty word. I cleared my throat.

“Unless you want to stretch the taffy with Mina.” I spoke. “You can go if you want to, Owen.”

The red-haired boy looked at Victor for a sign of disapproval, but Victor was too busy shooting a confused look at me. As Owen finally decided, following Mina to the kitchen, I tried to placate my husband.

“It’s ok, let him go.” I whispered. “If he wants to go with Mina, let him.”

Victor pursed his lips, but remained silent.

“So, how is the first week going?” Terry tried to break the tension.

Awful. Terrible. A nightmare. We have no idea of what we are doing.

“Good.” Victor quipped, helping himself with some ice tea. “We were visiting schools this week, Owen is starting next week at Crestview.”

Another touchy subject. Victor and I couldn’t agree on the school. He wanted a more traditional one, like the ones he attended, with bratty rich kids and boastful parents, while I was leaning towards a public school, with trees and a playground where Owen could go play in the rain and the mud. Eventually, Victor twisted my arm. The school was known for having excellent teachers, and it was close to home. I had no reason to say no.

“That is a very reputable school, wonderful choice.” Terry nodded in approval. “Owen will thrive there.”

“Andrea is not entirely convinced yet.” My husband commented, smiling smugly at me.

This had not been a good week, especially for Victor. So I let the comment slide.

“Look what we got here!” Mina emerged from the kitchen once again, a proud Owen behind her, holding a bowl full of taffy pieces.

“Try one!” Owen placed the bowl on the table. “They are very good.”

We all took a piece, and I realized once again why this was Victor’s favorite. Mina’s taffy was a perfect balance of salty and sweet, and it melted in one’s mouth as soon as it touched it, turning into this velvety sweetness.

“Can I explore the garden?” Owen asked me, excited.

I was loving seeing him this happy; it turned out our idea had been quite a good one. But the garden was immense. My heart shrunk at the thought.

“Will you be careful? Please stay near.” I cautioned.

“I’m four, I’m not a baby. I won’t get lost.” Owen assured me.

“There are a lot of secrets hiding in this garden.” Victor spoke to Owen, who shrunk slightly at the sound of his voice. “Go explore, have fun.”

Happy with Victor’s answer, the boy ran to the garden, lost in his own imagination.

“He’ll be ok, he’s a smart child.” I felt Vic’s hand on mine, reassuring me. “I was seven when I took my first transatlantic flight. This is just a garden.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him.

“Your parents were with you all the time, there’s hardly any comparison.”

“I went by myself.” Victor replied nonchalantly. “My mother was in France at the time, and my father was busy, so I went on my own.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Well, I knew what to say. I just didn’t know if I should say it. It turned out, like most times in my life, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Your parents let you fly across the ocean, to a foreign country, all by yourself?” My voice sounded shocked, but I couldn’t help it. I was astonished.

“I was being taken care of by the flight attendants, I had a car waiting for me at the airport to take me to my mother’s house. It was perfectly safe.”

I could see by Mina and Terry’s expression that I was dealing with yet another sensitive subject, Terry shaking her head behind Victor, telling me to leave it alone. That was a Lee thing, pretending that bad things don’t exist, or that they are normal, appearances mattering most of all. I decided there and then that, although I was a Lee, I wasn’t born one, so I would speak my mind. Gently.

“So what you’re saying is that, if my mother were to invite Owen to Portugal and both of us were busy, you would have no problem putting him on a plane by himself and sending him there?”

“Without one of us? Of course not!” Victor was about to say something else but paused, lost in thought, his answer dawning on him.

There was a moment of silence at that moment, as we witnessed many emotions go through the eyes of the man I loved. And for a moment, I felt guilty for pointing out an ugly truth. It was the truth, and in a way, Victor needed to realize the gravity of it, but it still hurt him. And I hated to see him hurt.

“What do you say we go show Owen the horses? Onyx and Naia will love to see you.” Terry broke the silence.

“I’ll go get some carrots and sugar cubes for Owen to feed them.” Mina walked into the kitchen.

As he saw me waving at him, the boy ran back to us, his face almost as red as his curls.

“I found an anthill!” He declared, excited. “Can I take some taffy to feed the ants?”

“Maybe later.” I laughed. “Come on, finish your tea, we’re going to see the horses.”

“Do you know ants don't have lungs or ears?” Owen started talking excitedly, just like before. “They sense vibrations and they communicate with chemicals they produce. And they have two stomachs!”

“Two stomachs?” I played along. “That’s a lot of food for such a tiny ant. They should be really fat!”

“They don’t eat all of it!” Owen giggled. “It’s one for them and the other for storage. They need to feed the ants that stay behind!”

“They don’t get fat, they exercise, carrying all that food.” Victor joked, pleased to see Owen as vibrant again.

“They can carry up to fifty times their weight! And that means things that are way bigger than them!” Owen gesticulated excitingly, forgetting the glass of ice tea he was holding. As he lifted his hands to illustrate his point, the glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the ground. Owen’s face, flushed and happy before, turned pale.

“Be careful, don’t step on the glass, honey.” I bowed to the floor with a napkin, picking the bigger shards from the floor.

“I’m sorry I made a mess.” He panicked, looking at the broken glass on the floor. “I’ll clean it up, don’t be mad!” He crouched next to me, his tiny hands ready to touch the sharp shards. Before I could say anything, Victor's voice echoed through the garden.

“Owen, NO! Don’t touch that!”

Owen let out a frightened scream, jumping into my arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me! I didn’t mean it!” He burst into tears, his face buried in my shoulder.

“Owen, I’m not mad.” Victor tried. “I was just-”

“I want Miss Dillon, I want to go back!” Owen interrupted him, tightening his grip on me. “Please take me back.”

And the crushed look spreading over my husband’s face broke my heart.

“Owen, it’s ok, nothing wrong happened, it was just a glass.” I caressed his curls. “Victor was just afraid you would cut yourself on the glass, he didn’t mean to scare you. He is not mad at you, I promise.”

“I’m sorry I made a mess…” The boy sobbed in my arms, and I watched Victor silently walk into the house, completely disheartened. Mina and Terry followed him.

“Owen, I need you to calm down and pay close attention to me, can you do that?” I whispered to him.

After a moment, the sobbing ceased, and Owen turned his eyes to me.

“When we make a mess, we simply clean it up. Or, in this case, because it’s dangerous, we ask for help to clean it up. And next time, we pay attention. That’s it. No one needs to cry. No one will ever get mad at you because of one silly accident.”

The boy kept staring at me, still deciding if he should believe me.

“Besides, when one ant drops a piece of bread, the other ants don’t get mad, do they? They help their mate. In this family, we do the same. We are just like the ants, working together as a family.”

“But…” Owen trailed off, his eyes turning to the door Victor walked through.

“He wasn’t mad, he just didn’t want you to get hurt. But he has that thunder voice that can scare the ants.” I joked, making Owen chuckle. “Come on, help me get a broom so we can clean this.”

“Andy…” He interrupted me before I could get up, his face somber again. “I’m sorry I said I want to go back to Miss Dillon. I didn't mean it.”

“I know.” I smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it, ok?”

It was exhilarating to see Owen smile back at me.

For the first time that week, despite the drama, I felt that I got through to him. We walked into the kitchen, Owen in a much better mood, holding my hand.

“Don’t worry, my angel, I’ll clean it up.” Mina took the broom from Owen’s hands.

“Hey, I would love to see that anthill you found.” Terry called Owen. “Will you show it to me?”

“Can I?” He turned to me.

“Of course, my little ant.” I ruffled his hair, making him giggle. “Go have fun.”

I stayed behind with Mina in the kitchen, watching an enthused Owen tell Terry all the fun facts he knew about ants.

“He’s in the study.” Mina informed me with a knowing smile, following them outside with the broom.

I carefully knocked on the study’s door, hearing an annoyed Yes from inside. Victor was sitting on a chair, fingers rubbing his temples, staring at the carpet.

“How is Owen?” Victor looked up when he saw me.

“He’s fine, he’s in a good mood. Terry took him outside.” I downplayed it.

“Didn’t you see how frightened he was? He was shaking. He’s scared of me.” Victor stated blandly, a deep dark pit of sorrow in his grey eyes.

Based on our previous conversation, it wasn’t hard to get to the root of what was troubling my husband. I kneeled before him, placing my hands on his shoulders.

“You are not your father. You and your father are completely different people.”

“Maybe I am though.” He turned his eyes away in shame. “Maybe one day Owen will look back and see what a terrible father I was. I yelled at him. What kind of person yells at a little child, let alone his own son?”

“Why did you yell at him?”

“I didn’t want him to cut himself in the glass. But I-”

“Exactly.” I held his face in my hands. “You weren’t scolding him, you were protecting him. Just what a good father would do. I would’ve done exactly the same, you just beat me to it.”

I felt my husband’s tension slacken slightly, as he let out a deep breath.

“Look, I don't want you to second guess yourself like this.” I looked deep into his eyes. “It’s normal to have questions, it’s ok not to know everything, but if there is a person I know is absolutely competent and experienced in raising a child, it’s the man I love.”

“Experienced?” He frowned at me. “I‘ve never raised a child before in my life, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Yes, you have.” I answered firmly. “You raised yourself.”

He scoffed, looking away, like I had said something ridiculous. My gentle hands guided his face towards mine again.

“It’s true. Victor, you were neglected in so many ways, and even as a child, all by yourself, you guided yourself towards the best choices in life, and you became the wonderful man you are today. You are nothing like your father, because you chose not to be. Despite everything you could have learned from him, despite his negative influence, you chose differently.”

Victor looked at me with wide eyes. Hopefully, my words were sinking into him. I continued my heartfelt speech.

“And you did this as a child, with zero life experience. Now that you are an adult, you can help Owen in the way he needs, help him overcome all he’s been through. All you need to do is guide him the same way you did to yourself, this is nothing new to you. You did this before. And while things may seem hard now, they won’t be like this forever. You just have to be patient. Time and love will make all the pieces fit together. To be honest, I think Owen is really lucky to have you as a father.”

The corner of my husband’s mouth lifted, his gaze soft and loving, all the worry magically gone.

“Come here.” Victor pulled me to his lap, his lips touching mine, making me melt in his arms, like I always did. “I’m the lucky one.” He hushed, as he broke the kiss.

A few moments after, childish laughter sounded through the house. Owen had returned from the garden with Terry, and he looked positively delighted.

“Hey!” I greeted them. “Did you have fun, Owen?”

Owen said nothing, his gaze locked on Victor. He was still uneasy, not knowing what to expect.

“We still have to visit the stables.” Victor chimed in. “Owen, do you want to meet our horses?”

The boy nodded.

“Come on, then.” Victor motioned for him to follow. “Do you know the names of our horses?”

“Naia and Onyx. Naia is a mare and Onyx is a stallion.” Owen replied.

“Very good. Onyx is the horse I ride, Naia is Andrea’s. When you learn how to ride properly, you will have your own horse.” Victor promised as he walked beside Owen.

“I’m going to learn how to ride a horse?” Owen asked, exhilarated.

“Yes, I will teach you. What do you say?”

“Yes, please, Sir.”

I walked a few steps behind, trying to give them the space they needed to bond. I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that Owen would see Victor for the wonderful man that he was, and that a beautiful relationship was in the making. It would take some time, but we would finally have the family we all dreamed of.

#dadvic #vic adoptive father #Growing Pains - Series #growingtogether #victor x oc #mldd victor #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #love and producer #mister love dream date #mister love queens choice

[headoverhiddles]

Bat-Shaped Glasses - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You and another guest need a little salvation from the party you're at.

Notes: Well, this was supposed to be fluffy, but as you all know, one thing leads to another, and... smut. Also, this takes place during Eat Me Drink Me era!  

Tag List: @livelifewondering​

It's early October. This month is "your month" or as you've been reminded by everyone in your circle for the past 7 days. You love Halloween-- something that inspired you to become a horror actress in the first place-- but hearing "spooktober" every other sentence at this party was tiring, to say the least.

Halloween parties are usually fun, but this one is an industry party. You and the rest of the cast of Hell's Most Wanted, a hot new horror franchise, had been invited.

Oh, well. At least you could stand here, look fabulous in the bat shaped glasses and silver bat scarf you had thrown on, enjoy the spiked vampire punch here in Hollywood tonight, and hope someone you'd like to meet walks by. Speaking of Hollywood and vampires...

"Depp!" you call. Your friend whirls around, tan brown hair wild, and spots you through narrowed eyes. He's got a headband with light up devil horns on, and a bit of red glittery eyeshadow on.

"Ah! (y/n)." He frowns for a moment. "You look like you could use another drink, love." You glance down at your glass, realizing it's currently empty.

"Looks like you're right." You two walk over to the refreshments table, and you thank him as he refills your punch, getting a few bat shaped ice cubes in there for you.

"So. Who did your makeup?" you ask, raising a brow. 

"A very dear friend of mine... whom I seem to keep losing. Ah, there he is. When in doubt, look for the brooding shadow in the corner."

Johnny grabs your hand, and leads you over to a man with black hair, black eyeshadow, and press on lower lashes. His lips are ruby red, skin pale, and he's got a long, sweeping black cloak on with ornate black patterning. Cherry on top, his height is intimidating too.

"Nice vampire costume," you smile. The guy looks over at you, unimpressed.

"I look like this everyday. But thanks."

Johnny comes in behind his gothic friend, giving him a shoulder rub. "Manson, play nice. That's (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Never heard of her."

"She's a lovely girl."

"Mm."

"She is!"

"Mm."

"Well," you say awkwardly, pursing your lips, "Nice meeting you, good seeing you Johnny, I'm gonna--"

"Wait," an eye roll from him, "I apologize." The man steps forward, extending a pale hand. "I come off as an asshole until I... y'know, decide not to."

You cautiously decide to shake his hand. His skin is warmer than you expected. "What made you change your mind?"

He smiles wryly. "I don't know. Something about you."

You nod slowly. "(y/n) (y/l/n)."

He shakes your hand. "Marilyn Manson."

Johnny digs out a hand-rolled cigarette, then produces a bag of them. "Anyone for a smoke?"

"Blacken your lungs on your own, Depp," Marilyn mutters, giving a sarcastic wave, "Unless the lady would like to join you, in which case... I'll grin and bear it."

You giggle. "I'm fine."

"Right then. I'm off." Johnny kisses Marilyn on the cheek, then you, then pops off through the crowd, disappearing to the terrace that overlooks West Hollywood.

"Man, these parties are bullshit," Marilyn comments. "You don't know whether to get fucked up or fall asleep." You burst into laughter. He really cuts to the chase, but he's not wrong.

"That about sums it up," you nod.

"Then again, you could do both. But in what order?"

"We could just go find a bush and have a nap," you shrug, "I don't think anyone would miss us." He finally cracks a small smile, walking with you through the crowd.

"That's starting to sound like more and more of a good idea."

You make it to the banquet table, and you pick up two strawberry (booberry, as they're dubbed) cream puffs. He accepts his, and you eat yours, letting the strawberry jelly gush down your lip.

"Now who's the vampire?" he smirks. You blush, wiping your face, and he motions with his head to the terrace. You both walk out, and he breathes a sigh of relief, sitting down in the garden. Black roses surround you, the venue obviously taking their star studded Halloween party seriously. It's as if you're caught up in a gothic novel... or the Addams Family.

"Here." Marilyn places his cream puff on your knee. You shake your head.

"I got it for you."

"I just took it from you so you wouldn't look stupid carrying two around." You give him a funny look. He elaborates. "I don't eat at parties. I'm sick enough already trying to bring myself to talk to people." He shakes his head. "It honestly feels like I'm back in high school sometimes."

You place the cream puff beside you, blinking. "That's exactly how I feel."

He gives a sad smile. "Funny. They don't tell you this, but you can't ever escape the shit. It's all classroom politics-- blame the scapegoat, who's the prettiest, who fucks the best, get dumped when you’re no longer socially useful, and every man for himself."

"High school never really ends, I guess," you say, and watch the crowd of costumed celebrities mingle and laugh. You feel his eyes on you. "I bet you think I was some kind of cheerleader or something in high school," you say.

"No," he says simply, folding his hands in his lap, "I don't have any judgement about you whatsoever. I think it's short-sighted to say that someone looks like they were the pretty one, or the nerd, or the jock. Anybody can become anybody." He glares around. "Although I can tell you that you could find 80% of the guys at this party beating me up for my lunch money."

You look around as well. "I've found that Hollywood, for me, is like all the artsy kids joined up and created a club."

"That's true," Marilyn muses, "It's like all the weird kids were given agents, fancy cars and drugs, and told to go play. I guess it depends on your crowd, though. I know people from all over the social map, but it takes a lot to be my friend." He cocks his head. "Johnny did a good job of snaking his way in with a few snarky comments." You look around for Johnny, though he's probably sauntered off somewhere private. He likes parties for the free alcohol, and nothing else really. 

"What were you like in high school, anyway?" you ask softly, sipping your drink. Marilyn crosses his legs, placing his painted fingernails over his knee.

"I was the kid no one wanted to be seen with. No matter what you were, you wouldn't have either. Doesn't mean I wouldn't have tried to sleep with you, though." He smirks. You shrug.

"Maybe you would've been successful."

"I had a mullet."

"Yikes. Nevermind."

A real laugh comes out of him, and he ducks his head, tucking his black hair behind his ear. You think it's fascinating how shy he is... an international rock star like him. But, just as Marilyn said, proper judgement is impossible in situations such as these.

"What was your prom night like?" you ask.

"My prom night?"

"Mhmm." 

"Boring. I went out with the girl, jerked off when she wouldn't put out." He shrugs. "Didn't help that the suit was thick, it kept rubbing against my dick and gave me a hard on. Of course, at that age, the wind could blow and I'd get an erection. She looked at my crotch, saw that I had a boner, hit me with her purse and called me a pervert. I knew the relationship was over when I pointed out that she was the one looking at my crotch in the first place." You giggle, and he smiles, shaking his head. "People get uncomfortable when you point out their hypocrisy." He rolls his palms on his knees, taking a deep breath of fresh air. "Okay. What was your prom night like?"

"I was drunk, I don't remember." 

He looks at you incredulously for a second, obviously not expecting that answer. "Alright, enough with this high school reunion shit," he says. "We're both here now, at a party in Hollywood, you're talking to Public Enemy Number 1 and I'm talking to Hell's Most Wanted, so I guess we both did something right."

You stand up. "A-ha! So you do know who I am!"

Honest to god, you see him blush. "Yeah. A lot of people do."

"You were faking!"

"That's what I do," he smiles sarcastically, "I'm as fake as a wedding cake."

You step closer to him. "Somehow, I don't think that's true."

You two walk across the terrace. The sound of the traffic in the distance is almost enough to overpower the beginning of Enter Sandman, which is playing inside. "This is the only song I like by Metallica," you tell him. He looks back into the party.

"It's okay. I've been listening to Moon Over Bourbon Street by Sting for the past month, to get over the break up to end all break ups.”

“Oh yeah.” You recall seeing something about Marilyn Manson and divorce in the tabloids recently. “Dita, right?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking down. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, and you don’t press. “Anyway, I wish they'd play Bourbon Street here. Those words make me feel eternal, and it’s not like it would be out of place at a Halloween party." 

"I swear, you must be a real vampire," you tease.

He gives that shy laugh. "I'm a vampire in every sense of being one, without actually being one. I go out at night, sleep half the day away. I'm pale, I like blood." He purses his lips. "I just don't like the taste of it."

"No? What do you drink, then?"

"Absinthe."

Before he can say anything else, you snake through the crowd over to the bar, ordering two Death In The Afternoons, which is a delicious mixture of champagne and Marilyn's poison of choice. You hand him one, and he accepts, sipping it.

"Mm. You trying to get me drunk?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"This is probably the most sober anyone's seen me for weeks," he confides. "I don't know if you'd like me when I'm drunk. Not many people do."

You clink your glass against his. "Same goes for me, Manson."

He looks at you for a long time, until you start to fidget a little. He finally blinks those long eyelashes, tongue coming out to swipe his painted red lips.

"You're very pretty."

You blush hard. "One sip is all it took to get that out of you?"

"I won't let the absinthe take credit for another mistake I make," he smiles, eyes dark and honest, "I've been thinking that since you first called me a vampire."

"I didn't mean anything by it," you whisper, walking back into a dark corner, grinning. He follows, eyes a black pit you want to get lost in.

"No, I get it. Dark, mysterious."

"Charming."

"Brooding."

"Sexy," you moan, and he downs the rest of his drink, dropping it on someone's table. 

"Alright. The absinthe might be in control from here on out, but fuck it." He cups your cheeks, and presses you into that corner, shadows enveloping your two rocking bodies as those blood red lips slip down to touch yours.

"Please," you moan, and he doesn't quite know what you're asking, but he takes a leap of faith, sliding his hands beneath your skirt and bunching it up. His hands move beneath the waistband of your lace panties, and he uses one hand to squeeze your ass, the other using slender fingers to masterfully circle your clit. Well, that was fucking fast.

You breathe heavily into his shoulder, and he draws back a little, eyes searching yours for any little hint as to what's working and what's not. When your eyes roll back and you bite your lip, he continues with the rubbing, rocking his hips forward as well.

Your hands dip into the opening of his cloak, and find his belt buckle, unlatching it slowly, each rock of the hips and grind of his hand against you slow, dirty, deliberate.

"I want you to make me cum on your fingers," you whisper.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" he whispers back, lips moving down to nibble at the line of your jaw.

"Yes..."

"Ask again."

"Marilyn, please."

You kiss him again, the two of you making out as your fingers wrap around his semi-hard cock. He hisses slightly at the sensation of your cold hand around him, but a few seconds tick by, and your skin warms up to his, dragging beautifully up and down his hardness.

"You keep doin' that, I'm gonna get your hand real messy," he whispers.

"Get it all over me," you growl, the dirtiness of your words urging you on, "I wanna feel it when we cum together."

"Fuck," he groans, and dips his fingers into you. You marvel at his talent-- in two strokes of his fingers, he's found your g-spot, and you're arching into him, breasts pressed against his chest. 

More than a few thoughts are whirling through your head, but you vaguely tell yourself this is just a rebound for him. He was imagining his ex-wife, that’s all, and--

“(y/n)?” he gasps out, and you’re surprised he’s moaning your name.

“Yeah?”

“C-can I... tell you a secret?”

“Mhmm...”

“After the first episode of Hell’s Most Wanted... I had to jack off.”

You almost laugh, and it comes out as a groan. You imagine Marilyn jacking off, thinking of you... him even having a tiny crush on you. 

"God, that’s so hot," you pant, jerking him faster. He tries to whisper your name again, but it gets garbled as he gasps and cums in your hand. This only forces his fingers deeper, and you grab onto his hair and bite his bottom lip as you cum hard too, riding his fingers in the dark corner of the room.

"Ow," he smiles, pulling away and dabbing at the blood on his lip from the bite. You grin, licking it up with a swipe of your tongue.

"See? I could be your vampire." 

"Sweetheart. If I was your vampire, we'd have each other til the sun."

"You're poetic."

"And you're still pretty."

"Glad I haven't lost my appeal after all that," you snort, as the two of you glance around sheepishly. You find napkins to clean up with, and pass him one.

"Nah," he says, taking your other hand, "I think I've warmed up to the idea of you. At least while the moon is still up." 

You take a glance outside, and see a crescent moon trying its best to shine on all the ghosts and ghouls of Hollywood gathered at this party. It's a valiant effort on its part, and it brings the spooky spirit of the evening back.

"Looks like we have a few more hours,” 

“Just don’t break my heart,” he warns.

Against all better judgement, you question him. “What happens if I do?” He lifts a finger up to flick the plastic wings of the novelty Halloween sunglasses. 

“Then I’ll break your bat-shaped glasses.” 

 You take his arm, and you two outsiders re-enter the festive crowd, anonymous but no longer alone.

#marilyn manson #marilyn manson x reader #reader x marilyn manson #brian warner #brian warner x reader #reader x brian warner #eat me drink me era #eat me drink me #vampires #halloween #halloween party #marilyn manson fandom #marilyn manson fanfic #marilyn manson fanfiction #bandom #bandom fic #marilyn manson band #johnny depp #marilyn manson imagine

[bobasheebaby]

Penny Prompts

1 “If I take it off, NAME wins.” “Sweetie, every night you don't kill him/her in his/her sleep, he/she wins.”

2 “Woman, you are playing with forces beyond your ken.” “Yeah, well your Ken can kiss my Barbie.”

3 “NAME, what did we say about being a nicer friend?” “Thank you.” “NAME, what did we say about being a gullible weeny?”

4 “I'm not signing a prenup.” “All right, NAME, listen up! You sign anything he/she puts in front of you, because you are the luckiest man/woman alive. If you let him/her go, there is no way you can find anyone else. Speaking on behalf of all men/women, it is not going to happen, we had a meeting.”

5 “What am I supposed to do?” “Err, keep your mouth off other men/women.”

6 “So you have a song stuck in your head. It happens to everybody.” “Well, I'm not everybody. I have an eidetic memory. I should be able to remember what song this is, but I can't. Something's wrong with me.” “I told you if we were patient, he'd/she’d figure it out for himself/herself.”

7 [Person a knocks on NAME’s door three times] “Who do we love?” “NAME.” [Knocks 3 times] “Who do we love?” “NAME.” [Knocks 3 times] “Who do we love?” “NAME.”

8 “NAME 's mad at me, and I'm not clear why.” “Okay, were you talking before he:she got upset?” “Yes.” “That's probably it.”

9 “Ignore them, NAME. They're just jealous because they'll never have a relationship as good as ours.” “Isn't this when he/she says "bazooka" or something?”

10 [looking at caller ID] “Ooh, looks like I'm gonna have sex tonight.” [answering phone] “Hey, baby...” “His/her right hand is calling him/her?”

11 “Doesn't he/she know you have a boyfriend/girlfriend?” “He/She doesn't have a boyfriend/girlfriend he/she has a NAME.”

12 “What kind of teenager did you think I was?” “Slutty.” “Easy.” “The word is 'popular'.”

13 “Once you open the box it loses its value.” “Yeah, yeah. My mom gave me the same lecture about my virginity. I gotta tell you, it was a lot more fun taking it out and playing with it.”

14 “Is that all you have? Shop-worn tidbits like ‘talk to him/her’ and ‘let it go’? Gee, NAME, life's given me lemons, what should I do?” “Well, you could shove them somewhere.”

15 “More Halloween candy. Didn't you just buy a bunch of it yesterday?” “Oh, yeah. That's gone. It's a rough month when Halloween and PMS hit at the same time.”

16 “I don't believe it. What's gotten into him/her?” “Oh, maybe a couple of virgin Cuba Libres that turned out to be kinda slutty.” “You didn't.” “Hey, you do your experiments, I do mine.”

17 “Come on, we are not old, boring people. We can do better than this.” “That's true. How late did we stay up last night?” “Almost 1 am.” “Damn straight almost 1 am. And we weren't even watching TV, we were watching Netflix like the kids do.” “Yeah. Is it a comedy, is it a drama? Nobody knows!”

18 “You gotta help me get my arm into my sleeve.” [Eyes closed] “Okay!” “Is that my arm?” “It doesn't feel like an arm.” “Then maybe you should let it go.”

19 “Who do I speak to about permanently reserving this table?” “I don't know, a psychiatrist?”

20 “Why would you buy peppermint schnapps?” “Because I like peppermint, and it's fun to say schnapps!”

21 “You wanna turn yourself into some sort of robot?” “Essentially, yes.” “Okay, here's my question: Didn't you already do that?”

22 “I would ask you to find some way to suppress your libido.” “I could think about you.” “Whatever works.”

23 “We cover ourselves in body paint and then we get on this big canvas and do our thing.” “Woah, that's kind of a big step for a guy/girl who only recently agreed to take his/her socks off.”

24 “He’s/She's only been here a day and a half, and I'm seriously considering alcoholism as a new career path.” “Hey, I talked to him/her for five minutes yesterday, and I've been half bombed ever since.”

25 [To NAME’s dog] “Bark once if you need me to call PETA.”

26 “NAME, that's not what boyfriends/girlfriends are for. Although you don't use them for what they're for, so what do I know?”

27 “Don't you dare knock!”

28 “Don't you think if a man/woman was living with me I'd be the first one to know about it?” “Oh, sweetie, you'd be the last one to know about it.”

29 “Good morning, slut!” “What?” “Oh, please! I recognise the walk of shame when I see it. All you're missing is a little smeared mascara and a purse with panties wadded up in it!”

30 “They're gonna get beaten up at that club.” “They're gonna get beaten up at Walgreens.”

31 “Holy crap on a cracker!”

32 “And then you put it back, compromising the rest of the onion rings.” “Aw honey, the buses don't go where you live do they?”

33 “What's up, buttercup?”

34 “And what kind of doctor removes shoes from asses?”

35 “Really still can't talk to me?”

36 “This is banana bread.” “This is a door knob.”

37 “Oh, I don't know. I don't want to manipulate him/her with sex.” “Oh, sweetie, that's what sex is for.”

38 “I'm a little low on cash.” “How much you got?” “Nothing.” “How can you walk around with no money?” “I'm cute, I get by.”

39 “And this is also not the right time. Do not propose.” “What?!” “I know that face. That's your proposed face.”

40 “Don't come to the hospital. We're headed home.” “Oh, that was fast. Did she sneeze the baby out?”

41 “NAME, will you marry me?” “Oh my god, yes!”

42 “Is this the stuff you want me to try on?” “No this is the stuff I want you to throw out. Seriously, don't even give it to charity. You won't be helping anyone.”

43 “If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?” “Well, not to steal from the bible, but turning water into wine sounds pretty good.”

44 “Oh, my God, you’re about to jibber jabber about jibber jabber.”

45 “I love him, but if he's broken, let's not get a new one.”

46 “We can't keep explaining everything. Read that book we gave you.”

47 “You know deep down inside, NAME’s a nice guy.” “The problem isn't what's on the inside. It's the creepy candy coating.”

48 “Um, you know it's kinda early. Do you wanna maybe come in for some coffee or something?” “Oh gee, its a little late for coffee isn't it?” “Aw, you think coffee means coffee. That is so sweet.”

49 “The thing about tomatoes, I think you will really enjoy this, is that they are shelved with the vegetables but they are technically a fruit.” “Interesting.” “Isn't it!” “No, I mean what you find enjoyable.”

50 “Do or do not do there is no try.” “Did you just quote Star Wars?” “I believe I quoted The Empire Strikes Back.”

51 “You can't let him/her get into your head.” “It's too late for me, my head is his/her summer house.”

52 “Well, while they're acting like teenagers we could do something grown up.” “Ooh, you mean like a museum?” “Yes, like a museum but anything else!”

53 “NAME’s being reasonable.” “Yeah, it's freaking me out. I'm gonna go.”

54 “Oh, my God, he/she won't stop.” “How does he/she keep coming up with new ways to be annoying?” “Nobody knows. That's why he’s/she's number one.”

55 “I love you.” “Who cares?”

56 “You're okay with an experiment where you have to answer awkward questions about your innermost feelings?” “Yes.” “Please can I do it with him/her, please.”

57 “Don't be like that. You two need to talk this out.” “Yeah, because you sound really funny.”

58 “I really thought he/she was going to say ‘let it go’.”

59 “Honey, you don't have to thank me every time we have sex, sweetie.”

60 “I finally realize I don't need to be famous or have some big career to be happy.” “Well what do you need?” “You, you stupid Poptart.”

61 “What are you saying? That I'm using my body to get dinner? That I'm some sort of Chinese food prostitute?”

62 “I was unstoppable. I was on fire. It was like my mind and my body were totally connected, like athletes must feel when they're in the zone.” “Again, it was miniature golf.” “Admit it, you're a little turned on.” “You can't be this proud.” “Why not?” “Because I beat you.”

63 “How do you not know how to use glue? Did you ditch pre-school?” “Yeah, but only because I was dating a second-grader.”

64 “Come on. How can you be sad when you're going home with all five foot six of this?” “You think you're five foot six? That's funny.”

65 “Look, I'm telling you I've done it. I clearly remember the cow standing up and then a cow on its side.” “Were you drunk?” “I was sixteen and in Nebraska, what do you think?” “I think you're the one who fell over.” “Well that would explain why the sky was also on its side.”

66 “I need to go back to dating dumb guys/girls from the gym.”

67 “We'll take you to the mall to get it done.” “Why? I can do it right here.” “Really? You have a piercing gun?” “No. All you need is a needle and an ice cube. I've done it, like, a dozen times.” “Oh, I don't know.” “Oh, come on. I'll be gentle. Let me take your ear virginity.” “This party's weird.”

68 “So is that it? Are we engaged?” “Yeah, I think so.” “All right.” “What's wrong?” “I'm not sure. It just feels a little anti-climactic.” “Yeah, it kinda does, doesn't it?”

69 “I promise next time I get married, it won't be a joke. It will be for love ... or money.”

70 “I don't understand, exactly how did he/she get any friends in the first place?” “We liked NAME.”

71 “Here, have some pizza, sweetie.” “You know I'm lactose intolerant.” “I know; I just need you to stop talking.”

72 “So, what do you think?” “I thought it would be a little more ... just more.” “I'm not even sure why we were out of breath.”

73 “I mean I was on fire. I was in the zone like an athlete.” “Sweetie, I beat you at this, too.”

74 “Well, I can't eat like a ten-year-old all the time.” “You're dating somebody! Who is it?” “What? What are you talking about?” “You only watch what you eat when you're afraid you might have to take your shirt off.”

75 “So I'm like a bran muffin?” “What? No, that's not what I'm saying.” “No, that's exactly what you're saying. I'm the boring thing you're choosing because I'm good for you.” “What does it matter? I'm choosing you.” “It matters a lot. I don't want to be a bran muffin. I want to be a cinnabon, a strawberry pop tart. Something you're excited about, even if it could give you diabetes.” “Sweetie, you can be any pastry you want.”

#big bang theory quotes #big bang theory prompts #penny #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #i live in covid 19 hell #quaratine sucks and making these keeps my mind busy

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 10

“Can I have my hand back?” what was the deal with this tug of war with her hand? Sweet, he finally let go “ow-kay..now, I've been listening to some of your music and I've been looking over the plans, so I made you a storyboard, nothing too fancy though, keep in mind it was done on a plane but I think you'll get the general idea” she pushed the rough sketches in his hand. “I would make a cube or a rectangle of lightpanels and I would plant the stage in the center of the venue, after all there's a lot of interaction with your fans right? That way everyone feels really close to you and there's a lot more potential for interaction” she was standing there with her back turned to them, gesturing at where the stage should be. “In other words, you can create your own little Universe, right here on this stage and let people be part of it”, 

Jared stared completely dumbfounded at the storyboard “Shayla, send these over to the technicians right now, tell them to digitalize this and then have them call me” he pushed the papers in her hands “I want a clear visual by the time I get there, get a car ready, have Harper's things brought over, we're leaving in half an hour, you stay here and get Shannon on a flight to Frankfurt”. What? What was going on? Going to Frankfurt now? Jetlag, hello? “Sean, you're coming with us” he briefly said as he legged it back to his dressingroom, followed by Shayla who had to almost run to keep up with him. “You're taking Sean? I'm coming too” she hissed at him, slamming the door of the dressingroom behind her, “No! No, you're not! For your information, this is still a professional environment, not some playground where you're more focused on fucking Sean than anything else! There needs to be some professional distance, Shayla, in a week or so, he'll be hanging from the ceiling, that job is a dangerous one and I'm not gonna let him break his neck because you're constantly distracting him! Besides, you're needed here to finally do your job and keep things going! And I'll be damned if I'll continue to stand here and get lip from you every single day!”. Sean noticed how Harper was biting her lip, “I don't know what you're fretting about but we've got two hours to kill in the car on our way to Frankfurt” his arm slipped around her shoulder. “I'm not fretting, he just..seems pretty harsh, can't you hear him yelling at Shayla? Poor thing”. Ugh that irritating giggle of his “don't worry about her, she can handle him, it's you I'm more worried about”, whoooaa wait a minute, what? “Huh?”, Sean took a deep breath and weighed his words “just don't get caught up in his web, alright? I know what he's like with women and it ain't pretty”. Amazing, just what women needed, a guy with a big brother/father complex, well, welcome to the 21st century where women took care of their own and didn't let any man stand in the way of whatever it was they needed or wanted, besides she wasn't interested in any guy, no, not true, if she was honest with herself, there was only one name stuck to one man that kept haunting her, try and keep up Sean!

From: BJLCubbins

To: HCDeRobiano

Subject: Re: re: friends again?

Coco,

You're not in the States anymore? Would it be too forward to ask where you are then? I know you're thinking that it's none of my business and maybe you're right, but I just want to know how you're doing, if you're safe? I know, I know, who died and made me your keeper? But hey, I care, alright?! I know you have your heart set on making me squirm and practically beg but I just need to say that I miss our conversations, I think we can both do with a friend right now,..

Who do you call 'a friend'? From what you wrote previously I could tell you grew up in hostile surroundings with your Dad and all..does that anger inspire your work (seeing that huge painting you're working on, I take that as a yes, or is that a one-off where all that pent-up frustration came spewing out?), what else inspires you?

P.S. Also in one your e-mails you mentioned being cut off financially? Can I help? I'd still like to buy that piece

ttys?

Joe

Mind your own business, why don't you, Joe? And what the hell was 'ttys', it sounded like some serious illness to be honest, sure yeah, she could sit here and act all smug, but the truth was that she was a tech-retard, plain and simple, the look on that guy's face, ugh what was his name again?come on, floppy hair guy..uhm uhm uhm, tip of your tongue..J-Jared, yes! The look on his face when he got her storyboard, 'digitalize this and digitalize that' bleghhh, not exactly Mister El Sympatico. Sean's flapping hand startled her as he sat down next to her, “bye, I'll call you” he yelled at his lover in the slamming door, instinctively she raised her hand at Shayla standing on the pavement, I'm waving..not that I know you, but ok yeah I'll wave at you because it's the right thing to do, the polite thing for you is to wave back and at least act like you mean it. As the car sped out towards the late afternoon traffic, she dug her phone inside her pocket, not now, an insane jetlag was not the best headspace for replies, no, forcefields up and phasers set to stun, at least for now...oh hello fatigue, what do we have here? A friendly arm to snuggle into? Excellent, best news all day! Sean's arm instinctively pulled her against him, letting his exhausted friend nestle against him. Checking the rearview mirror, Jared noticed Harper all snuggled up against Sean and envied their closeness, when was the last time he had done something so intimate and yet non-sexual as that? He could get sex every hour of every day, but this kind of friendship between a man and a woman, talking, sharing things, laughing, no tension, simple, true, and for him almost impossible to find. “Is she ok?” he caught Sean's eye in the mirror, “yeah, completely jetlagged, I'm just glad she's here..” Sean softly answered so not to wake her up. Sean, Sean, sweet yet not so bright Sean, who had yet a lot to learn still about a scorned woman's fury that would leave his ears ringing and his heart ripped to shreds, just keep it away from my tour, he leaned back in his seat and kept his hand tightly wrapped around his phone, come on Coco, I'm waiting.

Harper was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes when the lightpanels were hoisted on chains up into the sky, “just make it a rectangle, like a box..yes, perfect..hang on” she quickly climbed the ropeladder. She was like a cute, little monkey climbing the ladder and swinging her way high up to the ceiling to show all these guys how things were done, his heart literally skipped a beat when she made all the light panels become a tight light box, blasting colourful and mysterious visuals across the screens. “Told you she was amazing” Sean came standing next to him, “amazing and then some, fucking hell” Jared rubbed the goosebumps on his arms when one of the new songs flowed from the speakers. She looked down to see floppy hair guy jump on the stage underneath her, filming it all, that was a good sign right? Funny though, how she had done so many installations and everytime the reaction was 'well, yeah, I guess they're just lights, but is it art?' or 'what the hell am I supposed to feel?' but once music and some cool rock band was added to the equation, then hey presto, definitely Art, with a capital A. “And?” she jumped down, startling him as she landed right next to him on stage, and bit her lip as she looked up at her own creation above their heads, pretty neat, Harper, pretty neat!. “Dinner? Drinks after? To celebrate?” what? Celebrate? Floppy hair guy looked so happy, whoooo! “sure” she answered, jetlag forgotten all about for a couple of minutes. But it hit her twice as hard in the car when she was touching up her make up and briefly looked out of the window, heavy rain crashing down over Frankfurt, the buzz of her 5 minutes of success wearing off..

From: HCDeRobiano

To: BJLCubbins

Subject: Where is Coco?

Joe,

I promised myself I wouldn't give you the light of day, leave things the way you decided to leave them in New York, but here I am reporting for duty, guess this compulsive loner needs a talk, a talk about the most cynical thing on this planet, love, L.O.V.E! because I miss love in my life, yes I do, there I said it, I put it out there, and if you think that makes me the biggest joke on the face of this Earth, then so be it! I'm only human and I can't keep my feelings in check all the frikkin' time.

I dunno, I guess it's just my friend (let's call him 'Jack' for privacy reasons, because I don't know if I can still call him that if he would ever find out I'm writing this silly stuff down) who got me thinking, I see him with his girlfriend and he's excited and loud and ridiculous around her, but then when we are alone and spend time, he turns into this warm, calm and protective animal I can be 'me' with, you know? It's like he's acting around her, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he's never himself around her or any other girl I've seen him with romantically. Have all my relationships gone belly-up, because those guys felt they couldn't be themselves around me? Did I ever really knew them? I think not! Men just want to do unconventional things with conventional girls, to me that is a recipe for disaster. So that's 2 of your questions answered: yes I'm safe with my friend Jack! My whereabouts are none of your business

I'm just gonna ignore the financial help part in your e-mail, I'm trying very hard not to be insulted, I think I'll just let it slide this once, just don't ever mention it to me again! Oh and don't mention the 'Dad' painting either, ok?

What else inspires me? Well, at the moment not so much, I just accepted a work thing in a city that is cold and boring, but I'm dreaming of better days, better times, a better me, in the meantime I promised myself I'm going to check out some museums tomorrow, maybe that'll help (or not because other artists make me wanna throw all my work out of the window).

What makes you dream? If you dream at all? Or maybe you dream of your lovely wife and 2,4 kids, wouldn't surprise me if you had them, you know? Oh and another thing, what the hell is 'ttys'?

Bye

Coco

#jared leto #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #30 Seconds To Mars #30 seconds to mars fanfic #a man on fire #chapter 10 #caroline18mars #Harper Coco #Harper #harper and jared

[dumbassbestiary]

That Time Camille Met Glenn - Drabble (NSFW)

{The fic i wrote for @nosferatuinblue as crack that then became Glennmille. Go figure.}

It was the mid-nineties: Bill Clinton was President (possibly, I don’t know the exact dates), Vanilla Ice was inexplicably a musical star, and cartoons had never been edgier.

As Camille stepped out of the Trans Am, and threw away the phone book she’d been sitting on to properly operate it, the night smelled of blood…and opportunity.

She’d picked up the car in New Jersey after its owner had wolf-whistled at her. Said owner - a hard-as-nails ex-con who’d done fifteen at Riker’s for armed robbery - now sat in several trash cans behind a Shoney’s. Camille had picked the fragments of skull and brain that’d been left on the wheel of his car after she’d smashed his head against it fourteen and a half times, and chewed them during the drive like gum.

Now, she was in the great state of New York: one of the many stops in her wet (read: bloody), hot (read: deathly cold), American Summer (read: winter). During this little excursion across the states, she’d killed no less than forty people, all of which would be attributed to other, less-competent murderers across the country. She’d kill many more before the trip was up, but that’s not the story we’re telling today.

It’s outside of a filthy-looking dive bar called Randy’s that we join our sanguinarian heroine (Anti-Heroine? Villain?) as she prepared for a night of miscellaneous debauchery.

She trudged across the blacktop, wearing painted-on jeans and a leather jacket that made her look like a tiny biker. She fiddled with a curly lock of her kinky, purple hair and grinned - at a place like this, all bets were off, and that’s the only occasion where Little Miss Domino felt like she could truly have a good time.

The guy at the door was about to make a comment - maybe about her skin, or her gaping facial triangle where her nose should have been, or her pointy buck teeth. The exact nature will never be known, because when Camille’s hand darted preemptively for his groin and squeezed his nuts into butter, the sound he made could only be heard by dogs, and all nearby dogs were reticent to deliver the exact nature of his pained exclamation.

She passed through the door without a care as the beefy doorman crumbled next to her.

When she saw the inside of the bar - which looked kind of like if you took all the furniture out of a doll house and arranged it around the dirtiest gutter, full of dead rats and used condoms,  that you’ve ever had the misfortune to see in your life - she wanted to chug ten gallons of Purell with a chaser of a bathtub full of bleach. But, she managed to suppress the urge, when something else distracted her.

There was a man at the bar - not exceptionally tall, but still somehow imposing. His pale, angular face betrayed a preternatural sense of malice that Camille felt she could really identify with - and his hair might have been the only set of hair in the bar frizzier than her’s.

Like a nest of ginger clown pubes, Camille thought.

He swilled his drink, uninterested. There was something else on the stranger’s mind - but what?

She’d just have to find out.

Camille sauntered over to the bar, and floated up onto the seat.

The stranger didn’t turn to regard her. He just looked at the two ice cubes floating in his drink.

“Hey,” the bartender, who looked like an angry Mario, said on approach. “No kids in my bar.”

Camille’s teeth clenched, and her eyes took on a strange, reflective quality.

The bartender felt mesmerised, and oddly…compliant.

“Take off your belt,” she said, her voice lisping but not undermining the gravity of her tone. “And hang yourself in the bathroom.”

The bartender nodded.

“Yes, ma'am.”

He walked off to the bathroom, loosening his belt.

The redhead stranger perked up, like someone had just told him his VD test came back negative, and turned to Camille. She noticed he was wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt she’d ever seen: palm trees, guns, and corgis.

“Nice work,” he said, his voice deep and cruel. “Normally, I need to unholster something to be that persuasive.”

Camille smiled.

“It’s a gift,” she said.

“You got a name?”

“Camille. You?”

“Rhodes. I’d get you a drink, but you just sent the bartender to go all Hari-Kari in the stalls.”

Camille giggled.

“I don’t like anything on tap here, anyway.”

Glenn put his drink down on the bar, and leaned against his hand.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard of me,” he said.

“Huh?”

“It’s why you approached me, right? You’ve heard frightened whispers about the great Glenn Rhodes, and you wanted to come try my services.”

She cocked her head, perplexed.

“Are you a gigolo or something?”

Glenn sneered.

“I’m the guy you pay when you want someone dead. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

The pint-sized vampire practically snorted in amusement.

“If I want someone dead, they end up dead. I don’t need to pay Ronald McDonald to do it for me.”

The look in Glenn’s eye after that told her she’d touched a nerve. Maybe a mean name he’d been called back in high school. There was a moment of excitement where she thought he might try something, but instead, he just sighed softly, composed himself, and put on the most perfect example of a shit-eating grin.

“Say, anyone ever tell you that you sound a little like Sylvester the Cat?” he asked.

Camille felt the muscles in her face tense.

“What?” she said, giving him a chance to walk it back.

“From Looney Tunes. Try to say Suffering Succotash, you’ll see what I mean.”

Not wanting to dignify his idiotic taunting with a response, she leaned forwards, and moved the edge of his green bomber jacket to the side, so she could see the large hunting knife holstered at his hip.

“You know what they say about men with big knives,” she said.

Rhodes grabbed her by the wrist, irritated.

“They make big stab wounds,” he said.

Camille - not one to ever let herself be bested - grabbed his arm with almost bone-crushing force.

Rhodes winced and resisted the powerful urge to let out a scream.

“Yeah,” Camille said, smiling. “But they usually don’t need them.”

She let him go, and he brought his aching wrist back, rubbing it. His pride was hurting worse.

“That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, short stack,” he said. “I’d hate to be your boyfriend.”

Camille’s eyebrows arched into a “V.”

“Oh yeah?” she said.

***

The bar was evacuated by police within the hour, when someone stumbled into the bathroom, found the hanging bartender, and spilled what they intended to put in the toilet down the side of their left leg.

By that time, though, Camille and Glenn were gone - they were having nasty car sex in the back of the Trans Am like a pair of dumb, horny teens with a respectable collective body count.

She was on top. She was always on top.

“Jesus Christ,” Glenn said, between heavy breaths. “Why are you so cold? I feel like I’m fucking a corpse.”

“How do you know what that feels like?” Camille asked. “And you could have at least taken your gun belt off, you fucking jerk.”

Glenn didn’t answer, but the insults did make them both, for some reason, feel a little more aroused.

They both went at it like wolf-rabbits for a strong three minutes before an explosive conclusion. Camille’s Orlock-esque cum face would haunt his memories until Jenny Walker shot him through the head two years later in the ruins of the Dubois mansion, after an exciting but somewhat confusing fight scene.

Afterwards, they put their clothes back on, and sat in the back of a dead man’s stolen car - feeling, as all of their other sexual partners had before, deeply regretful.

Neither of them asked whether it was good for the other. They weren’t the kind of people who cared.

“Well,” Glenn said. “That’s one for the memoirs I’ll never write. If I did, though, they’d legally have to publish them under horror.”

“Oh, please,” Camille said. “Don’t flatter yourself. I had sex with Pope Pius X. Don’t let the name fool you, he was the freakiest motherfucker I’ve ever seen. He tried stuff I couldn’t describe.”

Glenn shuddered at the mental image.

“I better get off…” Glenn said, climbing out of the back seats of the Trans Am.

“I thought you just did,” Camille said, thinking it was very clever and funny.

“There’s some people I need to kill,” he finished.

“Yeah,” Camille said. “Me too.”

Note: if Camille was able to read this narration, she’d also have replied “I thought you just did” to “he finished” as well. She would have thought that was very clever and funny too.

That was the first and last time they’d ever met - nobody could make a definitive comment on the nature of their relationship. Were they friends? No. Lovers? I mean, could you really call that back seat abomination love? Did they even like each other? Who knows?

The thing that could indeed be said about their relationship, though, is that they probably deserved each other.

#( Glenn ) #nosferatuinblue #drabble #( Hate To Be Your Boyfriend ) #((I love writing her fics)) #((this is one of my faves honestly))

[bangtaninink]

would you be able to write a gang/mob au for taehyung? (or any of the members really) sex is fine, sex is GOOD

bang, bang → this song is for the dance; this song is for the after part

your fingers smooth out the lines in the collar of his silk shirt, the lights flashing on and off so that taehyung’s face is only visible when the pink passes over where you both sit. 

“did you miss me already, taetae?” you say, leaning in close to be heard over the loud music in the club. he chuckles lowly, and you feel his hand rest on your bare thigh. 

“are you sure it’s not the other way around?” he asks. cocky. “you came to me tonight.” you hum, manicured nails dragging down his tie, your eyes watching your fingers move to stop just above his belt. 

“you’re gonna get me in trouble again. as usual.” it’s supposed to be a warning, but you’re grinning, and taehyung’s smirking, and the both of you know that neither of you are able to resist the other, so the warning is merely for show. 

“kim.” 

the both of you look up to see yoongi standing in front of taehyung, holding onto a near empty glass of neat whiskey. “finish up. we’re leaving in five.” taehyung’s jaw is clenched as he gives a single nod, and your fingers still immediately, almost completely withdrawing from his body. 

“five minutes,” taehyung repeats. 

the both of you watch yoongi retreat, walking back to the farthest wall of the vip section to where namjoon sits surrounded by women and men, no doubt being relayed the same message taehyung was just given. taehyung exhales sharply through his nose, swirling his glass, ice cubes colliding, before he finishes off his drink in one hit. you stay silent, watching the way the muscles in his throat shift as he swallows. 

“i’d love to stay and chat, but duty calls, baby,” he says, putting his empty glass down onto the side table, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. 

“business?” 

“yep.” 

“shame. i was just starting to enjoy myself.” 

taehyung chuckles quietly, standing and smoothing out the lapels of his suit jacket. in the distance, he can see seokjin scanning the room, a silent cue for everyone to start making their way back to the cars. he bends down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“don’t miss me too much now,” he says, smirking. 

“hah. we’ll see who’s calling who later.” 

“bills aren’t supposed to give you a rash, are they?” jinah asks you, setting down a stack of money by her makeup bag, fixing her thong. 

“i told you to start using that hypoallergenic shit, babe,” you reply, snorting and shaking your head as she fidgets in her seat. “i don’t think that victoria’s secret lotion hoseok gave you in that gift basket last week is kind to sensitive skin.” 

“but it smells so nice,” she replies, pouting. 

“then deal with those rashes yourself.” 

“i hope you don’t have any rashes.” 

the both of you turn around, surprised to find taehyung at the stage door, leaning up against the wall, a lit cigarette dangling precariously from the corner of his lips as he smirks. jinah giggles, while you roll your eyes, trying not to smile. 

“you’re not allowed backstage, mr. kim,” you say, crossing your arms over your bare chest. “dancers only.” 

“would you like me to dance for you then, angel?” 

“um, i’m just gonna... go,” jinah says, making an elaborate display of sneaking off. 

“jung’s at the bar,” taehyung calls out after her, not taking his eyes off you, and the last sound you hear from jinah is a soft squeal in excitement before she’s out of the room. 

“thought you had some business to take care of,” you say, turning your chair back around to look at your reflection, playing cool as you pretend to fix your makeup. you see taehyung shrug out of the corner of your eye. 

“what can i say? i’m an overachiever. finished early.” 

“not early enough to catch the show though, i assume.” 

“ah. yeah. that’s the disappointing part. i miss watching you dance. i never seem to catch you on stage these days,” he says, sighing with a cloud of smoke slipping past his lips.

 you click your tongue, disapproving as you reach for your powder brush. 

“you’re slipping, kim,” you say, smirking. 

“dance for me.” 

the brush stills on your cheek as you look at taehyung through the mirror. 

“what, here?” 

“mmm.” you watch him walk towards you, holding his cigarette between his lips as he reaches inside his jacket to pull out his wallet. “how much for a private show, doll?” 

standing up, you smile, reaching for his arms to guide him down onto your chair. 

“for you? free of charge,” you whisper in his ear, reaching over him to grab your phone, your chest dangerously close to his face. you hear him take a sharp breath in through his nose, smiling to yourself. 

as the music starts to play, you’re deliberately slow with your movements, letting taehyung take in every sway of your hips, eyes scanning the curves of your waist, the dip in your lower back. you’re not one to usually go all out on-stage, not when you know you have to give more than one performance on any given night, always saving your energy for your last dance. you have one more dance later tonight, but with taehyung sitting in front of you, pink lips slightly parted and eyes slightly hooded, you have no restraint. 

there’s another sharp inhale from him when you push his legs apart before dipping down low to the ground, rolling your hips as you slowly make your way back up. your hands find purchase on his knees as you grind your ass right up against his crotch, tilting your head back as you shut your eyes. taehyung mutters a quiet jesus christ through clenched teeth and you smile when you feel his hands let go of the armrests to grab onto your hips, fingertips digging into your skin. 

“are you enjoying the performance, mr. kim?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at taehyung, smirking at the way he’s bitten his lower lip hard enough to turn into a deep shade of pink. 

he’s quick to meet your eyes, the corner of his lips turning upwards before he’s reaching up to cup your cheek, pulling you closer until he can press his lips to yours. the kiss is urgent, no doubt fuelled by the knowing that he shouldn’t be here, in one of his boss’ clubs, getting too close to one of his boss’ favourite dancers like he always does. but there’s a softness there, a gentleness, as if the both of you have all the time in the world. taehyung always kisses you like this, and it doesn’t fail to get something stirring in your chest. 

the possibility of getting caught is quickly forgotten when taehyung’s hands slide down your waist to your thighs, taking your thong, the last remaining piece of clothing on your body left from your last performance, with him fingers hooked around the flimsy garter. the song has long since finished, a newer, darker, sultrier song playing that only seems to make the atmosphere heavier between the both of you. as soon as you’ve kicked your underwear away, taehyung is spinning you around, hands firm on your waist, lips pressed firmly to your neck and moving slowly towards your collarbone. 

you let out a breathy moan when he drags a thumb across your nipple, warm breath ghosting over your skin as his lips brush over your chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. nails painted a deep shade of plum comb through his hair until you can rest your hands on the back of his neck, and his hands, calloused but gentle, are pulling your thighs up to let you straddle his lap. 

you lightly scratch at the back of his head when taehyung wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking and licking with fervour as one hand slides down your stomach, down past your navel to let his fingers tease you, inching ever closer but never giving you what you want. 

“you’re such a tease,” you say, voice light with amusement. 

“you’re one to talk,” taehyung replies, pulling off your nipple with a lewd pop. “you’re on stage almost every night, but never get fully naked. all those poor men and women you taunt out there, baby...” 

“where’s the fun in th-- ah.” 

you throw your head back with a moan when the tips of his fingers brush over your clit, and you’d be embarrassed about how wet you are if you weren’t so aware of how often taehyung shifts underneath you, slacks looking too tight all of a sudden. he takes his time -- he always does -- in moving further, slipping one finger halfway, dragging it out painfully slow, and it’d be agony if you didn’t fucking enjoy it so much. 

his name leaves your lips in another airy moan, and you gasp when he finally pushes a whole finger in, and then another, and another. you can feel yourself starting to tremble, and god, he’s barely done anything and you already feel like a wreck. you’re starting to pant, pressing your cheek to his temple, his hair tickling your nose and lips, and taehyung groans quietly against your chest when you clench around his fingers as he starts to suck on your nipple again. 

“god, you are gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he desperately clings to whatever ounce of self-control he has left. ( he doesn’t have much when it comes to you; funny how he can kill a man without blinking, but struggles to say no when you’re near. ) 

“give me more, tae. i want more.” ( exhibit a. ) 

hurried fingers work quickly to undo his belt and zipper, and taehyung stumbles a little in his haste; the way you keep mouthing at his ear is no help either. he’s no jeongguk or seokjin, not as broad-shouldered or muscular as his little friends might be, but there’s a strength in taehyung that makes itself known here and there, if only in the way he carries you in one arm as he lifts himself enough to push his pants and boxers down to his knees. 

he’s completely hard, but you don’t hesitate to take his cock in your grasp, jerking your fist up and down for a moment to warm him up. he doesn’t need it, but who is he to say no? taehyung all but growls when you whisper in his ear again. 

“fuck me, mr. kim.” 

taehyung swats your hand away to grasp himself, guiding his cock into you slowly. your moans are shaky as you lower yourself down onto him, feeling so incredibly full that you’re so sure you could come just from this alone. but taehyung wants more -- he always does, and you have no problem giving him more -- and you moan with arousal when he grabs your wrists and holds them securely behind your back. 

there’s no starting slow, and taehyung leaves all complaints behind when you start to rock your hips back and forth immediately. you’re tight, and wet, and warm, and taehyung might just go crazy with how amazing you are at this part. he fixes his hold on your wrists so he can free up one hand enough to take hold of your chin, tilting your head back down so that you’re looking at him with hooded eyes. 

“god, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, resting his forehead on yours as he lowers his feet, digs his heels into the ground to anchor himself as he thrusts his hips up into you, forcing another moan out of you. your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, nails digging into your palm as you close your fists tight with anticipation. your moans turn into needy whimpers with every one of taehyung’s thrusts, stomach tensing quickly. 

“tae, please,” you whisper, pressing soft kisses to the corner of his lips in the hopes that it’ll have him take pity on you. taehyung, thankfully, seems to be in a generous mood tonight. 

“yeah, angel. you can come. come for me.” 

the sound of your moan, the way you cry out his name with your climax, fills the room, but you’re both past the point of caring whether or not someone runs into you. taehyung groans into your shoulder, resisting the urge to bite down onto you to tamper down his own moans. the feeling of you clenching around his cock quickly becomes overwhelming, and he can feel himself teetering on the edge. 

he has no chance to react with disappointment when you get off his lap. before he can voice any complaints, you’ve knelt down in between his legs, taking his cock in your hand to jerk him off, lips wrapping around the tip. 

“oh my fucking god,” he groans, throwing his head back, fingers grasping your hair as you start to suck. “fuck, baby.” 

he pulls on your hair just a little, enough for it to be felt but not be painful, hips lifting off the chair as he gets closer and closer to coming. the way you hum around his cock makes him moan louder, chest heaving, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“wanna come on my face, mr. kim?” you ask, voice low and sultry, and just a little hoarse. 

“fuck yes.” 

taehyung groans again, letting go of your hair with one hand to tilt your chin up and push your head back as you jerk him off with fast strokes. you know he’s close, if the way the pitch of his moans rises slightly, and you shut your eyes, opening your mouth just in time for the first drops of his come to land on your cheek. 

taehyung freezes as he comes, mouth stuck in a wide O as he paints your face in streaks of white. 

“jesus fuck,” he says, jaw clenched before he’s relaxing, slumping in your chair as he pants hard. he opens his eyes in time to see you standing to sit back down on his lap, only one eye open because the other had come on your eyelashes. 

“fuck.” 

“good?” you ask, grinning and licking your lips. taehyung chuckles tiredly, dragging a thumb across your cheek to wipe off some of his come, gently pushing it past your lips for you to suck on. 

“always, angel.”

#kim taehyung #taehyung #v #bts #bangtan #bangtan scenarios #mafia!au #r #anon

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Seahorse (Spencer Reid x Trans Male!Reader) SFW

Summary: Spencer and Y/N have always wanted kids. Here’s the time Spencer was brave enough to broach the subject of how they would go about it. Plus a few more times after that.

AN: @imagining-in-the-margins​ came up with the idea of Spencer’s trans bf having a baby amidst man many many prompts for Spencer x male!reader to indulge my daydreaming and I ran with this prompt.

Thank you to @writing-in-april​ for being my beta on this one! Couldn’t have done it without you, beebs <3

This is the SFW version. Here’s a link to an NSFW version of the story, but do not read that if you are under 18!

Word Count: 5.7k words

Content Warnings: Trans man is pregnant, coming off medication, allusions to Prison!Spencer.

Masterlist // Gif Credit // NSFW Version

The halls echoed with the unbridled joy of little ones calling out “Nemo” and “Dory” at the sight of the clown and surgeon fishes. Spencer bounced on the balls of his feet as he looked around the next room in search of his goal. He stopped when Y/N spared a look in his direction, away from the tank that had captured his attention for a solid five minutes.

“JJ sent me a video of a shrimp solving a Rubik’s Cube the other day.” He grinned.

Ah yes. JJ had also sent Spencer a video of little Henry swinging a mini softball bat about just like Spencer had done. For one game and one game only he had insisted, despite Y/N’s own resolve that he looked hot in the kit.

The walk through the tunnel was the slowest slog Spencer felt, but it was the only attraction in the aquarium to properly distract him. Lights above them filtered through the water, bouncing off the painted walls of the tank in a blue glow. Various species in a perfectly balanced ecosystem swam around one another without a care in the world. A particular stingray flapped its body against the glass, and three children nearby laughed at its funny shaped mouth.

“I used to sit on my mum’s shoulders when we walked through these. Touch the ceiling as if I could pet the fishes.” And Y/N’s hands stretched up over him, his eyes following a shark that slinked overhead, “When I got too old, I’d just press my nose against the glass and stare back.”

Nerves returned at the sight of a circular tank in the centre of the room holding something familiar. Seahorses curled their tails around the plants that waved together like a crowd at a concert. Little babies bobbed about the parents, translucent and wriggly.

Spencer coughed and spoke while Y/N took in the creatures, “Did you know that the seahorse is the only animal where the male carries the children?”

Suddenly his throat was dry; the words he’d been rehearsing dragged to a halt. Y/N turned to face him properly, guiding Spencer to the left as a little girl stood on tiptoe to see the seahorses as he continued to struggle.

“Well, that might not be true actually.” Spencer choked a little on his words, his voice’s volume steadily declining into a soft whisper, “I know that some human men can have babies.”

Y/N’s face clouded with doubt for a moment. Then it clicked and his face cleared, “Spencer, tell me what you’re getting at.”

Spencer twisted his hands around one another, “Have you ever thought about us having kids… biologically?” He watched Y/N’s Adam’s apple dip as he swallowed hard

“You mean like me being pregnant?”

“Yes, have you considered it an option for us?”

The conversations of other aquarium patrons were forgotten as Y/N took his gaze away from Spencer. His eyebrows were low as he considered his words carefully. Y/N always thought about the implications of what he was saying, maybe a little too much. Spencer could be biased though; his impatience did not mix well with his anxieties.

Eventually, Y/N turned back with a brave face and said, “I’d have to think about it some more.”

“Ok.” Spencer nodded, his chin wobbling a little.

There was hope though: he needed to think “some more”. Implying Y/N had thought about this before.

Near the end of their trip, Spencer did find himself in a staring contest with a little seahorse plushie with large eyes and an anatomically inaccurate tongue hanging out. In all honesty, it was kind of ugly.

“Spencer, come on. You know how I get around stuffed animals.”

How empathetic his boyfriend really was, projecting feelings of love onto the inanimate objects then making the excuse that he had to buy it now.

Spencer did have to leave the toy behind though. Out into the sunlight of the parking lot, he winced before he put his sunglasses back on.

“Park?” Y/N offered his hand and smiled. It was an olive branch, something to say that Spencer’s query had not ruined their day out together.

Spencer accepted and squeezed his hand. “Park.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Y/N had a hand on their lower belly, some space between the fingers as if there was an invisible bump there to accommodate. His head had tilted while he thumbed over the air.

As drowsy as Spencer was from work, his mind was focused without a distraction on what he had seen through the ajar bathroom door. He could barely pay attention to the Doctor Who episode Y/N put on. In fact, he doubted anything could take his attention away from the idea of having a child with-

“What do you think about me being pregnant?”

Spencer’s eyes shot wide open, then they were covered slightly by his inquisitive eyebrows in his attempt find an answer. Especially with Y/N looking on him while he waited for him.

“I think you’d be so beautiful carrying our baby. But if you wouldn’t be comfortable, then I wouldn’t make you. We still have surrogacy, fostering, adoption to consider,” was his answer. Never a lie, but the truth was always softened.

Seemingly satisfied, Y/N looked back at the episode. But Spencer couldn’t wait anymore, forgetting about anything else in the world except for this.

“What do you think, Y/N?” His body leant in towards his boyfriend’s.

Squirming in their spot on the couch, Y/N hummed before he answered, “I froze some of my eggs before I started my transition. I also sold some, for a down payment on a house or my wedding.”

Spencer’s heart thrilled at the possibilities. A house together? Matching suits at their wedding? He almost neglected to think about the fact that pregnancy was suddenly a very viable option for their future.

Regardless of Spencer’s many, many thoughts, Y/N continued, “And I thought that perhaps, if I found the right person, I would like to carry their child.” His palm opened up to him and Spencer instantly took it. “I know you’re the right person, but I’m not sure I want a baby now.”

“Of course,” Spencer lifted Y/N’s hand to his lips, “Whenever we’re both ready.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer pushed the dirty bedsheets into the washing machine; it wasn’t that big a deal. If the blood didn’t come out, then they could always buy a new set. Although they should really be saving money for decorating the nursery.

“Spenceerrrr.”

As the machine rumbled into life, Spencer returned to Y/N, curled up on the sofa with a heat pad to his gut. No amount of warnings from their doctor could have prepared Spencer for how emotionally straining it was to see his boyfriend suffering. Y/N was taking this a lot harder than Spencer – and rightfully so, it was his body that was changing.

“Why did I have to have such strong paternal instincts?” He grumbled with his eyes still closed.

Spencer let out a laugh, but it was cut off quick when Y/N whimpered loudly. He knelt down before him and cupped his face. Y/N’s cheeks were warm; his hands clung to Spencer’s wrists like a lifeline.

“What do you need?” Spencer asked softly and Y/N sighed, keening into his cooler palms.

“Can you tell me I’m handsome please?”

“You are the most handsome man in the world, and I adore you every minute of every day.” Spencer kissed Y/N’s pouting lips gently, “Handsome inside and out, I never wanna think about life without you. You just make everything in my life better.”

His fingers moved to brush away a tear that slipped down Y/N’s face and over the ridge of his nose. But he missed and it dripped onto the pillow.

“You’re doing so much for us, for our baby.”

“It’s not even real yet,” Y/N sniffled. His hands finally released Spencer and pressed the heat pad into him.

“It’s gonna be.” Spencer bumped their noses together, “We’re gonna be dads.”

A hoarse laugh met with a hint of a groan in Y/N’s chest, “Yeah. We’re gonna be dads.” That sound and those words were all Spencer needed to feel better. But he wished the same could be said for Y/N. The only thing he could provide was a promise of future relief:

“How about we order in tonight?”

“Ugh, yes.” Y/N burrowed his face into the pillow.

When their bed was made up properly, Spencer and Y/N cuddled together. Unfortunately, Y/N was restless, trying to find a comfortable position while his painkillers kicked in. Spencer kept his complaints to himself, allowing himself to be shifted around in Y/N’s hunt for relief. Honestly it was the least he could do.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“The reproductive process begins when a male and a female seahorse do daily pre-dawn dances, intertwining their tails and swimming together.”

“Well, it’s nearly nine, so definitely past dawn.”

“I’m trying to be romantic, Y/N.”

Y/N adjusted the bed sheets around his middle, “We don’t have tails either and - if I remember correctly - your last sexy swimming encounter ended poorly.”

Spencer flushed at the memory of Lila in the pool; another memory turned the pink to red. Y/N had laughed so hard his gut ached when Spencer told him about how awkward he had been around Lila. This was before the context of the case had been disclosed, promptly removing the space for any more laughter.

“Baby?”

Y/N was touching his face. Spencer’s head emptied itself of all thoughts of Lila. This was not what he wanted to be thinking about right now. Y/N’s laughter maybe, but none of the rest.

Tucking a curl behind his ear, Y/N leant in close, “If I’m ready, and you’re ready, you know what happens.” His eyes wandered down Spencer’s face, “And it’s not swimming together.”

But, just as their lips were about to touch, Y/N jerked away from him. “Wait, I gotta brush my teeth first.”

Spencer moaned with indignation while falling backwards onto the bed as Y/N disappeared from view. A few seconds later, he heard the electric toothbrush buzzing. With a burst of energy, he stripped himself down to his underwear – a petty way to get back at Y/N who had made it very clear that undressing Spencer was one of his favourite parts of their sex life.

When Y/N returned, with the minty freshness he apparently desired more than his own boyfriend, he said “What? You already did this morning?”  His eyes looked down at Spencer’s chest and his lips twitched into a pout.

Spencer held back his grin, keeping his triumph at retaliation to himself as he said, “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard, Spencer.”

And with that, Y/N crawled onto the bed, over Spencer’s body and kissed him silly. He did much more than that, enjoying their overlapping day off to the fullest before even leaving their home.

At ten to ten, sleepwear scattered about the bedroom floor, Spencer and Y/N sagged into the mattress, wrapped up in each other and the covers. The burning warmth of their bodies drew up two soporific smiles on their faces.

“You know, a seahorses’ body shape means that they’re inept swimmers, and they can actually die of exhaustion.”

Y/N poked Spencer’s sternum. “Is that your way of makin’ fun of my stamina? Give me a few minutes; I’ll be on you like a rash.”

Grinning at such a prospect, Spence continued, “They also mate for life monogamously.”

He felt two fingers touch his cheek, "Spencer, I love you and your endless fountain of knowledge.” Y/N paused to peck the corner of his lips, “But I’m not actually a seahorse. And, though I do plan to mate with you for life, if you wake me up before the sun is above the horizon for a ‘dance’, I'm gonna suffocate you with my new body pillow.”

“Oh, you got your pillow?”

“It’s en route.” Hence why Y/N was content to use Spencer in lieu of said pillow.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

When Spencer disclosed to Hotch that he would need some time off because he and Y/N were considering having a kid, first thing on a Monday morning, Hotch didn’t let anything on. There was a hint of a hint of a smile though. His eye wandered to the school photo of Jack he kept on his desk, and he was greeted with the memory that Jack almost shared a name with Emily’s cat.

Naturally, Rossi found out next. Technophobe Spencer Reid had left his computer screen on a website for baby blankets, and Rossi had been the one to pass by first. After turning the monitor off, Rossi took Spencer aside in the break room and spoke about how wonderful it was that he was going to be a father. Then he kissed both his cheeks, leaving with misty eyes and a smile that he wouldn’t explain to Penelope passing by. Spencer blinked then finished making his coffee.

The next conference room meeting – the same day and just for an update on the paperwork deadline - Spencer simply decided to drop the information that he and Y/N were planning on having a kid as if it was his thoughts on their next unsub’s motivations were.

Three seconds of silence later and an uproar exploded.

From then on, the week was filled with pokes and ribbing at his upcoming parenthood. A peek into the future.

After making her a cup of coffee, Spencer sat opposite JJ at her desk and asked for advice. Her response: offering Spencer the opportunity to babysit Henry more. Obviously he accepted; more time with his godson was always a good thing. Then she went into how parenting was just a natural thing that he would know when the time came. Not very reassuring on its own, but with his best friend’s support, Spencer felt a smidgen better.

Penelope admitted that she had saved outfit ideas on Pinterest for Spencer – among other members of the BAU. When Spencer dared to enter her lair, she showed him several. Apparently that wasn’t even a dent in her collection, and she had already placed an order on a little bow tie. Spencer left before she tried to organise a shopping trip; neither Spencer nor Y/N were really fans of retail therapy.

Derek was teasing away, “Spencer and Y/N are gonna be baby daddies.” And every single time, Emily would join in. She liked to claim she was the reason Spencer was having a kid, reminding him of when JJ was pregnant. He had been incredibly weirded out by the baby kicking, but Emily had asked if he had considered having “baby geniuses” and he never gave an answer.

To be fair, Spencer never could have seen this coming. That made it all the better.

Apart from when Derek began supplying a realm of baby names, that varied from “oh that’s actually cute” to “oh my god, why would you even consider that a name for a real child?” Spencer was happy to rank them aloud for him.

The cat was only half out of the bag though.

Now Spencer had always been affectionate when he and Y/N were together. But the second it spilled into their public lifestyle, Y/N knew something was afoot. He was quick to pick up on this when he went to collect Spencer up for a chilled date night and Spencer kissed his cheek in clear view of the entire bullpen.

“You told them, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t wait, but I do have my paternity leave arranged!”

The team swarmed to deliver their congratulations. And it was then that they revealed that they all thought that Spencer and Y/N were planning to adopt or look for a surrogate. Their embraces didn’t spoil the unexpected second part of their announcement; Y/N looked like he’d simply put on a few pounds rather than gained a baby bump beneath his button-up. Naturally, there was even more of a hubbub than before when they discovered that Y/N was already pregnant.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “Spencer, baby, you gotta calm it with the ocean theme.”

“But…” he pouted, holding up the finished mobile. Brightly painted sea creatures and chunks of coral dangled delicately in a circle. Sure enough, there were orange seahorses hovering about their habitat.

“It’s very sweet and I adore you for it,” Y/N kissed Spencer. “Not everything has to be related to seahorses though.”

“I guess not.” Spencer’s defeated tone did not last long. His face brightened and he whipped a blanket adorned with little seahorses and bubbles at the edges out of the cot. “But - this online store was taking commissions, and you always say support small businesses!”

Thank god Y/N had been the one in charge of painting the walls. An underwater mural would have been a step too far.

“You, Doctor Spencer Reid, are so…” Y/N’s hands were up in the air between them, searching for an adjective to describe Spencer appropriately. Then he settled those hands on his shoulders and Y/N kissed him.

When they drew away, Spencer spoke, “I’m so what?”

Y/N shrugged, “Just so.” He kissed him again, lingering longer than before and smiling as Spencer’s hands touched the obtrusive roundness of his belly that pressed into Spencer’s stomach. They were so close to meeting their little bubba.

“So are you.”

“Ok, don’t have a go, I bought this before the ban,” Y/N held out a gift, wrapped in sea-green tissue paper and bearing a blue bow.

Folding the blanket neatly over the bars of the cot, Spencer eagerly yet daintily unwrapped the present. As the tissue paper fell to the carpet, his hands trembled.  Eyes shining, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the latest scan that was framed by tiny seahorses to thank Y/N.

There was more still, as Y/N explained, “There’s another behind there. I’ve seen the state of the one in your wallet.”

“It got caught at the bottom of the pouch,” Spencer said quietly, unbending the catch on the back of the frame. Sure enough, two of the same photographs spilled into his waiting palm. Truth be told, Spencer had already taped his torn photo together again and it was going to stay in his wallet. This spare would be in the post soon, on its way over to his mother. God, she was so excited to hold a baby again. The photo album would have to do for now.

“Could you maybe recant the ocean ban? Because I saw this and I knew it would really go well with the blanket and the mobile.”

Sighing, Y/N’s head tilted back, “What is it?”

The pretence of annoyance couldn’t be maintained towards Spencer’s face beaming back at him as he held up a wonky looking seahorse plushie. It wasn’t the same one he’d seen before. Some heartfelt child had taken pity on that one and given it a forever home. No, this was a perfect little present for his bubba.

Y/N thought so too as he let a grin settle onto his face.

“Ok, we can keep this one. But no more from now, alright?”

“I suppose. Besides, our baby isn’t our seahorse. You are!”

“You better not buy us a fish tank for my birthday.” A spike of nerves hit Y/N when he couldn’t quite catch Spencer’s eye to confirm his word. “Spencer? Promise me... Spencer!”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “How are you feeling, Baby Daddy?” Derek hugged Y/N who was reclined in his bed. His body pillow propped him up for his visitors.

Y/N wrinkled his nose, “For once, I wish I was a real seahorse and I could have just sneezed her out.”

Katia Nikola Reid definitely looked like she’d been sneezed on when she first entered the world, screaming her teaspoon-sized lungs out. Named after a hero of both Y/N and Spencer, one day old, bundled in a blanket, she scowled at Spencer’s dopey face looming over her while Emily held her tight.

A hoard of presents huddled in the corner of Spencer and Y/N’s bedroom. Emily thought it’d be a great idea to bring the baby an Ikea shark that was bigger than the child – and would definitely take up around half of her cot.

“She’s already got him wrapped around her pinky finger.”

“Yes, she does,” Spencer agreed giddily.

Next, Derek took her in his arms, untucking her arms from the blanket swaddle to give her a fist bump. He swayed her about the room while Katia relaxed a little more. The deep humming in his chest soothed the wrinkles on her forehead. Katia stretched as if to touch his face, and her mouth gaped at him.

“Aww, baby genius is ready for a nap.” Derek yawned too, “Who’s gonna micromanage me while I put her down?”

“Me! Me!” Y/N said, his enthusiasm muted by tiredness. Spencer leapt to his side, helping him out of bed, his teammates watching fondly as he did so. Y/N was allowed out the room first, Derek close behind and clicking his tongue at little Katia.

“She’s so sweet,” Emily said, her eyes on the pair’s backs and the dangling loose blanket from under Derek’s left arm. “I’m so happy for you both.” And she hugged Spencer tight; Emily always gave such good hugs. Good thing she was going to be around to give plenty to his daughter.

Then, down the hall, he heard Derek say with sarcastic resignation, “Oh Spencer, I thought Y/N was kidding when he said no more seahorse themed items.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Y/N ended up climbing into the bathtub with Katia. Even as she had grown into her chubby features, looking more and more like him and Spencer with each passing day, she was still so small.

Sitting up with her in his lap to help her out, Y/N lowered her into the warm water. His fingers tenderly rubbed the blackcurrant scented soap on her tummy, copying her expression as her tongue poked out between her gums. Her jerking legs rejected the water that Y/N’s hands cupped to rinse the bubbles off.

“Oh!” Y/N said in surprise as Katia sneezed, “Bless you.”

He heard the front door go, but he let Spencer follow the clues to their bathroom. Sure enough, the Doctor soon entered with his jacket shed, already rolling his sleeves up as he dropped onto the bathmat. A hand curled at Y/N’s chin as he kissed him before it stroked over the damp wisps of hair on Katia’s head.

“Hello. Hi.” His voice was that bit more delicate as he caught Katia’s eye and welcomed her big gappy smile.

Y/N tilted his head towards Spencer. “Good day?”

“I missed you both.” Spencer swished the water around by Katia’s side, “Isn’t it incredible how she’s experiencing all of this for the first time?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Spencer giggled away as the surrounding bathwater yellowed and Katia flapped her arms.

“Mind your language.” He said without any weight to his warning, “Our little girl can’t help it.” Then he stood and prepared her towel, a deep-sea blue that brought out her eyes. “Can I feed her tonight?”

“Of course, baby,” Y/N agreed as he lifted Katia out of the tub, where Spencer caught her and bundled her up with skilled speed. As he dried her off, Katia cooed away to herself. She did get a little pissed off when he dressed her up in a clean nappy and a sleepsuit, but Spencer couldn’t take her crumpled expression seriously without the tears.

The rocking chair had to be one of his best investments for his daughter’s room. It soothed Katia from the darkest of tantrums, a familiarity that swayed her. She fit so perfectly into Spencer’s arms and he fit so contentedly into the seat. Her eyelashes fluttered slowly shut as she drank more milk.

Not quite strong enough to sit up on her own, Katia leant fully into Spencer’s hand while he burped her – thankfully not for long. Then it was off into her cot.

Y/N watched him from the doorway as Spencer stroked the apple of Katia’s cheek while she drifted off into slumber. An effortless smile danced on his lips even as he switched the lamp off and welcomed Y/N over to see their sleeping babe.

“Love seeing you with her, Old Daddy Spencer teaching her everything she’ll need to know.” The kiss that followed was certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s nursery, so he took Y/N by the hand, leading him into the hallway. Even then, between the short pecks that pressed against his lips, Y/N continued to talk, “Is this how you felt while I was pregnant?”

Breath hot against his face, Spencer swallowed hard while Y/N said, “Seeing my handsome boyfriend carrying our child? I think I get it now.”

His hand slipped up Spencer’s shirt. It was crystal clear what his intentions were. Spencer was already close to panting when he pulled Y/N flush against him. With more desperation this time, they fumbled around their home until they made it to their bed. Spencer’s hands aligned with the stretch marks on Y/N’s thighs as he grabbed them and pulled him on top.

He huffed as Y/N’s teeth tugged and released his bottom lip, “We have to be quiet.”

“I can be quiet.” Y/N ripped off his shirt in one smooth movement, “Can you?”

Spencer couldn’t give an answer. Instead he pulled Y/N back against him as they fell onto their sheets.

Their first time in months, it didn’t last very long, but it was exactly what they needed.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The biggest surprise of the evening was that Rossi put down his drink to hold Katia. To be fair though, he had already had a few. Hence why he was singing and dancing around the garden with Katia in his arms. What a sight to behold, it eased the pain of Derek and Hotch’s absence, their own kids to take care of now.

Eventually Rossi relented, allowing Penelope to take Katia, turning to Y/N who had kept a watchful eye on his actions, “Promise me you’ll bring her over when she’s allowed to eat food.”

“I can’t give her your food for her first taste. She’ll be disappointed for the rest of her life,” Y/N joked, Rossi letting out a boisterous laugh that made Katia giggle in turn.

Penelope got to hold Katia next and show her off to Henry who was very intrigued to learn more about his godsister – Spencer told him that was who Katia was and it stuck. Henry became Penelope’s little shadow until they found a seat for him and a cushion for his lap to hold the baby. His joy unbridled at such a responsibility was adorable. He posed for many photos, while Katia for once stayed quiet.

Spencer was tired but the best kind of tired. A night in with friends, watching his boyfriend and his daughter be welcomed as much as he was, it wasn’t a surprise but it was always a delight. And this moment right now, Y/N cradling Katia’s with one hand squeezing her little foot before he planned to take her into Rossi’s office? What a life they had cultivated together. As he sipped his drink, the bliss in his tummy was not doused by it.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Slouching on the sofa, Spencer watched with tired eyes as Katia stumbled in the room, her hands held in Y/N’s while she waddled between his legs. Her round face lit up at the sight of Spencer. Her pace increased beyond her abilities and Katia swung forward a little as she almost fell over.

“Oh dear,” Y/N cooed while Katia got back to her unstable feet. “That’s it, there we go.”

Spencer wished he had the energy to properly appreciate this moment, especially since both his boyfriend and their daughter were grinning like they shared a secret.

Katia dropped down onto her nappy-cushioned bottom then began to crawl over to Spencer’s feet. His hands, although dirty, rough and near ruined, accepted her offer and lifted Katia up into his lap. They stayed for safety around her middle, keeping her sat up straight as she looked on him with those big eyes. Eyes that were fresh and untainted copies of his own.

Y/N sat down beside Spencer, leaning in close to Katia so he caught her attention, “Hey, why don’t you show your Daddy what we’ve been practicing?”

Looking away from both her Dads, Katia drooled and pushed her fist in her mouth. Y/N waved until he and Spencer were back into her line of sight.

“Go on, sugar plum.” He pointed to Spencer, “Who’s that?” And he mouthed the answer to her.

“Dadadadadada.”

It was barely above a whisper. But her little grin, the top of a tooth poking out of the centre of her bottom gums, the way Katia looked at Spencer when she said it? A soft “oh” fell from Spencer’s lips and he clutched her close, her chubby arms barely reaching around his neck. His breath shaking out of him, he kissed the thick thatch of hair that had sprouted in his absence. He could feel Katia whispering “Dadadadada!” again.

“That’s me, Katia, I’m your Dada.” He sniffed back the sting in his eyes at the absolute proof that, in his time away from her, she had remembered him. When he moved away, placing Katia back into his lap, he closed his eyes as Katia’s scrabbling fingers rubbed across the tip of his nose.

Katia made a sudden attempt to stand, throwing her entire bodyweight towards Spencer. Spencer’s breath was snatched from his lungs and the tension remained even after he caught her with ease.

“You ok?” Y/N said and Spencer noticed that his hand was supporting his against Katia.

Spencer nodded weakly, “Hmm, you?”

“Better now.” Y/N let his hand go and began rubbing Spencer’s back in the same circular motions that Spencer rubbed Katia’s.

A tug snagged Spencer’s head to the left and he tutted as Katia grabbed at his cheek, “Ow, Katia, no.”

Instead, Katia took a fistful of the next thing she could find, which was Spencer’s hair, and she cried out an identical (if higher pitched) “Ow!”

“You hurt Spencer, not the other way around, Katia. Stop faking.” Y/N scolded playfully.

But Katia repeated Spencer’s outburst again, “Ow!”

Y/N lifted Katia’s little fist from Spencer’s hair, and it immediately clamped down on Spencer’s finger as an alternative to wave about.

Spencer kissed her hand, still so tiny and forgiving against his. He looked at Y/N, blinking fast as he half-heartedly said, “She’s so like you.”

The lock of hair Katia had yanked on curved around Y/N’s touch as he put it back into the disarray of fluff that stood around Spencer’s head, “That’s funny, because I think she’s so like you.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Tilting the pram onto its back wheels, Spencer pushed it up the step and into the aquarium tunnel. Katia lay back in her seat while gumming on her blanket corner. Her eyes were ready to take in the sights.

Y/N knelt before her, suffering a few kicks to his knees from Katia’s excitement. Her pram clips were undone. Little Katia was released into her Daddy’s arms then plonked up onto his shoulders. Her starfish-like hands pressed up against the glass. Her mouth became as wide as her eyes as she pointed at the stingray rippling past. She had seen fish before (Carl and Rosalind at home) but never like this.

“Yeah, that’s a ray, Katia,” Y/N rubbed his fingers over her back, his hands still to keep her steady.

Spencer pointed his finger right next to hers, “They use their electro-sensors, not their eyes, to find their meals which consists of shrimps, clams, and -”

Katia shrieked – interrupting his and she smacked her hands against the glass. No one seemed to mind though. Some patrons in the tunnel even chuckled at her behaviour. Like she needed any more encouragement, especially with Y/N grinning up at her and tickling her sides to elicit more laughter from his daughter.

When Spencer’s hand dropped, Katia shouted again. A little confused, he returned it and Katia took his finger in her hand then began dragging the tip across where the ray was.

“She wants it as a pet, what do you say, baby?”

“I thought you said not to get you any fish for your birthday.”

Eventually Katia was returned to the pram. Her head was thrown back to watch the rest of the tunnel go by. Then she hid her face in her blankie once they were out in the last few exhibits. There was a little tug of war to get her to let it go (she was a lot stronger than Y/N gave her credit for) and see the one other exhibit that both parents were invested in.

Taking her hand again, Spencer squatted beside the pram. “Hey look, the men seahorsies have the babies. They’re just like your Daddy.”

“Your favourite Daddy,” Y/N ruffled Spencer’s hair while Spencer pretended to be outraged. Katia caught onto the dramatic expression Spencer was wearing and copied him with a gasp added for good measure.

“What d’you reckon, any of these were babies when we went to visit last time?”

“Well, Y/N, the lifespan of these seahorses is approximately a year. So they could be.” He knew it was unlikely but, for the sake of the smiles on Y/N’s and Katia’s face, Spencer let it be.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x trans male reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing #wc: 5k+ #r: male #r: trans male #katia is named after a character in professor layton and nikola tesla

[creativitytoexplore]

A Book to Live By by M.E. Proctor https://ift.tt/2AfjoEZ In a dystopian future, Jake goes scavenging for food and finds a greater treasure.

Jake walked by the memorial at the foot of the wall every day. He remembered it when it was fresh, when the wreaths were bright and the toys didn't look like escapees from the landfill. It appeared in the early days of the Big Hope surge, when the first babies were taken to the orbiter. The orbiter was a bright beacon of optimism. People looked up as it sailed by shining like a shooting star. The news bulletins claimed the orbiter was the future and everybody believed it. Soon, the stories went, the shuttles would come down and take everybody up there where life would be so much better. It was the Big Hope, all right. From the start, Jake believed it was the Big Bullshit Illusion. The orbiter was too small. Oh, it was a sizable ball of light, and maybe it could hold all the people in town, but it certainly couldn't hold all the people from all the towns everywhere. Even with the wars overseas, the sicknesses brought by the bad air and the foul water, and the crazy weather upheavals, it was still a lot of people. And questionable people too. Jake doubted anybody would want to zap up Rudy Two Fists or Glenda the Mouth, or even Seb, his best friend, who was sweet-natured and could tell jokes that would rip you in two, but was zonked out of his head three quarters of the time. Jake doubted anybody would want a street kid like him on the blasted orbiter. Granted, he could read and write, and make sums well enough to avoid being taken by hustlers, but how could that be sufficient to punch his ticket? Unless hustlers made it to the orbiter too. That would be funny. Maybe the orbiter was just like this crap town. Maybe they had their Rudy who beat up those who stood in his way and even those who didn't, and a Glenda who could do things with her tongue you wouldn't believe. Jake was hungry. It was time to go to Riverdale. There was a house over there, a white cube on top of the hill, with bins that always contained something tasty. The people who lived in that house were tidy. They took the trash out before it started to stink. Maybe they would be good candidates for the orbiter. Getting to the food was risky because of the prowler. Riverdale was wealthy, but not unfathomably rich. The truly loaded lived in locked estates out of town where even the garbage bins had alarm systems. Riverdale was still somewhat reachable. Cautiously reachable. The neighborhood paid for the cop in the prowler. Jake had mapped in his head the dark spots between the light poles, and the location of bushes big enough to hide him. Sometimes the prowler didn't turn its lights on and would sneak up on you. The car engine was very quiet. Not like the vehicles down by the tidal basin where Jake lived, that were sputtering and clanking. He listened. The neighborhood was silent except for the buzz of street lights. The hunger was somewhere down in his stomach, subdued. He knew exactly when his insides would start to hurt. He crawled around a boxwood hedge and looked up. The house was a ghost in the night, a perfect cube. He imagined drawing dots on the sides, like dice. What if it rolled down the hill? Would he score a big six? He perceived a slight variation in the buzzing sound. The damn prowler! He dropped flat on the ground. Suddenly there was a white stream of light and a booming sound. Three sharp shots echoed in the night, followed by a muffled cry. The prey was down. Jake sat on his heels behind the hedge. He didn't feel any sympathy for the fallen scavenger. He was a competitor and the prowler did him a favor tonight. Its work done, the prowler slipped away, bright headlights painting the downhill street. Jake didn't understand why the prowler always went back to base. Why didn't the cop continue the hunt? Where there was one scavenger there could be more. Jake whispered a soft prayer, words to say in the night when danger was avoided. His mother knew appropriate words for every possible event. She learned them from a book that was lost during one of their frequent moves. They moved so many times. This was the longest Jake ever stayed in one place, because, frankly, there was no reason to go anywhere. There never was a reason, but his mother couldn't give up the hope that was always around the next corner. Now she was gone and Jake stayed put. He peeked around the boxwood. The street was empty. No sound except the cicada drone of the lights. The house was protected by a high fence with razor sharp spikes on top. Jake had climbed over it twice, once to get in and once to get out. The spikes gave him such a fright that he puked the dinner he worked so hard to get. He feared that the next time he would be so scared of the spikes he would cut himself to ribbons. So, he found another way in. Under the fence. Digging the hole and figuring out how to conceal it was hard work. Now, all he had to do was wipe off the loose dirt, remove the piece of wood that closed the hole, slip under the fence and push up the wood cover on the other side. He used a cardboard tube pushed through the fence to cover the lid with dirt after each expedition. It was a good trick, efficient. Jake went up the hill to the house. The garbage bins were in the back, near the garage entrance. He made a large circle to avoid the motion-activated lights. He was almost caught once when the garage doors opened and triggered the lights. It was the owner coming back late at night, in a car that was as quiet as the prowler. One of the bins was almost full. Jake pulled on a pair of gloves and unslung his backpack. Sometimes there was barely enough to fill his pockets. This was a night of plenty. Half a loaf of bread, only slightly moldy, a pack of cheese slices fuzzy green along the top, two oranges, soft but still edible, a bruised apple, a box of stale crackers. The other bin was only half full. Jake retrieved two cans of soup and a can of tuna. They were well past their sell-by date but that didn't bother him. And then, wonderful surprise, half a pizza! Still in the box! Still smelling like heaven! It awoke his hunger, with a vengeance. He folded the box. It barely fit in the backpack. On the other side of the fence, behind the boxwood, Jack ate two slices of bread and one of the oranges. Being so close to the food, with the smell of pizza filling the air, the hunger was unbearable. His fingers hovered over the pizza box but he resisted. He would savor that at home, safe behind locked doors. He went down the street, using the same precautions as before, from one patch of shadow to the next, behind the bushes. He bumped into something. It was the wheel of a bicycle. Nobody left such a prize possession in the open. It couldn't have been there long. Jake guessed it belonged to the prey bagged by the prowler. The cop must not have seen the bike or he would have taken it. It was a good bike, solid and heavy. A small cargo trailer was attached to the rear wheel. Jake hesitated. He would be a big target on this thing. On the other hand, he couldn't pass on the opportunity. He didn't have to keep it; he could sell it. Sam Robichaux would pay good money for it. Jake pulled the bike out of its hiding place. He quickly found his balance and his feet rested on the pedals naturally. The owner of the bike must have been as tall as he was. He went down the steep street cautiously at first, then gained speed. It was exhilarating. The air was as smoky, thick and funky as usual, but when it hit his face it felt almost fresh. He wanted to whoop in joy. He negotiated the sharp turn at the bottom of the hill deftly and slowed down as he approached the dangerous crossing with the highway. Trucks barreled down that road and they didn't stop for anything. Jake was about to pedal across when a black shape emerged from the night. It was a van, no lights, silent, followed by two long dark cars. An official convoy. Probably bound for the spaceport north of town. The wind of the cars' swift passage ruffled Jake's hair. The gigantic flash of light came first, then a thunderous blast. The force of the explosion swept Jake, the bike and the trailer into a ditch. The filthy trench saved his life when a tornado of debris blew over him. He scrambled up the side of the ditch. The convoy vehicles were burning. Jake pulled the bike and the trailer out of the ditch. Dirty but otherwise okay. It was a terrible idea but he wanted to see what was left of the convoy. As he approached the site, he understood what happened. A fuel truck backing out of Don Amato's garage smashed into the convoy's lead vehicle. Boom. Amato's garage, the gas pumps, oil cans, old grease and tire supply were ablaze. There wasn't much left of the fuel truck and two of the convoy's vehicles. One car was on its side, smashed against the pole topped with Amato's broken neon sign. The car windows were blown out. A man's body was hanging out of the windshield. Another man was crushed under the car. All Jake could see were his shoes sticking out. Black, shiny. That would fetch something at market. He surmounted his repugnance and yanked off the shoes. He dropped them in the bike trailer. Better be quick, cops would show up soon, and other scavengers. He riffled through the pockets of the man stuck in the windshield and retrieved a wallet. Money, pictures, an ID card. He gave a brief look at the inside of the car and jumped back, startled. A face streaked with blood stared at him. A girl. "Help me," she said. "I can't move."

Cathy's head was ringing. One of her eyes was glued shut. She couldn't feel anything below the neck. She thought: "Great, my spine is broken. So many years, so much knowledge and now I'm crippled. Ain't that a riot!" Strong arms pulled her out of the car and lifted her. A foul smell surrounded her. "You're badly hurt," a voice said. "I'm taking you to the hospital." No, that won't do! Cathy's body was as inert as a load of wet laundry. "No hospital, no police," she said. "Please." She craned her neck and saw a tall slender silhouette. A kid on a bicycle; she was in a trailer. "Okay," the kid said, "but you're gonna die." He got the bike rolling, Cathy saw a dirty ponytail, lean muscles working under a dirty shirt. That's where the offending smell came from. The ride was fast. Down a road, up another, along streets zigzagging between old buildings, not a light anywhere, all windows blind. Then a smooth curve along the flat expanse of a black beach. Cathy smelled the sea, the rotten cloying stench of seaweed, and from time to time the unexpected aroma of pizza. Pizza? The mouth-watering smell came from a backpack in the trailer. The bicycle went down a gravel driveway. There was a structure ahead. It looked like a shed. The kid carried her out of the trailer and put her down on a mattress that smelled of mothballs. Cathy slept. When she woke up, she saw a glass of water and a slice of pizza on a shred of newspaper next to her pillow. The bicycle and the trailer were in a corner of the shed. The kid was nowhere around. Her right arm was still limp, but the left one was awake. Needles stabbed her cruelly from shoulder to fingers. The pain was good news; it meant her spine wasn't broken. She managed to get to a sitting position. She could move the toes of both feet and that was reassuring even if the shape of her right leg was terribly wrong. Surprisingly there was no pain down there. She drank the water, ate the pizza, and fell asleep again. The kid was in a corner of the shed, cleaning the bike, and speaking in a soft voice when Cathy stirred. Some kind of poem. She stifled a moan. The kid heard her and came running. He had bathed and his clothes were clean. No more foul smell! "You're awake, and you're no longer paralyzed," he said. His voice was pleasant, musical. "I guess you won't die. I'm Jake. Do you need to use the bathroom?" He was very considerate, very polite. "I'm Cathy," she said. "Thank you for getting me out of the car. I think I have a broken leg. I can't get to the bathroom on my own." He put a shoulder under her left arm, grabbed her waist, and carried her to a small cubicle in a corner. He sat her on the toilet. He was gentle for such a big, rangy, rawboned boy. There was a sink, a bar of soap and a ragged towel. He filled the sink and told her to call him if she needed help. Later, Jake cooked soup and the moldy bread made good sandwiches with the cheese. For the first time since she escaped, Cathy filled her stomach. She told Jake she was infinitely grateful and apologized for depleting his supplies. He shrugged in a funny way. "The night was good," he said. "We take it as it comes, right?" He muttered another little poem, something about currents. "Is that a prayer?" Cathy said. "The words are sort of familiar, but the way you say them... Is it your faith?" "I'm not religious," Jake said. "My mother memorized a book. I like the music of the words. I'm saying them when I'm out there, at night, or in here, to keep myself company. It feels good and it reminds me of my mother. Sometimes I sing the words, or I speak them as if I was on a stage. For my own, uh, pleasure? Does that sound stupid?" "Not at all," Cathy said. "Jake? I can't stay here. I'm putting you in danger." He hiked his shoulders as if she'd said the most absurd thing. "The men who died in the cars worked for very powerful people. Once they figure out that I'm not dead, they'll look for me. I have something they want. I escaped, and they want me back." "Escaped?" Jake said. "From where?" She pointed a finger at the ceiling. "The orbiter? You were on the orbiter?" He pushed away from her, slack-jawed. "And you escaped? They say it's paradise up there. Escaped? But you're what? Fifteen, sixteen, like me? They only take babies up there." "I'm much, much older than you," Cathy said. "Like twenty times older." She laughed at the expression on his face. "I'm not crazy, Jake. Or a vampire or something. I have a condition. I age very slowly. That's why I was on the orbiter. Space travel takes a long time, you see. You put young people in a space craft and by the time they get to destination, they're dead. They would have to make babies on the way to have a chance at colonizing anything. A ship filled with people like me, the chances are better." She shrugged. "So they poke me, test me, take samples to try to replicate that thing I have." "They replicate on babies?" Jake said. He looked horrified. "What about that thing where they put you to sleep for the voyage? Is that a crock of shit, like the Big fucking Hope, a lie to keep us all quiet down here believing that one day we could go somewhere else that's clean and healthy?" Cathy laughed. "Hey, I'm just an abnormality! I don't know anything! I just don't want them to work on me anymore. Maybe one day, they would kill me to see how I'm different inside." She told him that she hid aboard a transport bound for the surface, and she was lucky for almost a week. Then she was caught trying to steal food. The cops tagged her and her DNA lit alarm signals. The men in the black cars came and took her. "I can't stay here, Jake. They'll turn the entire town upside down to find me."

Cathy was in no condition to go anywhere. Her arms and hands were working but her legs couldn't support her. She begged Jake to reset the broken bone, an operation that she endured with more fortitude than Jake whose heart was in his throat. He was more effective at rigging a splint, maybe because she was unconscious by then and his hands shook less when he could not see her eyes. Cathy ate like a bird but still the bounty from the Riverdale house didn't last. Jake went out for food and information. He left the bike in the shed and wandered behind the ruins of Don Amato's garage. The site was circled by yellow tape that flapped in the wind. He shot a quick glance at the carcass of the fuel truck. What was left of the other vehicles had been removed. By now, the investigators would know that the girl was still alive. Jake pushed the heat-deformed door of the shed behind Amato's workshop. The smell of smoke and cooked chemicals was strong and he wrapped a bandana over his nose and mouth. His objective was the closet in the back where Amato kept spare tools and replacement parts. Under a mess of tumbled metal sheets and molten electrical wires, he found a treasure throve of screwdrivers, hammers, pliers, and drill bits. He filled his backpack with as much as he could carry. Sam Robichaux was surprised to see him. "I thought you'd been picked up. There's cop activity all over town. What have you got?" The tools were good quality. Sam knew better than ask where they came from. Found, stolen, swapped, it was all the same to him. This was a recycling economy and possession was better than title. They bargained hard. Jake exchanged the tools for four cans of tuna, a sack of stale bread rolls and five apples. Sam added a bag of hard candy. "Bonus," he said. "Don't go break a tooth on these now, y' hear!" Seb was in his usual lair, a cellar by the tidal basin. Jake caught him at the right time. Seb had scored a batch of pills and planned to go through all of them. He had only taken one when Jake crawled into the shelter and he was still coherent. Seb's reckless way of life made him a valuable source of information. He navigated in a dangerous world of dealers and addicts who kept a wary eye on anybody with the power to lock them up. The gossip in town was all about the accident on the freeway. "The cops say it was a bomb," Seb said. Jake didn't have to feign surprise. A bomb? Seb giggled. He tapped the side of his nose in that quaint gesture he copied from old gangster movies. "It's a pretext. They yell terrorism and they barge into houses and shops. It started this afternoon on the east side, and they put up road blocks. Glenda the Mouth says they lost something. Something that was in one of the cars." He stared at Jake, a deep frown creasing his prematurely wrinkled forehead. "You wouldn't know, would you?" Sometimes Seb was freakishly prescient. Luckily for Jake, the pill was starting to kick in. "Jake? Would you mind saying some of these poems of yours that are like songs?" Soon Seb was smiling and drifting, totally absorbed by the colorful tapestry his mind was weaving to accompany Jake's soft voice. Jake pocketed a few pills. Cathy would need them, for the pain.

"My friend says they're searching house to house," Jake said. "We'll leave right away. I'll pack food, supplies and warm clothes. There's a nasty storm coming. That's good for us. Once the weather hits, the cops will have to interrupt the search." He gave her Seb's pills. Jake planned to go west, along the tidal basin. The area was sparsely populated, and there were no roads to speak of, only paths through the sandy dunes. It would be hard and slow and he would have to walk the bike most of the way. They wouldn't be able to cover a lot of ground fast, but it was doubtful they would run into any road blocks. Jake put two gallons of water in the trailer, packed the food in a bucket, gathered candles, a lantern and matches, a screwdriver and a hammer from Amato's locker that he hadn't sold to Sam, and the shoes retrieved from the dead man in the car. He slipped a knife in a sheath on his belt and put the dead man's wallet in a pocket of his windbreaker. They would need the money; they had little to trade. Cathy was on her side in the trailer, the broken leg propped on blankets. The night was quiet, with only a sliver of moon occasionally visible between heavy storm clouds. Jake rummaged among boxes, found a tarp, and used it to cover Cathy. He pedaled the length of the driveway and paused to listen. This was the time of night when even the thieves were asleep. He turned right, away from town, and took a dirt path between two houses. An old man spent the night in that alley, sleeping in a cardboard box. Jake heard the snores from ten yards away. The path was narrow; the trailer cleared the box by an inch. The snores never varied. Jake silently recited words of gratitude from one of his mother's poems. He was happy to breathe in the stench of slimy algae from the tidal basin. He muttered: "We're at the seaside." Cathy didn't answer. The pills were working. Pushing the bike through gravel and river rocks mixed with sand and debris washed ashore by the storms was tough going. "We'll be on hard sand soon," Jake whispered. He was glad he pocketed the drugs; Cathy would have felt every bump. Progress was smoother at the tide line but Jake was soon coated in sweat. When the storm broke, he welcomed the rain. The sun rose in a murky sky, its pale rays filtered by clouds as ragged as a thousand-year-old shroud. They were out of the tidal basin by then and on a long stretch of beach that curved gently north. They could keep going for another couple of hours before having to leave the water's edge to hide in the dunes. Jake remembered seeing a map in Sam Robichaux's shop. There were villages beyond the dunes, in the flatlands, but no major town, and hills further north, then mountains and the great plains, grass for thousands of miles. It would be a miracle if they made it that far. It rained heavily all day and Jake busied himself with the bucket, collecting water. Cathy begged him to hide under the tarp with her. If he sat in a corner, she could fit between his stretched legs, with her back leaning against his chest. It was weirdly intimate. "Will you sing one of your prayers? They remind me of church when I was a little girl. We went to that big cathedral, and the monks were singing, and my heart went up into the tall tower and into the sky, so high, higher than the orbiter." Jake had never seen a cathedral or a monk. They didn't exist anymore, not for at least a hundred years. "When was that?" he said, and his voice caught a little. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know. "I don't remember," Cathy said. "Please, sing." "All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show thee me," Jake chanted. He liked the cadence, like a circle closing upon itself. He flushed when he realized it was a love poem and it was the first time he thought of Cathy that way. She looked up at him, smiling. "I think I know where that comes from." She threw him another line: "Now is the winter of our discontent," and he completed the verse to her utter delight. "Arrows of outrageous fortune," she said, and he replied with the monologue from the beginning. "If only I knew what it meant," Jake said. "Have you ever heard of William Shakespeare?" Cathy said. "He wrote poems and plays centuries ago. He was famous. Your mother must have owned a book of his works." She chuckled. "There are worse books to live your life by." At sunset, they set off again along the darkened beach. It had stopped raining and the sky was clear, crowded with bright stars. They stopped when the orbiter passed above their heads and waited till it faded over the horizon. It struck Jake as a bad omen as if this unblinking eye could spot them, and he pushed the bike with renewed energy. They rested during the day under a small battered lean-to and Jake rigged a small pole and line. He caught fish. That would make their food supply last longer but he worried about water. He shouldn't have. A monster storm came raging from the north and battered the coast for days. Water for drinking and bathing was no longer an issue. Keeping warm was. They took cover in a pine forest. Progress was easier on the pine needle-strewn floor than on the hard sand, but the trees leaned dangerously and thunderous crashing told of the storm's devastating power. There was no difference between day and night. Hours were uniformly dark. They were down to their last can of tuna when they reached the village, ten small cabins gathered around a large barn. Jake wanted to trade in the hammer for food but the woman who was in charge of the community told him to keep it. He would need it to help repair the barn that was their only strong shelter. The storm was getting close. It was snapping trees as if they were toothpicks. The village needed all the help it could get. The arrangement was agreed with a handshake. Jake and Cathy had found a home.

The weak signal was spotted by a weather drone badly battered by the storm. The device was hovering along the foothills, and was right above the village when it transmitted its crucial information. Analysts aboard the orbiter studied the data. Major cities along the coast were in the direct path of the destructive storm. Authorities on the ground begged for help with evacuations. Thousands had died already and millions were at risk. The powerful AI that parsed the data separated the anomalous signal from the weather information and forwarded it to the appropriate department. It was a coded blip from a security chip. The chip was embedded in the ID card of Agent John McCluskey who had died in a fiery crash three weeks earlier.

The squad surrounded the village at dawn. Nobody heard them coming. Cathy and Jake were having breakfast in the barn when three heavily armed troopers barged in. A young woman in a crisp dark suit was behind them. She didn't carry a gun. "You did surprisingly well, Cathy," the woman said, "surviving weeks on your own. Come with us and nobody will be harmed." Jake stood by the girl, knife in hand. "You found yourself a knight. Cute. Do you know what she is, young man?" Cathy found her voice. "Jake will kill me if I ask him," she said. The woman laughed. It was a clear laughter, not sinister at all. "You're extremely hard to kill, Cathy. What will it take to make you lower that knife, Jake?" "I don't want to leave her, Ma'am," Jake said. The woman shrugged. "The storm will flatten this area in a few hours. What do you say, Cathy? We evacuate the villagers, and your friend Jake of course, if you agree to come home with me." Cathy leaned on the table to get up. She grabbed Jake's arm for support, and looked up at him with weary resignation. "Let's go, kids. The storm is coming," the woman said. "Ma'am?" Jake said. "Do you have books on the orbiter?" The woman frowned, puzzled. "We do, of course. And works of art. Humanity's major achievements, a repository of everything beautiful ever made. You're looking for something in particular?" Jake sheathed his knife. "I want to read everything Shakespeare ever wrote, Ma'am," he said.

#FICTION on the WEB short stories

[reganapologists]

Lily of the Nile Blue Eyes

Summary: Negan is freshly widowed, taking Lucille’s passing hard. He’s also the recently made owner of a flower shop. He runs into Rick – a tattoo artist – and suddenly Lucille’s passing isn’t so suffocating anymore. Thanks to Lucille?

Word Count:   2448

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Negan x Rick

Warnings: Modern! AU – so no zombies. Foul Language, Sexual Imagery and Language, Negan being Himself as Always,

Author’s Note: This is a one-shot for Regan Week filling in the AU slot! (Sorry I’m late but my tumblr wouldn’t let me submit!)

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

Tagging: just for those that I think would be interested @purplemuse89 @noodlecupcakes @binegan @crownedcarl @neganstonguething @hatterized @negans-network @ocegion

Sitting in his wife’s flower shop – now his flower shop – Negan wondered what the hell he was supposed to do with it. Lucille was always the florist, the horticulturist with the green thumb. Not only did she run the shop, but she brought her work home, too. Their lawn was the envy of the neighborhood with rose bushes and azalea bushes. Even in their home, they never had plastic plants, always orchids that were meant to die after a year, but Lucille kept alive and watered with an ice cube. There were cacti and hanging ferns everywhere – a damn fucking jungle, Negan would bitch jovially.

Despite all his joking around, Negan didn’t have the heart to tell Lucille no. Lucille was terribly allergic to pet fur, so they never have pets. They never had children either since Negan shot blanks – something he considered lucky in his younger days when he sewed his wild oats without having to worry about any accidents. Since he married Lucille, though, he hated not being able to give her what she wanted. The plants became Lucille’s children instead, and Negan was not allowed to touch them since every time he did, a plant died.

He didn’t mind, there were plenty of other chores for him around the house. But ever since Lucille got sick, they had let Olivia run the shop. Negan tried so hard to keep the plants at home alive as well, but he killed them all. And sometimes he wondered if it was because of him that Lucille died, too.

Did he neglect her? Not exactly, but he did cheat. Funny how soon after the one time he strayed from his wife, she ended up in the back of an ambulance not even a week later. God, he wanted to blame his infidelity on this flower shop so bad. They had been fighting, not unusual for them. Both he and Lucille were emotional and passionate people. That didn’t just mean good sex or loving with all their hearts, but that meant fighting hard, too, and being quick to anger. Usually, they could forgive each other, but they needed time to themselves to do that. The flower shop had been Lucille’s excuse to avoid him – it was prom season, and she had corsages and boutonnieres to make. Sulking, Negan went to the bar in the funk.

That was his first mistake. He shouldn’t have been drinking that much, he knew he had a problem. Lucille hated when he drank. Then the next morning he realized his second mistake. He woke up in a bed that wasn’t his with a woman who wasn’t blonde and wasn’t Lucille. Fuck, he couldn’t even remember her name. Frankie? Tanya? Negan couldn’t even remember if it was a good fuck either. A fuck he couldn’t remember would ruin his marriage – Negan felt damned for that.

When he went home with his tail between him legs, he confessed everything – and Lucille cried and cried. For three days, she pulled long hours at the flower shop, and Negan didn’t go anywhere besides work and his home. But after those three days, she came back and said she forgave him. Negan couldn’t believe his luck or her grace – and he was right about his luck because when he got that call from the hospital, everything from there went to shit.

Stage four ovarian cancer. The doctor gave them their time: three to six months. Dr. Carson was too damn generous in his estimate. Lucille didn’t even make it to two months. Well, Negan was a mess for six months after she was gone, but he never went back to that bar and he never saw anyone else.

He had handled everything at home, but all that was left was Lucille’s business. Olivia had been kept busy, especially during wedding season, but now that it was closer to winter, Negan figured it was time to decide what to do with the shop.

So here he sat, staring at the bills and expenses and profits. Fuck, he was a baseball coach, not a damn accountant. He didn’t know what these meant. Sighing, he looked up at the sign that had the store’s name on it is cute, curly script that Lucille hand painted herself: Lucille’s of the Valley. At the time, he hadn’t understood the play on words, and Lucille teased him so much about it. But now when he stared of it, he thought of how many times he personally put lilies – Lucille’s favorite flower – on her grave. Honestly, he wondered why she didn’t have daisies already springing up. Negan doubted that she’d stop gardening even in death.

Fuck, he missed her. He couldn’t stay here a moment longer, he was starving and just torturing himself as he drowned in memories of her. Negan left the shop in a whirlwind, snatching his black leather jacket up as he walked out the door, heading for his favorite Chinese buffet. It’s a testament to his grief that he hadn’t been there since before Lucille was diagnosed. It was one of their favorite places, less than a block away from her shop that he also avoided like the plague. Well, they had damn good food and Lucille’s ghost couldn’t keep him away from that.

Staring at his shoes, Negan had been so lost in thought that he didn’t look up until after he had already pushed the door open – bell tinkling overhead in a familiar chime – and stepped inside. The smell was the first thing he noticed – not like the familiar cooking oil at all. Secondly, he didn’t hear Chinese music softly playing, but – Kings of Leon?

Then he finally saw that this wasn’t the Hunan at all. Judging by the designs on the wall that replaced the gilded Chinese dragon, this was a damn tattoo parlor. Confused, Negan actually ducked back outside to check and see if he had gone too far, but no, the Hunan had been nestled between The Peletier Laundromat and Morgan’s Cuts (a butcher shop) for forever.

Must have gone outta business without me and Lucille eating here, Negan thought to himself wryly. His mouth twisted, a cheap imitation of his old smile. Negan’s next thought was a lot bleaker.

Nowhere is the same without you, Lucille.

“Excuse me, but did you have an appointment with us?”

Startled, Negan spun on his heel, caught off guard by the question. For some reason he didn’t understand, his feet had carried him back inside of their own accord and now he was standing face to face with one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. Pretty pink mouth, facial hair lined with almost as much silver as Negan’s was, brown curls clinging to the back of his neck. The bluest eyes he’d ever seen – cornflower blue, Lucille would say, but since Negan has been putting lilies on her tombstone, he would say Lily of the Nile blue. She’d probably get a kick outta that. With a guilty start, Negan immediately felt uncomfortable for wondering what his wife would think of Ol’ Blue Eyes that he was eyeing up while she wasn’t even cold yet.  

“Sir?” The man repeated, and cocked his head at him.

Was he staring? Shit, he was staring. “Shit, sorry for loitering,” Negan immediately tore his eyes away and started tapping his hands on the counter, feeling awkward. “I, uh, don’t have an appointment, I just thought this place used to be a Chinese buffet.”

“The Hunan?” Blue Eyes guessed.

 Negan clicked his tongue and shot him some finger-guns, “That’s the one. Best fucking egg drop soup and egg rolls in town.”

Amused, Blue Eyes smiled a polite and small smile, barely there and yet just – fucking beautiful. “Yeah, I hear that a lot since we still get a lot of their old customers wanderin’ in as if we still got some fried rice in the back. We don’t by the way, before you ask.”

Surprisingly, Negan wasn’t all that disappointed for the lack of food – or that hungry anymore. Clicking his tongue, he joked, “Damn, and I was in the mood for some kung-pao chicken.”

Blue Eyes batted his eyelashes at Negan’s off-the-cuff cursing, but didn’t seem all that affronted. “I’m more of a shrimp lo-mien guy myself.”

“Gah, I can’t fucking stand seafood. Whenever me and Lucille would go out, she’d get the lobster and I’d get the steak.” Abruptly, Negan stopped realizing what he said. Though Lucille was always on his mind, he didn’t make a habit talking about her. It felt good to say that, but dropping her name so easily while he was flirting – shit, was he flirting? Shit, shit, shit.

“Lucille?” Blue Eyes perked up, and Negan flinched when he used her name. “Is that your wife?” Blue Eyes’ blue gaze pointed flicked down to his left hand where that golden band was still there around his finger. Negan hadn’t had the heart to take it off yet.

“Yeah,” Negan’s voice was thick with emotion when he finally answered. He swallowed everything down before he continued, “She was.”

 “Oh, I’m sorry,” Blue Eyes immediately apologized, “I still wear mine, too.” He showed his own silver band, and Negan marveled at his beautiful hands before even glanced at the ring. “My wife Lori passed almost three years ago. It’s still hard sometimes, but it gets better,” Blue Eyes explains and then those blue eyes go wide. “Oh, I shouldn’t have assumed, you could just be divorced.”

“No, no, she’s dead,” Negan confirmed, confused on how he was feeling since he was feeling so much. “Fucking cancer.”

 “Childbirth.” Blue Eyes nodded in understand, and Negan curiously didn’t feel like he was being pitied for once. This man obviously understood the tremendous pain. “Do you have kids?” Blue Eyes asked, southern drawl so soft now, “Lori being gone is harder on my son Carl than it on me.”

“No, we couldn’t have kids,” Negan answered easily enough. He had expected this to be hard, but it wasn’t. It felt good, cathartic to talk about it – especially when Blue Eyes was as easy on the eyes as he was on the ears.

“Oh,” Blue Eyes blinked, apologetic and unsure.

 “No, it’s okay,” Negan rushed to assure him and then laughed. “We had fucking plants instead. Helluva lotta flowers. Lucille ran a flower shop.”

“Lucille’s of the Valley?” Blue Eyes exclaimed in seeming disbelief, “I go there regularly. I’ve been wonderin’ why I only ever see Olivia now.”

A little in shock, Negan’s brain processed this slowly. First it was how Blue Eye’s said Olivia’s name with ‘uh’ rather than an ‘o’ sound – it was damn cute in his thick country accent. Then there was the fact that Blue Eyes knew Lucille – and Negan had to wonder if Lucille was playing a trick on him in heaven or something. This was too perfect. Was this a test?

 After the moment stretched out a tad too long, Blue Eyes apologized again, “Lucille was a wonderful woman. I doubt she’d ever tell you about me, but I’m Rick Grimes.”

Instantly, it clicked in Negan’s head. Rick, Rick, Rick, he remembers that name, of course he does. Lucille would babble about how some cowboy would ride in and ask for advice on his carrots. At the time, Negan would get jealous at her gushing about another man, and they’d always end up having sex after Lucille dropped his name. Damn. What kind of luck is this? Is it even luck? “Rick Grimes,” Negan licks his lips, his mouth tingling after saying the man’s name. “Lucille fucking loved you. I thought you were a farmer, not a, uh, tattoo artist?”

Blue Eyes – Rick Grimes – blushed a pretty pink, like a carnation. Were carnations pink? Fuck. Why is he getting all poetic and shit. Negan’s thoughts were interrupted when Rick drawled, “Well, I was never a farmer. Sheriff’s deputy. Got injured on the job, couldn’t afford the risk anymore as a single dad. Got a job here. The owner Daryl and I went to art school together.”

“Injured? Shy-eet. There’s a fucking story in there somewhere, Rick.” Negan bowed over, propping his elbows on the counter with his fingers curled underneath his chin, brushing his knuckles through his small beard he’d been growing since Lucille’s funeral. “Also, I thought you cops had to go to some academy or some shit, not fucking art school.”

 Rick shifted from foot to foot, blue eyes glimmering at Negan like damn sapphires. “I’m not sure there’s much of a story, um, I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name. I know I heard it before, but I’m terrible with names.”

 “Negan,” he introduced himself with a wide smile, and his cheeks actually hurt, he hadn’t smiled this big in too long.

 “Negan,” Rick repeated sweetly, and Negan swore that something in his stomach fluttered. What the hell was that?

This was too much, too soon, and Negan really should be heading back to work and get some lunch. A little regretfully, Negan sat back up and listed to one side. “Well, Rick, this was nice, but I really gotta go find some fucking food and head back to the shop.”

Surprisingly, Rick looked a little regretful, too. “Oh, okay. Well, tell Olivia I said hello. I’ll probably swing by some time for some advice on my lettuce.”

Something old and instinctive reared its ugly head in Negan and he barely held back from spouting off that piss-poor excuse for a pick-up line that made Lucille laugh every time: Lettuce fuck. Lame. “Yeah?” Negan said instead, “I hope I’ll see you around the shop then, Rick.”

 “What, you don’t want to come back and let me work on ya?”

Honestly, Negan can’t tell if Rick’s flirting until he remembers that Rick is actually a tattoo artist. He wants to believe it is flirting. “Maybe I’ll schedule an appointment for a damn tattoo when I go through my fucking midlife crisis.”

 “Can’t be too far away then,” and Rick smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners.

Negan is as astounded as he is delighted by Rick’s behavior. “Fuck you, Rick,” Negan quips good-naturedly, “You’ve got just as much silver in your beard as I do, damn it.”

 “Mine are from kids,” Rick smirks, “Doesn’t count.”

 Like a shark, Negan grins, and it hasn’t escaped his notice that he’s lingering around. “Uh-huh, and I coach kids, Rick. Another reason I can’t get a tattoo.”

“Not anywhere visible anyway,” Rick countered smoothly, and Negan’s shit-eating grin flashes dangerously. That has to be flirting.

“Uh-huh, I’ll see you around, Rick,” Negan promises.

And Negan keeps his promise frequently and often.

#negan #rick #regan #let them kiss #boyfriends #submission #regan week