wonderful-writes - Tumblr blog

wonderful-writes · 4 months

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you're a mean one, mr. miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: you and ellie decide the solution to joel's grinch-like approach to the holidays lies in finding him the perfect gift

warnings: jackson era, grumpy old man!joel, significant other!reader, fluff, mild angst, gift giving, christmas at the miller's, so many polaroids

word count: 3.8k

12 days of pedro masterlist - ty to @hellishjoel for organizing this project <3

The Miller household always gets a little tense around the holidays. When the days shorten and snow begins to fall, Joel throws himself into patrols and plans for winter-proofing Jackson, and it's all he'll talk about for months. It's obvious he does it on purpose.

Christmas is basically an unspoken no-no under his roof, and there might as well be a swear jar for the word if his reaction is any indication. He refuses to acknowledge it and only tolerates the day itself because he knows it makes you and Ellie happy.

You just wish it made him happy, too. You know it used to. Every year, Tommy regales stories about their Christmases in Austin as kids, and later with Sarah. Joel loved Christmas.

They used to visit the tree farm, pick the tallest, fullest tree they could fit in their living room, and decorate it the very same day. Their attic and even parts of their garage were home to lights and tinsel in every color you could think of, and ornaments Sarah brought home from art classes and the yearly holiday fair at school.

All of that changed after the outbreak. It wasn't just her passing that did it. It wasn't even the threat of death or worse lurking around every corner. It was time.

Joel just got used to life without it. After 22 years of missed holidays, he decided he didn't actually miss them at all. He couldn't afford to spare precious resources or energy on anything that wasn't necessary for survival. But that isn't the point of Christmas, is it?

You celebrate your loved ones and their joy. You celebrate life. Here in Jackson, he finally has all of that, but if Joel is anything, he's a stubborn man set in his ways. You can tell he's still resistant to the idea because he genuinely believes there are better uses for his time.

You can also tell he's afraid to let his guard down. You just haven't figured out a way to show him he doesn't have to be. No one's safety is guaranteed in the world you live in, but you're protected now. And that responsibility isn't solely on him anymore.

If you could give him anything for Christmas this year, it would be peace. One day, even just a few hours of tensionless shoulders and a wrinkle-free brow would be a gift for all of you. He deserves to enjoy something merry and cheerful again, just for the sake of it.

So, you ask the person who knows him best in the world for help.

"What do we think about getting Joel a Christmas gift this year?"

Ellie glances up from her guitar with the most incredulous look you've ever seen on her face.

"Depends. Do you have a death wish?" she jokes, draping her arm over her instrument so she's sitting more comfortably. She's settling in—you both know this is about to be a painful conversation.

"No, but—," you sigh, leaning against the door behind you. It's still chilled, even through your coat, from when you barged into the shed and interrupted her practice. "I don't know. He wouldn't make that big of a deal, would he? It doesn't have to be anything flashy, just something small. Something nice."

"So, you wanna get Joel something nice for a holiday he hates? That makes total sense," she says, rolling her eyes.

You don't appreciate the sarcasm, but you expected it. She knows as well as you do that Joel won't be thrilled by the gesture, if he even accepts it.

"El, come on. I could really use your help here," you try to appeal to the part of her that usually can't say no to you, and thankfully she's starting to cave. "If there's anyone who can come up with a present Joel will actually like, it's you."

She sighs. Her fingers drum an arrhythmic beat on the wood grain while she thinks, a habit she must've picked up from Joel.

"Look, Joel's not really a 'thing' kinda guy," she replies, and she's probably right. He's never been the kind of guy who has physical attachments. "When's the last time he actually gave a shit when something broke or got lost? Even his watch is broken."

"Yeah, but that's different. You know it's different," you counter softly. But you can see the point she's trying to make. "Okay, so we don't get him a 'thing'."

She nods, waiting for you to offer another idea, but you're even more stumped than you were when you got here.

"Maybe you can draw him something?" you grimace, grasping at straws now.

"His house is full of shit I've drawn," she deadpans. "Plus, I thought this was an us gift. That sounds like a 'me doing all the work' gift."

You let out a frustrated groan, and your head thunks dully against the door. You knew this wasn't going to be an easy task, but you thought it would at least be possible. Joel's a complicated man—it's one of the things you love most about him—but his wants and needs are surprisingly simple.

He loves a home-cooked meal, especially meat and potatoes. He enjoys cold beers with Tommy on the porch during the summer and walking Ellie through complicated picking patterns when she's stuck on a song. He likes relaxing on the couch and watching old Westerns or cheesy action movies, and craves your body, soft and pliant, under his after a frustrating day on patrol.

But you want this to mean more than any of that. A special something that goes beyond the norm to loosen some of the springs that keep him wound up tight and constantly in motion.

You glance around Ellie's space as your hope begins to dwindle, and the corkboard above her bed catches your eye. It's always been there, covered in doodled-on scrap paper and photos of her family and friends, and you're positive you've seen it hundreds of times since you've been in Jackson. But this time, it gives you an idea. The idea.

"That Polaroid camera you found in Eugene's basement—the one in the library. Does it work?"

Ellie's brows furrow at your sudden question. She clearly didn't expect it, but you're hoping she'll be on board once she finally catches on.

"Uhh, yeah, Cat and I were messing around with it the other day. Worked pretty well for us," she replies hesitantly, pointing at the entertainment console next to you. "It's next to the PlayStation."

Humming in response, you squat in front of the shelf to inspect it. It's in great condition, even better than you expected. Even the flash button lights up and whirs just like you remember.

Before she can protest, you whip around and snap an extremely candid, brightly lit photo of her. If the look on her face is the same one you just caught on film, then you're already off to a great start.

"Dude, what the fuck? What was that for?" she groans in annoyance, blinking the bright spots out of her vision.

"A scrapbook," you grin. "For Joel."

She's still glaring at you as she rubs her eyes, but she bites back whatever retort she was about to say. You watch her expectantly as she chews on the idea, relief blooming in your chest when she finally nods.

"I guess that could work," she says slowly, still thinking over the logistics in her head. But then she frowns. "When exactly did you plan on taking all those photos? Not to be a downer, but Christmas is in like, a week."

Damn, she's right again. It'll be hell in a handbasket to fill an entire scrapbook in that amount of time, and even if you manage it, it'll be a half-assed attempt at best.

No, if you're going to do this, then you're going to do it right. No rushed or slapstick presents for the man who already hates Christmas—Joel deserves better than that.

"What if we let Joel do his bah-humbug thing one last time? That's probably his idea of a perfect gift, anyway. Then next year, it'll be this," you hand her the fully-developed Polaroid.

It shows Ellie hugging the guitar Joel made for her, but there's no sign of the shocked annoyance that followed the camera flash. Instead, she's smiling. She has that rare, unguarded expression on her face, the one reserved only for people she trusts. It's a tender moment of peace, forever frozen in time.

She looks up at you, and you can see it in her eyes. She gets it, now.

"You do realize it's still a 'thing' present though, right?" she interjects playfully, and you have to resist the urge to grab the wood polishing cloth on the table next to you and swat her with it.

"Yeah, but it's a sappy thing. Admit it, Joel's a huge sap and you know it. You said it yourself, his house is basically a glorified fridge with your art magnetized to the walls."

She rolls her eyes again, but you can see the smile tugging at her lips. She knows it's true.

"So, you'll help me?" you ask, daring to hope that she'll agree.

"As long as you don't pull this shit again, I'll do whatever you want," she lifts the Polaroid, shooting you a dirty, but affectionate look before handing it back to you.

A grin breaks out across your face, and you bolt across the room to hug her awkwardly around the instrument still sitting in her lap. She places it down so she can wrap her arms around you properly.

Physical affection has never really been Ellie's thing but if you catch her at the right moment on the right day, you might get lucky. Today, you do.

"So, when do we get started?" she asks, pulling away.

"Right now," you reply, unable to contain your excitement. For the first time in over two decades, Joel Miller might actually have a merry Christmas, and that's something to celebrate.

"Now?" she gapes at you, looking over her shoulder longingly at her guitar as you drag her out of the shed. She barely has enough time to grab a coat before you're out in the cold with nothing but each other, a camera, and a plan.

"Now."

ONE YEAR LATER

Jackson in the spring is one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen, even among your memories of the world pre-outbreak. Snow remains on the mountain peaks in the distance, but the foliage below blooms with the promise of warmer weather. Somehow, you managed to capture it all—fresh flowers in the shop windows, friends and neighbors shedding their coats and congregating in the streets, and the post-winter excitement that spreads more and more with each sunny day.

You hid the stack of photographs in an empty jumbo box of tampons in the hall closet, positive they’d be safe from Joel’s prying eyes while you and Ellie continued your mission.

In the summer, two new foals were born, and Ellie and Maria spent almost every day at the stables to help out where they could. They even named them—Shimmer was Maria’s choice, and Ellie named the other Callus just to piss off Joel. Not only did it work, but it resulted in some of the cutest pictures of the season.

Joel and Tommy built a porch swing for Maria and their rambunctious toddler and spent countless balmy nights drinking Tommy's extra-strength whiskey and shooting the shit. They even broke out their guitars every so often and managed to bully Ellie into playing with them once or twice. You caught that on camera, too.

Slowly but surely, the memory box filled up, and the photos were transferred to a scrapbook you and Ellie made yourselves—with a little local help. One of the school teachers happened to be a former librarian with a bookbinding hobby, and graciously gave you a treasure trove of old, tattered books that were perfect for your project.

By autumn, everything was falling into place. Ellie adorned those pages with painted leaves in shades of red, orange, and yellow to complement the photos you took at the town’s annual Harvest Festival and Thanksgiving potluck. You hopped around from booth to booth, table to table, and thanked your lucky stars that Eugene was a hoarder and held onto every pack of film he found over the years.

Now, it's the night before Christmas and you have a single shot left. One last photo intended for the final page, but you can’t think of anything you haven’t already documented. Looking around Tommy’s living room, there are plenty of moments you’d love to capture, and yet none of them feel like the moment.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas plays in the background while you sit on their couch, curled into Joel’s side with Ellie’s head on your lap, but you’re barely paying attention, still lost in your thoughts. Joel isn’t paying attention, either—he was unsurprisingly averse to the movie to begin with—so when you don’t laugh along with everyone else at the Grinch’s antics, he immediately knows something’s up. He kisses your temple, careful not to jostle Ellie.

“What’s got you so in your head you’re not even laughin’ at Jim Carrey? I thought you loved this movie,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. His familiar Southern twang somehow warms you up more than the fireplace crackling next to the television.

“I do. I think I’m just getting a little sleepy, is all,” you reply softly, sagging into him. “Winter dance prep sucked this week. It’s like everyone conveniently forgot they volunteered to help.”

He nods, mumbling an apology into your hair.

“Guess that makes sense. All that runnin’ around you’ve been doing with that camera of yours probably ain’t helpin’ either,” he says offhandedly, and your brows furrow in response.

It’s not the first time he’s mentioned your sudden interest in photography, but with his gift sitting less than 10 feet away under Tommy and Maria’s Christmas tree, it seems more than a little suspicious. You catch Ellie glancing up at you in your peripheral, and you meet her gaze as discreetly as you can.

“Yeah, maybe,” you laugh it off, hoping it doesn’t sound as tense to Joel’s ears as it does to yours.

“What are you doin’ with all of those photos anyway? I swear, you take ‘em and then they disappear into thin air,” he presses on, none the wiser.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you joke, shaking your head as if that’ll shake off all of his incoming questions. But it doesn’t work nearly as well as you hoped.

“Y’know, I was wonderin’ that myself,” Tommy interjects from the recliner to your right. “You’ve been takin’ photo after photo for almost a year, and I don’t think I’ve seen a single one.”

Maria scoffs next to him, coming to the rescue before you’re forced to come up with a believable explanation.

“Mind your own damn business,” she smacks him in the chest, then shoots you a sympathetic look.

You asked for her help not long after you and Ellie started planning Joel’s gift, so she knows how important this is. The last thing she’s going to do is let her husband’s need to stir the pot ruin it. But Tommy’s not the type of guy to give in that easily.

“I’m just sayin’, might be nice take a look at ‘em. You probably got some good ones of the kids in there, ‘specially from birthdays and holidays—,” he manages to get out before Ellie cuts him off.

“Can you guys have this conversation somewhere else? Some of us are actually trying to watch the movie,” she sits up from her spot on your lap to glare in his direction.

Then, Tommy abruptly stands like something just occurred to him and strides across the room to the mantle above the fireplace—right where you set the camera down earlier. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Hold up. This thing’s still got one shot left, don’t it?” he asks excitedly, and you’re not sure how to shut him down without drawing too much attention to yourself or sounding mildly hysterical.

“Well, yeah, but—“

“Oh shit, s’got a timer and everythin’,” he continues, fiddling with its limited settings. He turns back towards the rest of the group and holds up the camera with a grin. “C’mon, everybody get together. We’re takin’ our first official Christmas card photo.”

“But, Tommy—,” you try again, but you’re drowned out by Joel’s sad attempt to leave the room.

“Look, I said I’d watch the movie, but I sure as hell didn’t agree to take a damn Christmas photo,” he grumbles, moving to stand, but you latch onto his flannel before he gets too far. He softens at your downtrodden expression and settles back in.

“Just to be clear, m’doin this for her, not for you,” he amends his previous statement gruffly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You kiss his cheek gratefully, and Ellie pretends to gag as she shuffles to sit between your legs.

“Whatever you say, big brother. All you gotta do is sit there and look pretty. Think you can handle that?” Tommy teases him, making one final adjustment to the camera's placement. “Alright y’all, here we go.”

He sets the timer, then runs to the couch, squishing into the only available spot between Maria and an armrest. Everyone huddles together with varying levels of smiles and grimaces on their faces while you wait for the camera to go off. Except, it doesn't.

“Wait, how long did you set the timer for?” you peer around Maria to see Tommy looking genuinely dumbfounded.

“…Does it not just go 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, shoot?” he asks sheepishly.

"Oh my god, are you kidding me?" Ellie groans, leaning back against you, and the entire couch bursts out laughing.

And in that moment, the flash goes off.

Yeah, this is the one.

The photo in your hands feels like the culmination of every memory you made and preserved in the past year. Five faces—and one tiny sleeping one—look up at you, fully developed and as happy as you've ever seen them.

Tommy and Maria sit side by side with their son in her lap, their heads thrown back in laughter. Next to them, Ellie sits between your legs, mid-knee slap, as you cackle with your chin resting on top of her head.

And then there's Joel, grinning from ear to ear as he looks on at the family he's fought so hard to protect. The family that's safe and sound, and enjoying an ordinarily special day, just for the sake of it. You can only hope that a book full of photos and everything it represents will be enough to convince him once and for all that it's the truth.

As you slide the final Polaroid into place, Joel sidles up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

"What's all this?" he watches curiously as you close the book and swipe your hand lovingly across the cover. Then, you pick it up and turn in his embrace, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

"A gift," you reply carefully, hugging it to your chest.

You glance over to where Ellie's still sitting in the living room, but she shakes her head and offers you a small smile, her delicate way of telling you that you're on your own. You take a deep breath before continuing.

"It's a Christmas present from me and Ellie," you explain, hoping to convey even a fraction of what this means to you. "Look, we know this isn’t necessarily your favorite day, but...we still wanted to do something nice for you."

He nods, his expression frustratingly unreadable. But then he does something unexpected.

"Y'gonna keep huggin' it or are you gonna show it to me?" he drawls jokingly, and your brows shoot up in shock.

"You wanna see it?"

His face falls, and you immediately feel terrible at the brief wave of hurt that crosses his features. You didn't mean to sound so surprised, but you didn't anticipate this easy acceptance.

"'Course I do. The two of you spent a whole year workin' on this thing, why wouldn't I?"

That grin you know he loves lights up your entire face, and you turn to place his gift back on the counter. Flipping to the first page, you step aside and let him explore it for himself.

He takes in each moment of each season slowly, running his fingers across Ellie's doodles between photos and in the margins. Spring is framed by butterflies that you're somehow just realizing are painted in all of Sarah's favorite colors.

Ellie added so many painstaking details you'd never talked about. You're not even sure how she knew something like that, but you're grateful it's there. Joel notices it too, and reaches down to take your hand, gripping it tightly for the rest of the book.

He's silent as flips through summer and fall, and when he finally reaches winter, you feel him begin to tremble beside you.

The last page sits open in front of you, the photo from earlier flanked on either side by notes from you and Ellie. As he reads, then rereads them, you can see the cogs turning. He's starting to understand why you did this—and how something as simple as a photograph isn't just a look back on a life well-lived. It's a reminder to keep living.

“This is…,” his brows furrow as he tries to find the words to express the conflicting thoughts racing through his head.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything," is what he ultimately settles on, but when he looks up at you, his eyes are wet. You immediately drop his hand to cup his cheeks.

"You didn't need to. I have everything I've ever wanted right here," you tell him gently, brushing away the tears threatening to fall.

You glance over at the familiar faces in the living room, the same ones looking up at you from the page below, and he follows your gaze. The tension in his body begins to bleed away the longer he watches them, and you learn the wrinkle in his brow isn't actually the permanent fixture it always seemed to be.

He reaches up to cover one of your hands with his own, and you can feel his heart racing through his fingertips. In the back of your mind, you wonder if this is the moment it happens. If his heart grew three sizes bigger today, and if he's finally ready to give himself the gift of peace.

“Merry Christmas, Joel Miller," you whisper, kissing him deeply as the sweet voice of Cindy Lou Who brings the movie credits rolling in the distance to a close.

thanks for reading and happy holidays!

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x reader

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wonderful-writes · 5 months

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Too real

ever since i was a small child i knew i wanted to have an unemployable skillset

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wonderful-writes · 6 months

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this fear is a part of me (please don't take my hope away)

this lust is a burden that we both share - series masterlist here

pairing: din djarin x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: reader has vulnerability issues but it all works out, din is trying so so hard

a/n: new verse ok ok ok lemme know what y'all think

"It's a nice home," you admit, eyeing the house that's been given to Din, refusing to acknowledge the way he's staring at you. Your heart aches in your chest when you think of it, of him and his son and his home. It's a stark contrast to the cold, quiet, solitary metal of your ship that you know is waiting for you. You spin around to face Din fast enough that he lurches back a fraction.

"Well," you begin, chin lifted and face resolute. "It'll be good for the two of you. Reach out if you need anything," is all you say before you move to walk past him, away from him, beyond him.

Din stops you, though, a hand across your hips to pull you back with a gentleness you shouldn't be surprised by anymore.

"It's not a home for two," he murmurs, his voice halting. Vulnerability isn't something that comes easily to either of you. "It… it doesn't have to be."

"You want me to stay?" you prompt, your voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. Din nods, his arm tightening around your waist. You look at him pointedly. He sighs.

"Yes. I want you to stay."

"You know what that means, don't you?" You step away from him. His fingers twitch as he reels himself in, stopping himself from reaching for you. "This is… commitment. This is serious. This is different."

"My love…" Din begins, a layer of hurt seeping into his voice that makes you dig your nails into your palms. Always hurting, you think to yourself. You will always hurt him. "I understand commitment more than anything else. This is what I want… with you. With our son." Din's voice is sombre as he speaks, his words prompting you to glance at where Grogu's chasing frogs in front of his new home - in front of your new home, if you let it be.

"Your son," is what you fire back, though, the panic of having something good clouding your rationality - the fear of having something that can be taken away.

"Our son," Din corrects firmly, stepping towards you. You tense like an animal ready to bolt, but you don't run. Progress, Din supposes. "This is your family as much as it's mine. This is your home, as much as it's mine. I wouldn't say that unless I understood the severity of it."

You sigh, your shoulders dropping as your fists unclench. There's a solidness about him, a resoluteness that turns him into a fixed point for his family to lean on when they need to. He has never stumbled underneath your weight, and you think it might be unfair to expect that he suddenly will now. You look at him through his helmet and let your brows furrow as you try to gauge his reaction to your snapping, to your walls closing up. He seems to take your relaxing posture as a sort of victory, though, because he steps towards you again, reaching forward to brush his gloved fingers against yours. You let your fingers intertwine with his, holding his hand firmly enough to convince yourself that he won't disappear from in front of you - that this good thing is here to stay.

"I'm sorry," you murmur gently, letting your head thump against his shoulder. He relaxes at the feeling of you pressing your face to his neck and breathing him in, squeezing your hand gently in his while his other strokes up and down your back.

"There is nothing to forgive, my love," he assures with a softness that's reserved for you alone. "This isn't easy for either of us. What matters is that we do it together."

"Together," you mumble in agreement, nodding as you keep your face pressed against him. He huffs out what's almost a laugh, letting you take your time in extracting yourself from him. Once you're standing tall again, chin lifted and eyes regaining their confidence, he squeezes your hand once more.

"Where do we go from here?" is all Din asks, gaze fixed on you.

"Home, I suppose," is your airy response as you stare at the little house you can now call yours. Din feels his heart thump in his chest at your declaration of home, of sharing something like that with him. He breathes deeply, steadying himself against the onslaught of emotions that are thrown at him by those simple words.

"I always had a home in the covert," he says, shifting uneasily on his feet. It's rare for him to divulge anything too personal, even this far into your relationship. You look at him earnestly, the breeze settling around the two of you as you watch Grogu chase frogs out of the corner of your eye.

"Even when I was… an apostate," Din continues, "then it was about finding a way back to that home. But it was always there - always something to fall back on. You…?" He doesn't continue, just stares at you through the slit of his helmet and you know he's giving you an out. You know he won't force you to talk about your past, about where you came from or what you left behind.

"I think it was about… finding one," you say eventually. "I never - I didn't a home to fall back to. But I wanted one, even when I couldn't really admit that to myself." You turn back towards your house - your home, now. One that you would share with your family. "Didn't think I'd ever actually get one, though," you add quietly, a confession whispered so softly Din almost doesn't hear it.

"You have it now," he assures you, wrapping an arm around your waist and using his other hand to cup your cheek gently, turning you to face him so that he can press the cool beskar of his helmet against your forehead. "You're home now."

#din djarin x reader

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wonderful-writes · 6 months

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"Apple Pie Proposal" ~ S. Reid

Summary: In which You and Spencer make your yearly trip to the apple orchard an official tradition.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,144

Content Warnings: heavy food references, honestly i think that might be it? lmk if i missed anything though!

Extra Notes: crappy summary as always, live laugh love 🤪

Originally Written: 10/16/2023 through 10/24/2023

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Halloweek masterlist can be found here!

Apple cider was on your tongue, Spencer's oversized sweater was on your skin, and fall was in the air. Your stomach did somersaults at the feeling of joy rushing through you, wishing you could capture this moment and stay in it forever.

This was the fourth year you and Spencer had gone to the apple orchard together. Still, it never lost the same magic that it had the first time. Nothing gave you more satisfaction than spending the entire afternoon together, filling up your wicker baskets with locally grown apples, then baking the first pie of the season with them.

Many people didn't know that Spencer was quite the baker. While neither of his parents had taught him many skills in the kitchen, his Home Ec teacher had taught him how to bake up a damn good pie.

The orchard wasn't far from your shared apartment, a quaint little place just outside Mount Vernon, Virginia. Luscious trees spanned for what appeared to be miles, filled to the brim with bright green pears and apples that were every shade of red. The owners were an older couple that Gideon had known in college, whom he later introduced to Spencer and you.

After your baskets were nearly overflowing, the two of you made your way back to the car, starting the journey home, Spencer's favorite CD playing quietly as the two of you talked over it.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, insisted on you heading inside first, saying he'd grab the baskets from the car while you got started on collecting the ingredients for the pie. So, you did as asked, grabbing your apron from the hanger and getting to work.

"I think we severely overestimated the size of our pie," he chuckled as he brought in the second, heavier container of apples.

"Nonsense," you giggled from your spot at the island, where you were currently peeling and cutting the apples from the first basket. "Penelope will want a pie, Hotch will ask us to make him one for Jack, Gideon's coming over tomorrow for the football game. These apples will be gone in days."

He gave you a look of agreement, though you could see there was an unspoken emotion behind his expression. Admiration or love, you figured. And with that, Spencer was grabbing another apron, joining you at the bar and getting to work on the pie crust.

Soon, a batch of apple tartlets was in the oven, while Spencer finished up the last of the work on the pie. You sat down next to him again, giving him a similar look to the affectionate expression he'd given you earlier.

"Hey, do you remember the first year we did this?" he asked randomly a few minutes later, a faint nostalgic smile tugging at his lips.

A smile of your own crept up to your mouth. "You mean the year you threw an egg at me?" you answered, a laugh settling on the edge of your tongue.

"Hey, I only hit you with an egg in self defense. You're the one that threw flour on me," he rebutted.

The aforementioned laugh rolled off your tongue, a sound that Spencer told you almost daily was his favorite noise in the whole world. "Of course I remember. Why do you ask?"

He sat quietly for a moment, as if pondering the reason himself. Eventually, he landed on, "I guess I wonder how many years you think we'll be able to do this together."

The uncertainty in his words was almost enough to break your heart. Since the first time you'd visited the orchard, you'd hoped you'd continued the tradition every year for the rest of your lives. Maybe even eventually rope your children and then their children into it too. You weren't sure where along the line you'd led Spencer to believe otherwise, but the unsure look on his face let you know that he was nervous about your answer to the question.

"I'm hoping forever, if you'll have me that long," you answered, placing a comforting squeeze on his sweater clad arm.

He leaned over, giving you a soft and sweet kiss. "That sounds like a plan to me."

As if on cue, the oven beeped, Spencer heading to grab the pan of tartlets. While he began placing them on the cooling rack, you headed over to the oven, placing the pie inside.

It took you a moment to register what was happening as you turned to face him again. At first, you thought maybe he'd dropped something or his shoe needed to be tied. But then, you realized there was something in his hand, one of the apple tarts. And then, examining the scene further, you noticed something shiny atop the treat in his hand.

The words were shaky as they exited Spencer's mouth, his hands trembling as they held up his creation. "I really hope you were serious about your answer to my last question. Otherwise, I'm gonna look very stupid," he chuckled nervously.

Tears slipped down your cheeks at the display in front of you, your heart thumping a thousand beats per minute. "That certainly doesn't belong in dessert," you managed to laugh, your tears nearly turning to full-on waterworks.

"I suppose it doesn't," he chuckled nervously, holding the tart up further. "I'm hoping you can overlook it just this once though."

"I'll try," the joke came out weak, tears still falling from your eyes.

As if remembering why he was down there in the first place, he shook his head and gave you a more serious expression. "Y/N, I have loved you for over four and a half years. But when I think of how long I wish to love you, four years seems like the smallest sliver of time. I guess what I'm trying to say is… I want this—the orchard, the pies, all of it—every year for the rest of our lives. If you'll have me, I'd really like to be your husband."

The words came out stuttery and nervous, random breaks in his sentences, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Especially not when the prospect of spending a lifetime with Spencer was on the table. "Of course I'll marry you," you answered, your own words somehow shakier than his.

He stood from his kneeling position, sliding the ring onto your finger and leaving a delicate kiss over the digit. "Thank goodness you said yes. That would make for some awkward conversation when Gideon comes over tomorrow."

A breathy laugh escaped your lips, pulling him in for a long and romantic kiss. This time, Spencer was on your tongue, an engagement ring was on your finger, and love was in the air. And again, your stomach did absolute somersaults at the feeling of joy rushing through you, wishing you could capture this moment and stay in it forever.

-> taglist: @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @kbakery @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @lunar-affection @givemeth @lavhoes @rhyanishere @cat-lockwood @danielle143 @marsmallow433 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @mente-sindescanso @reverieofmgg @spencer-reids-adventures @ah-blossom @encyclo-reid-ia @reidselle @thevisionthedream @dungeons-are-too-cold @mmmeademaaa @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahalstead5021 @cwritesforfun @soapiebear @maelartasch @buckyyyismahhlife @cynbx @hellooitsrose @lover-of-books-and-tea @juismissing @captainchris-pike @therealrazortai

#spencer reid x reader

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wonderful-writes · 7 months

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The SECOND I read “no happy ending” or “ambiguous ending” I am SCROLLING!!

#my heart can’t take it

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wonderful-writes · 8 months

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The feeling is mutual | | Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader | |

A little fluffy 2 part series that I wanted to drop real quick to get back into the swing of things, I hope you like it! It feels good to be back but I’m terrified. I feel like a little deer in headlights! Feedback is most welcomed ALWAYS. ✨

Summary; You’re both profilers, analysing behaviour and making connections. So why is it so hard to read each other?

Includes; mentions of sex, mentions of being on period, mention of serial killer unsub (if you know what movie i’m referencing then I love you), fluff! ✨

Word count; 1.2k ✨ (second part will be longer! this is just a little part 1 to see what y’all think)

“I literally want nothing more right now Spencer but I can’t.”

Stood in the break room at work, you mixed the sugar into your coffee and sighed at the very eager colleague beside you.

For a few months now, you’d been having a physical relationship with Spencer. No deeper or hidden feelings had been discussed, you guys were friends who had needs, and those needs could be met by each other. Nothing but trust, friendship and safety with a side order of good sex.

However, Spencer was usually good at keeping things subtle; he’d at least wait until you were both off and out of work to pursue things further. But not today. He’d clearly woken up with a motive. Which was apparently to be inside you by the end of your shift.

Unfortunately for him it was that oh-so-wonderful time of the month and as much as you debated it in your head the second you saw the dark desperation in his eyes, you were not in the mood for all the effort of cleaning up after. Especially not at work.

“You called ME last night, Y/N. It took all of my self control to NOT to get in my car and take you until sunrise.” Spencer grew closer to you, his attitude not remotely intimidating because of the whiny tone in his voice. He was right, you’d been particularly needy the night before; calling him up and breathily whispering down the phone in an attempt to get him to come over. But you both had an early start so you eventually changed your mind.

You just giggled and sipped your drink, misjudging how hot it would be.

“Ah you - stupid fu-‘ Immediately grabbing a bottle of water from a mini fridge below the counter, you took a gulp to soothe your throat.

“I’m just saying, what’s suddenly changed in 16 hours and 42 minutes that’s so drastic?” Spencer looked down at you, ignoring the entire hot drink charade, but having a genuine concern on his face for something else.

Rolling your eyes and standing up to speak to him properly, you took a hold of your coffee cup once again and attempted your most serious face.

“First off, I’m allowed to change my mind. Secondly, I got my period this morning and - no, before you even attempt to convince me ‘oh it’s fine’ I’m not in the mood. Now get your blood rushing back to the right head because I do believe we’ve got a case.”

***************

The unsub was suspected to be a woman in her mid to late 30’s, using a technique similar to that of Ted Bundy and Aileen Wuornos. So far the team had deduced she would lure the victims with seduction at local bars in the area, pretend to be extremely drunk in order to attract creeps and when they took her home she would kill them.

The plan would be for Derek to go undercover at a bar that all the victims had attended and hopefully find the unsub. But first they all needed rest. They’d been working from 8am, after landing at 7am, and now it was 11pm.

Hotch had agreed everybody needed to recuperate and get together around midday the next day, as he knew the unsub would only be out and preying from late evening.

The hotel you guys were staying at was actually pretty luxurious considering the urgency and location. Hoping to share a room with Tara or Emily so you knew you would get some sleep, you grabbed your bags and headed up to see your roommate.

Keying the card and gaining entry with a jolly beep, you noticed it was still dark. Had you been lucky and scored your own room? Flicking the lights on, you let out a frustrated groan when you saw him sitting against the headboard.

A smug grin stretched across his face before it dropped back into that familiar pursed concern look.

“I didn’t do this to annoy you Y/N, I just wanted to spend more time with you. I can switch with JJ.” Spencer began to shuffle off the bed and you just tutted and put your bag down.

“No, stay. I’m not mad. At least not annoyed mad. I’m frustrated. But not with you. I’m just-“

“Y/N.”

Tiredly dragging your palms down your face, you opened your eyes to finally make eye contact with the poor man who was victim to your hormones.

“I’m sorry. I’m just miserable.” you walked around to the side of the bed where Spencer sat on the edge. His eyes followed you, watching your face in an attempt to profile whatever you were thinking. His hands came up to rest at your sides, thumbs stroking lightly across your hips.

“Do you want me to leave so you can get some rest? You’re tired, I can tell.”

“Don’t profile me Spencer.” you chucked lightly, your own hands coming to rest over his. He smiled softly up at you, waiting for your answer.

“Stay please.” Matching his gentle smile, you looked over at your bag before looking back at him. “I need to shower and then I’ll be right in okay?”

Spencer nodded and leant to reach just beside you, where his bag sat on a chair. You knew he was getting a book out, so that he would distract himself while waiting up for you; the one thing you admired and got excited about was falling asleep next to him.

******************

“Do you always do that? I’ve never noticed it before?” Spencer asked quietly into your ear.

You were cozily tucked into his neck, one hand resting against his chest and the other squished between your bodies. Legs entwined with one another, you were absentmindedly rubbing your foot up and down along his. It was a comfort for you, you mostly did it to yourself when you were sleepy.

“Mhmm.”

“It’s cute. Are you anxious? Or stressed? It’s actually a very common limbic response to anxiety, it releases endorphins so you know, you’re essentially giving yourself a massage.” Spencer rambled onto the top of your head, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine.

“ ‘M not stressed. Not anymore.” you hummed into his neck, snuggling in closer than you thought possible. You could feel his pulse quickening slightly against your cheek, hear him swallowing with nervousness as you readjusted yourself; throwing a leg over his hip and latching onto him like a little koala. “Calm down Spence, I’m just getting comfy.”

“Sleep well Y/N.” He spoke so softly it almost lulled you into sleep. His breathing settled as yours did, the arm he had wrapped around your shoulder holding you tight. His other hand drawing lazy lines up and down your spine as he too adapted a comforting stimulation that was going to send him off too.

Spencer couldn’t help but think about how perfectly you slotted against his body, how much you felt like home. The sharp but sweet scent of your shampoo overloaded his senses and bypassed the oestrogen-filled attitude, the drop in energy and the rise in other types of tension. He would do anything you asked him to. But he was sure you didn’t know that. He was even surer that he wouldn’t tell you. Instead, he would appreciate the seconds, minutes and hours you spent together and let his mind drift off onto what the next day would bring him.

#spencer reid x reader

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wonderful-writes · 1 year

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i want pedro pascal to rail me into the next century

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wonderful-writes · 1 year

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I didn’t know Cindy, but may she rest in peace

Ficlet: Kindness

Pairing: Din x gn!reader* Fandom: The Mandalorian Words: 645 Rating: Teen ...maybe? Content/Warnings: One (1) very oblique reference to sexual arousal/yearning. *A Note about the Reader's gender: This fic is technically gender neutral—(I think? let me know if you spot any gendered language that I missed)—but it was written with a specific (female) "reader" in mind]

Summary: A Mandalorian (ficlet) for Cindy ✨

Notes: This is a short little thing that I wrote for Cindy (@keeper0fthestars) once upon a time in response to an ask game she posted asking who we would ship her with and why. I considered expanding or reworking this before posting, but somehow it doesn't seem fair to take it any further now that C's no longer around to share it with. So here it is, exactly as I shared it with her. It's not my best work ever or terribly polished—it was never intended to be anything more than a silly little blurb for a silly little ask game—but it was fun to write, and sharing it with Cindy brought us both joy. In the end, I think that's enough. In the end, I think that was everything.

[ twp’s Masterlist ]

——

Din doesn't quite know what to make of you at first.

You are…. Kind. Consistently and deliberately thoughtful in a way that’s unfamiliar to him. You’re other things too: funny and pretty and smart, and so much braver than he gave you credit for at first. But somehow it’s your kindness that always catches him off-guard. He’s not used to people offering to help him without strings attached or being kind just for the sake of kindness.

He hires you to take care of the kid, and you do, but somehow you wind up taking care of him as well.

When he returns to the ship with a bounty, you’re there to greet him, always checking in to make sure he's okay. The first time it happens, the attention makes him feel uncomfortable—oddly… exposed—and he brushes off your inquiries with a brusque, "I'm fine; save it for the kid,” before ingrained politeness makes him follow up with a soft, "thank you" a few moments later. You smile at him, and he has to look away.

You are kind, always smiling at him or offering him a share of the meal you made for yourself and the kid. He thinks at first that it's the unfamiliarity of being cared for that makes his breath catch. And if his heart beats a little faster when you lay a concerned hand on his arm, it's just the novelty of a gentle, non-threatening touch.

The problem is that it doesn't stop happening.

The warm smiles, the kindness, the gentle touches, the sharing of food and stories and space eventually become routine. But it never stops affecting him. If anything, it gets worse or maybe better. A look from you is enough to leave him flushed, skin prickling under his armor. The smallest interactions make his heart beat fast like he’s chasing down a bounty in full armor. Even just watching you with the kid—loving yet firm in a way that somehow, miraculously works—leaves him breathless, yearning for something he doesn’t fully understand.

You are kind, and he grows greedy for that kindness. Cataloging every smile and touch and glance from you. He hoards them away in his memory like precious treasures, reliving each one alone in his bunk at night and savoring the remembered warmth of your attention. But still he wants more. Can’t help but think of all the different ways you might touch or look upon each other. Dreams of your eyes on him, your hands, your bare skin against his, unstymied by armor or helmet, and wakes hard and aching. Wonders if he could make you ache for him in return.

You are kind.

You are kind, but it feels like more. Like something half-remembered from another life, from before the culvert and the mandalorians and the droid attack. He wants it to be more. He wants that feeling, that life… with you. He thinks sometimes that you might want the same. But you're so good. So thoughtful. So consistently nice to everyone you meet. No matter how long he watches you, he can't tell if he is special to you or just one of many. (Maker, he wants to be special.)

You are kind, and he cannot find the words to tell you how much that means to him, so he gives you the ones he has. He says, “thank you” and “you’re good with the kid” and “let me help you, please” and tries his best to repay a little of that kindness, to give you back some small part of the happiness and peace you bring to him. He hopes he’s managing it. His heart soars like a rising phoenix every time he manages to make you smile.

Maybe someday he'll find the right words and the courage to say them, but for now? You are kind, and it’s enough.

The Beginning.

——

Want more to read? [ twp’s Masterlist | Author, Fic & Fanwork Recs ]

——

End Notes & More About Cindy:

Cindy (@keeper0fthestars) passed away on December 25th, 2022—one month ago today. She was a bright light in this fandom, and she was my friend. You can read the announcement posts here & here; and more here (w link to her obituary), here (w link to donate in her memory), here (w her eulogy), and here (soliciting t-shirt design ideas to raise money in her memory).

This is probably as close to a memorial post for her as I’ll get, so I guess I better say what I need to say.

...And what can I say about Cindy?

Only a few weeks after she and I first traded shy DMs full of mutually admiring fangirl flailing, she spotted a single panicked post of mine (about not being able to get in touch with my seriously ill husband who I'd sent to the ER alone at the height of the pandemic because there was no one else to watch the kids).

I honestly don't remember anymore why he wasn't returning my texts and calls, but what I do remember is that Cindy was one of two people to reach out, and she spent hours chatting with me, distracting me, and keeping me company while I waited to hear from him. I remember she stayed up long past both our bedtimes so that I wouldn’t have to be alone with my worry.

That right there tells you what sort of person Cindy was, and I doubt that story would surprise anyone who knew her.

Cindy was smart and wickedly funny. She was humble and so, so very brave. And I think anyone who’s read her amazing stories knows that she possessed both mind-boggling talent and a gloriously debauched imagination. But what always stood out to me was the way she was unfailingly thoughtful, supportive and kind, even in the midst of her own struggles.

It was Cindy's kindness that I thought of when I first sat down to write out some thoughts in response to that long-ago ask game request. In typical hot mess™ twp fashion, it quickly got out of hand, morphing into this little ficlet, which then languished, mostly complete, in my drafts for quite a while.

I finally, belatedly, got around to finishing and sharing it with her months and months (and months) after the fact, in an attempt to cheer her up after yet another round of bad news. By that point it had been so long since the original post that I felt silly and even a bit embarrassed to show it to her, but of course, feelings like that could never survive an encounter with Cindy. Somehow, despite the fact that I was trying to do something nice for her, she was so enthusiastic and effusively grateful that I somehow wound up feeling special too.

Cindy was just... like that.

You know that Maya Angelou quote? The one that ends with, "People will never forget how you made them feel." Well Cindy was a master of that: she had a way of making everyone she talked to feel heard and welcome and supported. She made you feel special.... Because to her, you were. We were. Each and every one of us.

She never stopped saying how much she loved this fandom. How glad she was to have found a place in it. How grateful she was for the friendships she made here.

And I will never stop being grateful for hers.

Rest in peace, my friend 💕

#din djarin x reader

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wonderful-writes · 1 year

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sweetness! i’ve got the episode “derek” & i got to thinking when the figment of his father says “there’s a moment when you realize you love a woman & the moment you realize you’re gonna marry her” & was curious, what do you think those moments are for spencer? & bonus (if you’d be down to write it obviously) the same concept but vice versa? like when the “i <3 spencer” switch flipped & knew they’d be life partners? 🫶🏻

aw this makes me sad but in a good way. also i only did spencer's because i feel like they vary by person, hope that's okay

When he knows he loves you

"What do you mean you've never had frozen yogurt!?" You ask Spencer in total shock.

You've been playing what's become a regular back-and-forth game of confessions on those increasingly frequent occasions when you can't sleep. The BAU, or more specifically, the east-west time zone difference, wreaks havoc with your sleep schedules. Tonight, the sleepover is at his place.

Spencer's not complaining. Not being able to sleep isn't as bad when he has someone to talk to and doesn't have to stare at the walls and think about the case.

"Never." He laughs a little at your shocked reaction. "The germs on the little spoons put me off."

"You're missing out." You inform him, getting up from where you've been laying in bed and holding hands.

He frowns, sitting up and watching you walk around his bedroom like you know where everything is. You practically do. "What are you doing?" He inquires.

"It's what we're doing." You say, turning to look back at him after you open his bedroom door. He's still frowning. "Going to get frozen yogurt."

He stands up and follows you, still unsure. "You're serious?"

"Completely." You assure him, grabbing your keys and slipping your shoes on. "And I'll make yours for you."

You hover by the door on your phone, figuring out where the nearest shop is, he presumes while he slips his shoes on. "Should we at least get changed?" He asks, looking in the mirror by the door at his messy hair and pajamas.

"There's no time." You announce. "You cannot go an extra ten minutes not having had frozen yogurt."

Spencer holds the door open for you, reaching for your hand before turning back to lock it. "You're crazy, you know?"

You nod. "That's why you like me."

He smiles the entire car ride, head against the leather headrest as he asks you what toppings are best, and you tell him about all the good memories of getting frozen yogurt with your friends and family.

The looks you get are odd. Being the only customers in the store, your loud giggling doesn't go unnoticed by the bored cashier who's probably wishing they were somewhere else.

"Okay, what do you think?" You ask once you're back in the car, parked on the side of the road.

He hears the excitement in your voice, how you anxiously hold your cup and anticipate his reaction. Dramatically, he tries it, scooping ice cream, toppings, and sauce at the same time, and taste tests it like he's a judge on Masterchef.

"Good." His judgment comes.

You scoff. Your face shows pure joy, a wide grin, and the sparkling eyes he adores. "Spencer, just good? Come on, don't you know a million words?"

"Marvelous, delectable, exquisite." He offers, returning your smirk.

"Much better." You approve, sticking your spoon out to try some of his. He gasps, pulling it away. "You have to share. That's the rules of frozen yogurt."

He relents, holding it out for you to take some, and taking some of yours in exchange. "Wow, I'm so thankful I didn't let you pick for me." He teases you once he's tried what you like.

You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. "You're so mean."

"Sorry, sorry." He apologizes, leaning forward to kiss you to make up for it. You kiss him back, making out with him like you're fifteen again, but he pulls back before it can get too heavy. "You've got to brush your teeth first."

You giggle at him. "Alright, we have to get home then because that's the plan for the rest of the night." You say, winking at him.

Spencer avoids choking on his ice cream at the proposition. "I mean, you're in charge, so I have to do whatever you say."

You grin at him, turning the car on. "I like this color on you." You say, and you're not just talking about the underlying sexual remarks. It's the way he's almost carefree with you, a side of him only you get to see.

You squeeze in conversation on the drive, but it's more eating than joking. He looks over at you while you drive back through the city, the warm summer wind in your hair, some frozen yogurt on your upper lip while you laugh at him. You're the first person to do that genuinely and so much.

It's how you inspire him to be who he wants to be. After being stuck in a box of seriousness for so long, he can just have fun and be a young adult for once. That's what he loves about you. And it hits him just like that, all at once, but in a way that's not overwhelming.

"Just take a picture." You joke, noticing his eyes transfixed on you. "Or you'll get more on your shirt."

He hadn't realized he'd missed his mouth until you point it out. "Just keep your eyes on the road." He quips.

"Can't help it." You tell him. "You're too perfect and really pretty."

He's even cuter when he blushes, and that's what you achieve with your compliment. "I think you're perfect." He replies quietly.

When he knows he wants to marry you

He's a little bit nervous about introducing you to his mom, wanting to make sure she's having a good day before he takes a very important step in your relationship.

He knows it has to go well. He needs his mom's approval, and it will kill him if he doesn't get it because of how much he loves you.

It seems like fate is working in his favor because you're in Las Vegas for a case, and Hotch agrees the team can have the night to blow off some steam.

For you, that means going to meet his mom. You can tell Spencer's freaking out about it on the way, gripping the steering wheel too tightly.

"Baby, it'll be okay." You assure him, squeezing his hand.

He's not sure why you're doing the comforting, but he's glad one of you is calm. That's the way it's often been with his overthinking nature.

"I know." He agrees. "I just hope she's having a good day."

You know about his past by how after one nightmare he had about it. "Either way, we'll be fine."

You distract him with a different conversation after that, playing with his hair between the headrest. When you get to his mom's facility, his phone rings almost as soon as you walk in the door hand-in-hand.

"It's Hotch." He announces, reading the caller ID. He knows your boss wouldn't be calling without a reason, and that means he has to pick up. "Just wait here and I'll be back in a minute." He instructs you, nodding to a bench in the reception area.

You don't, he realizes, when he comes back in after answering Hotch's questions about the case, and he anxiously walks through the facility to find you and his mom talking like you've known each other for years.

"Hey." You notice him, shuffling over so he can sit next to you.

He hugs his mom first, whispering about how much he's missed her. She shoots him a look that he knows means she approves, that she's impressed even before sitting next to you.

You run your hand over his back comfortingly. "Your mom was just telling me about baby Spencer." You fill him in.

That's enough to do it for him, knowing that in the five minutes he's been away, you've managed to make a connection with his mom without him being there. He's talked about how important she is, but he really can't believe you care so much that you put that over any anxiety you had about meeting his mom. It hits him then that it shouldn't be such a surprise: you would put his worries in front of him a million times. He sees you going extra steps for him all the time, and he's still wowed by how big your heart is.

But he has to play those big feelings off quickly. "Oh no." He groans playfully. "That means the photo albums are about to come out."

"Come on." You encourage him. "I bet you were so cute."

"He was." Diana agrees.

You hold his chin, grinning at him. "He still is."

It's a while after sharing childhood stories and memories that you excuse yourself to use the restroom, and he's left with his mom for the first time on that visit.

He doesn't bother asking her what she thinks. That answer is clear from her persistent smile. "You have to talk me down." He says. "Because I'm about to run off to a wedding chapel and marry her right now."

"While I think she deserves more than a tacky strip wedding, I'm going to be there." She assures him. "And this is everything I've ever wanted for you."

#spencer reid x reader

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