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whatsverstappeningnow · 13 days ago

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how f1 drivers react

to girlfriend!reader wearing a necklace with their race number on it (some slightly suggestive lines included) (requested)

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

max verstappen

The sun shines in through the kitchen window in golden strings of light. It's a quiet day at home, with no plans till the afternoon and no need to hurry there. Still, you've already dressed yourself in a new summer dress you've bought. The material flows down over your hips, swishing as you turn in the mirror and then as you walk from your bedroom to the living room to show Max your chosen outfit. But you dress isn't the only new item you're wearing.

You'd bought it secretly. A suprise. One you hoped he'd love.

Max spots the necklace right away, his gaze flicking from your eyes, to the dress and then landing on it with a sudden, knowing smirk curling at his mouth. From where's he's sat on the couch, he leans in just a little, elbows on his knees and head resting on his upturned hand. His voice low and teasing as he speaks.

“Well, well, look at you,” he says, voice thick with amusement and something a bit more dangerous.

"You like my new dress?" You ask, giving him a quick spin, hands in the air for a moment and then settling on your waist. His gaze lingers over you with careful precision.

"Not the only new thing you've got on," he muses, tilting his head to the side slightly, "Where'd you get that?"

"Ordered it," you say simply, as if it were nothing at all, as you readjust the necklace chain.

“Careful, schat. Trying to make sure no one forgets who you belong to, huh?”

He stands, slowly, holding your gaze. He stalks towards you, one hand reaching out to hold your waist, the other fingering the chain of the necklace, his eyes lingering on the number and then dragging up to meet your gaze.

You catch the challenge in his eyes and flash him a grin in return. “Maybe I just like the idea of having you close, all the time.”

The teasing in his expression softens in an instant. His fingers gently brush the pendant as he looks at you, eyes warm and serious now.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice softer, “I like the sound of that.”

He pulls you into a quick kiss, no dramatics, just the softnes of quiet love, then he lets his forehead rest against yours.

“You don't know what you do to me,” he whispers into the small space between the two of you, his eyes resting closed like he's still processing the necklace and the dress. It's barely any distsnce at all, yet it feels like a mile. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

"I think I've got some idea." You smile. He does too.

lando norris

He notices it while you’re lying beside each other on the couch, limbs tangled up together in a familar way, and watching some random movie you're only half paying attention to. It's background noise more than anything. You couldn't care less though, just being with Lando was enough to make you relax.

It's about halfway through the movie, with some museum scene plays across the screen, when he notices the new shiny necklace hanging around your neck.

“Wait—hang on. Is that… is that my number?” His voice, though scratchy and slow from tiredness, goes up slightly as he speaks. The little queaks of excitement in his words make you smile.

You can only nod, biting back a smile, desperate to see his reaction. You'd bought the necklace on a whim a few nights ago and were lucy it had arrived while Lando wasn't home. The fun was the suprise of it, after all.

He stretches forward for the remote, sat on the coffee table infront of you two, and pauses the movie dramatically.

“You love me.”

You blink, a small laugh bubbling in your chest at his sudden and sombre declaration.

“I mean, yeah, obviously—”

“No, no. This is serious,” he says, grinning from ear to ear like an madman, all teeth and dimples. “You got a number four on your chest. That’s, like, actual dedication.”

You raise a brow, amused. “It’s just a necklace.”

“Just a—?” He gasps, scandalised, hand to his chest and all, like you’ve personally offended him. “That’s my number. You realise what you’ve done, right? You’re basically branded now.”

“Branded?”

He nods solemnly, though his eyes are still sparkling with excitement. “Yup. You wear that out and people are gonna know. Like, know know. I won’t even have to introduce you anymore. They’ll see it and go, ‘Ah, that’s Lando’s girl.’”

You can't help but laugh now, full bellied and joyful, and he grins wider as he hears it, if that’s even possible.

He tackles you into the cushions, kissing your neck with soft pecks. “Next step: matching tattoos. Just saying.”

"Lando!" you cry out with a huff of amusement, knowing he's entirely joking.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding..." His quiet for a moment, then looks up at you again with a cheeky grin. "Unless..."

"Lando, no. If you want everyone to know you’re mine, I have a few other ways in mind..." Your hand reaches out to his collarbone, then traces soft lines up to his neck and jawline. Your touch is hot and familiar, slow and intentional. You can see him swallow hard as you do it.

"Oh, yeah? Maybe you could show me them. Just to make sure we're on the same page, love."

oscar piastri

Coffee dates with Oscar are a constant in your life. There's a small shop around the corner from his place that you love to visit on quiet, sunny days. When the sun rose that morning, seemingly shinning brighter than normal, and with a particually joyful sparkle, you knew it was a coffee date day.

It was the perfect time to show Oscar your new piece of jewellery.

He notices the necklace while you’re talking, halfway through a sip of his coffee, eyes slipping from your gaze to the number hanging around you neck. The unexpected, but not undesired, sight causes him to do a double take.

“Wait…” he leans in, interupting your sentence, though you don't mind. You only smile softly as he squints slightly, slowly taking in the sight infront of him, then blinks up at you with slight disbelief. “Is that... 81. My number?”

You nod just once, a little shy, and pick up the charm that dangle from the end of the chain, holding it closer for him to see. He leans in to meet you halfway. But before you can say anything else, a deep blush spreads across his face. He cheeks go an adorable shade of pink as you watch the cogs turn in his brain.

His mouth opens like he has a joke ready, but nothing comes out except a breathy little laugh.

“That’s… kinda cute,” he mutters, eyes still fixed on it like he’s really trying to quickly process all the implications of you going outside wearing his number so casually. “But, like, uh, cool cute. Really cool.” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

When you smile and say it’s because you like having him close all the time, he looks down, shaking his head with a small, dimply smile. The blush on his cheeks remains, though he looks less caught off guard than before.

“You’re gonna make me soft,” he murmurs, his hands reaching out to hold yours across the table. Then under his breath, he adds, “Will you wear it to the race next week? Please. Even just under your jumper.”

You agree, of course. You hadn't bought the necklace to hide it away, and you tell him as much. Your words just make him smile and pull you hand closer towards him to plant a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Then it's your turn to blush, squeezing his hand with a smile.

And when you do wear it the next week, proudly walking into the paddock hand in had with Oscar, his smile is brighter than any coffee date day sun has ever been.

carlos sainz

Carlos, the gentleman that he is, loved to plan spontaneous dates. One more occasions than one, what you thought was going to be a quiet night at home had turned into the romantic night out. Candles on resturant tables, hands holding your and taking out the chair for you, the whole deal. Which was how you once again found yourself picking out a fancy outfit, wit no idea which resterant you were going to.

It was sweet of him, though you did wish you had a little more to go on than just wear something pretty, not so hard you you, yes? to go off of while trying to pick your outfit. Settling on an old favourite outfit, you slipped into it with ease, only calling Carlos in when you realised you needed help zipping up the back. Upon hearing his name, he pattered into the room obediently, already dressed in his dress shirt and pants, look perfectly put together.

"Gorgeous, cariño," he whispered into your ear after doing as you asked, "Anything else you need, my love?"

With a barely concelled smirk, you went over to your jewellery box and pulled out your new necklace.

"Help me put this on?" you asked innocently, walking over to him, placing it delicately in his hand and turning around, patiently awaiting his reaction.

“¿Qué es esto?” he asks, his voice light and breathy.

You smile, though it's more of a smirk than anything, but don't turn around. “A little something I got, it's new.”

“Number fifty five?” he says, fingertips ghosting along the back of your neck as he put it on for you, then settling his touch onto your hips to admire your outfit in the mirrors reflection, his head resting on your shoulder. “Dios mío, I’ve turned you into a fangirl, hm?”

“I've always been a fan.”

His brows lift, amused and smug, head tilted slightly to the side. “Of me? Or just the accent?

“Mostly the arms,” you quip, resting your hands ontop of his.

He laughs, pulling you closer and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “That’s permanent, right? Not just for today? Because I kind of love seeing my number right there.”

“So everyone will know I'm yours?” you joke, voice light.

He kisses your temple, voice low. “Sí. I like it that way. I'm yours. And you're mine.”

alex albon

He’s on his way out the door, backpack on and car keys in hand, when he finally notices it hanging from your neck.

You had it on all day and waited patiently at breakfast, then on your walk together, then through lunch, and then while he was getting ready to leave your apartment. for him to notice, but he simply hadn’t. The whole day. That was, until now.

You we're glad he finally had, you would have hated to have spoiled the fun and justed showed it to him yourself after going through all the trouble of buying it secretly and hiding in in the back of your pjamama drawer.

Oh, well. At least he had spotted it before leaving, now the fun could begin.

His mouth drops open into the perfect little ‘o’ shape as he stares at the little shinny 23 hanging down from around your neck. His eyes are glued to the necklace, one outstretched finger pointing at it.

“Wait, what is that?”

You smile, and wave your hands around it with fluttering fingers. “A new necklace. Nice, right?”

He squints, then closes the front door softly and steps closer to you. “Is that my number?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You smirk, and tilt your head slightly to the side, trying to hold in your laugh at the stunned, suprised look on his face.

He dramatically clutches his chest, standing right in front of you now. “Too late. You’ve turned me into a puddle. I've melted.”

Then he leans in, eyes glowing with mischief as his hands reach out to grab your upper arms. “Just promise me one thing. Please?”

His voice drips with glee.

“What?”

“If someone, some guy, ever comes up to you in public... ask for your number or something, you better point to that necklace, and then say my name. Clearly. Loudly. Alex. Alex Albon. 23. Got it? Yeah?”

You roll your eyes, laughing at his bright smile. “You’re unbelievable."

“Unbelievably lovable, yes. Hence you having my number arounf your neck.”

You could only laugh harder at his smug expression and mock dramatic tone. After pressing a soft kiss to his lips, you reply, "You're so stupid. Truly.”

"Stupidly in love with you? Definitely."

"You're lucky I love you too."

"Luckiest guy in the world, I know."

charles leclerc

You'd been wearing it for a few days already, under jumpers and high necked shirts. it felt like a little secret, a constant reminder that Charles was with you even when we wasn't actually next to you. You weren't exactly keeping it a secret, per say, but you hadn't yet put it on display.

He notices it at the most random time, while you’re brushing your teeth, hair up, wearing one of his old shirts. The collor of the shirt, well-worn and stretch, dipped over your collarbone and revealling the shiny little necklace you were wearing under neither..

He squints, rubbing his eye from tiredness, or maybe slight disbelief. “Sixteen?”

You nod around a mouthful of toothpaste, toothbrush sticking out one side of your mouth, the edge of your lips curling up into a small smirk.

“Mon dieu,” he mutters, half teasing, half stunned, coming to stand behind you and wrapping his arms around possessively around your waist. He rests his weight onto you, curling into your warmth. “You’re more sentimental than me.”

You spit, rinse, and smile, Charles never moving from his place behind you. It's a purely domestic scene, a moment that reminds you how comfortbale you exist in eachother's orbit. “I wanted something cute to remind me of you. Something to keep with me when your away.”

He watches you through the mirror, soft eyes watching you move with a tired ease, hands pressing comforting circles into your hips. A constant warm presence. “You should have told me, I would loved to buy it for you. You deserve many pretty things, chérie.”

You lean back into him, letting his body mold to yours. You fit perfectly into eachothers embrace.

“I didn’t need you to buy it,” you murmur, reaching down to toy with the charm. “It felt more special this way. Like it was mine to choose.”

He hums into the crook of your neck, nose brushing softly against your skin. “Still,” he says, voice low and a little hoarse from sleep, “I would’ve added matching earrings. A whole Charles Leclerc collection.”

You snort, turning around to look him in the eyes, hands reaching out to hold his face between your palms. “I don’t need anything else. Just you.”

His expression shifts, tender and quietly overcome. He presses a slow kiss to your lips, then you forehead, and pulls you against him. “You have me. Even when I’m not here. Especially then.”

There’s a pause. A quiet that isn’t awkward or heavy, just full of feeling. He looks down at the necklace again, then back at you with a soft smile, one you only ever see when he's looking at you.

Charles sighs, breath warm and ticklish against your skin. “Sixteen looks good on you,” he says eventually. And those simple words hold within them a hundred different meanings you can't wait to dream about all night.

"I'll have to wear it more often, then," you say simply, and the words make him smile even wider.

lewis hamilton

You and Lewis had gotten to the truly domestic era of your relationship. You had keys to each other’s apartments, and you knew you could let yourselves into each other's spaces. So when Lewis texted you, saying he had work to do at home, but you were welcome to come and sit with him while he did it, exist in his orbit for the afternoon, you were soon letting yourself in his front door. Any chance to spend time with Lewis was an opportunity you took, escpeccialy given his busy schedule.

Lewis notices it the second you walk in, even if you don’t realise he’s looking. He’s lounging on the sofa with his laptop resting on his lap, reading something, probably reviewing data notes or one of the endless supply of emails he recieved, but the moment his eyes flick up and land on your necklace, all his focus slips away from him.

He closes the laptop slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, subtle and calm. The kind of smile that makes your chest ache with warmth and familiarity. Lewis' smiles had a way of making you feel whole.

“That’s for me?” he asks gently, nodding toward your necklace. His voice is quiet, curious. His gaze lingers on the number, just visible beneath the open collar of your shirt.

You glance down, fingers brushing over it self-consciously. “I thought it suited me,” you say, only half teasing.

He stands, putting the laptop on the coffee table infront of him, and crosses the room with unhurried ease.

One hand comes up to cradle the charm between his fingers, his thumb gliding over the number as though memorising it by touch.

“It suits you better than me,” he murmurs, a hint of joking in his tone, eyes lifting to yours. "I’m flattered.”

"Flattered?" you said, giggling slightly at his word choice.

"Well, yeah. A pretty girl is wearing my number, how else should I feel?" He lets the necklace fall back against your skin, then adds with a little smirk, “Might need to get something with your initials now. Y’know, to keep things balanced.”

You smirk, letting your hand rest on his chest. “What, like a bracelet? Property of...”

“Necklace. Tattoo. Your name embroidered on my socks... I’m not picky.” He shrugs and sighs dramatically, clearly enthralled by his own joke.

You lean into his embrace, shaking your head as he pulls you into a sweet kiss, his arms wrapping around you with familiar ease and comfort.

“You’re such a sap,” you murmured into his hoodie, resting your head on his chest as you speak.

“And you’re mine,” he said, grinning down at you, hand lingering on your lower back. “So I think we’re even.”

george russell

It’s a lazy Sunday morning spent at your usual breakfast spot. Just off a main road, the quiet atmosphere was the perfect place to unwind and relax on a slow morning. You were dressed casually, sunglasses pushed up on your head for look more than necessity, and your new favorite necklace catching the light and resting around your neck. The necklace, more than anything, you hoped he’d notice.

You slide into the booth across from him, pressing a kiss to his cheek first before sitting down, dropping your bag and stretching your arms out in front of you with a sleepy smile. You hadn't arrived together, George having to go to an extra early meeting and you prefering to sleep in on such a gorgeous morning. But it made it the perfect time to show off the new addition to your jewellery collection.

George doesn’t say anything at first, but you watch as his eyes widen slightly as he spots it. Instead of immediately reacting, he takes a slow moment to sip his coffee, watching you with that knowing look that makes your stomach flip.

Then, with a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, he tilts his head and says, “You’re really trying to make this obvious, huh?”

You glance across at him, shrugging and feigning confusion. “I don't know what you mean.”

He gestures toward your necklace with his half-finished coffee. “The whole ‘I’m madly in love with a certain F1 driver’ energy you’ve got going on with that necklace.”

You laugh, resting your chin on your upturned hand. “Maybe I just thought it looked cute. Favourite number. Totally nothing to do with you, sorry.”

“Mm,” he hums, matching your posture with his head on his own hand and leaning towards you slightly with a growing grin. “Or maybe you just wanted the world to know you’re taken.”

“Think it's working?”

“Oh, definitely,” he says, eyes gleaming and a light edge colouring his words. “But now I’m going to have to step up my game. Watch out. I might start wearing your initials. Embroidered. Everywhere. Just to make sure everyone knows I'm definitely off the market.”

You snort at his dramatics, but match his teasing tone. “George Russell, turning up to the paddock with my name monogrammed onto his fireproofs? Oh, the scandal!”

He grins, and laughs as he leans back in his chair. “You think I won’t?”

You roll your eyes and sigh, but you’re blushing now, and he can see it. He reaches across the table to tap your necklace gently with one finger and intertwined your hands with the other.

“It looks good on you,” he says, voice quieter now, sincere, like it’s a secret he doesn't want the rest of the room to hear. “I like knowing you carry a little piece of me around with you.”

Your smile softens, the moment suddenly feeling much softer than before. “I always do. Not just the necklace.”

He grins, like he’s won something more important than a race. “Still getting the monogrammed suit, though.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“A menace in love,” he says proudly, then flags down the waiter like nothing's happened.

taglist: @verogonewild

(comment if you would like to be added!)

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zepskies · 3 months ago

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IF I STAY || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: This two-part mini series is for @redhoodieone, a lovely new member of my Patreon!

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Firefighter!Dean, Firefighter!Benny, lawyer!Sam, (background Saileen), thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, fluff, and hurt/comfort, meet cute, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, and much, much more... ❤️‍🔥

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Chapters:

✦ Part 1: Fools Rush In

✦ Part 2: It's Now or Never

✦ Epilogue: Soul Surrender

⋆˙⟡ Series Complete!

⋆˙⟡ Want to get notified when new stories drop? Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. ❤️

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

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sabrinajenre96 · 1 month ago

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"Coming Home"

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Wife!Detective!Reader

Word Count: ~2,000

Genre: Emotional, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending

---

The night Tim left, it shattered something in you.

He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t even looked angry. Just distant. Cold. He told you he needed space. That everything—from his past in the military to what happened with Ray—was suffocating him. That he couldn’t be the man you needed him to be. And just like that, he walked out.

You had clutched the small envelope in your hand that night, the one holding the test that changed everything. You were going to tell him he was going to be a father. But he never gave you the chance.

A month passed.

You kept showing up for work, doing your job, pushing through the motions. Lucy stayed by your side. She was the one who held your hand when the morning sickness hit like a wave. The one who helped you keep the secret you had meant to share with your husband—the man who broke your heart.

You still wore your ring, but only when you were alone.

---

Tim was unraveling.

Each day away from you felt like another cut. He thought distance would protect you. He thought he was doing the right thing by shielding you from the weight he still carried, the pain he hadn't processed. But he was wrong.

Angela Lopez let him have it the moment he confessed his regret.

“You left your wife, Tim. The woman who has never given you a reason to doubt her love. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he admitted, voice hollow. “I panicked. I didn’t know how to deal with the guilt. The nightmares. Ray… everything. I pushed her away thinking I was doing her a favor.”

Angela sighed, softer now. “She’s not okay, Tim. She loves you, but you broke something in her. If you really want her back, you better be ready to fight for her. No lies. No running.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

---

That night, Lucy and Angela told you to dress nice. “We’re taking you out,” they said with those suspiciously innocent smiles.

You didn't expect to be driven to the little bluff overlooking the city, where Tim first asked you out. Where he proposed two years later with shaking hands and a hopeful heart.

“Why are we here?” you asked, heart pounding.

Angela leaned in, kissed your temple. “Just follow the clues.”

And then she and Lucy were gone.

You found the first note on the bench, held down by a photo of you and Tim laughing, heads tilted together, love etched into every line.

“You’re the best decision I ever made.”

The second was near the old oak tree, taped to the trunk.

“I was a fool to think leaving would protect you. All I did was hurt you.”

By the time you found the last one, your hands were trembling. It was clipped to a string of fairy lights he’d strung along the railing—just like the night he proposed.

You turned and saw him.

Tim stood a few feet away, his face open, haunted, hopeful. You froze.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you whispered, turning.

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward. “Please. Don’t go.”

Your breath caught. The ache in your chest pulsed alive again.

“You left me, Tim,” you said, eyes glistening. “You didn’t even let me speak. You just—walked away.”

“I know,” he said, voice rough. “And I’ve regretted it every day since. I was scared. I thought I was protecting you. But I wasn’t. I was protecting myself.”

Your head turned slightly, pain and love warring behind your eyes.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you admitted, voice breaking. “You broke me.”

Then, the nausea came without warning.

You turned, stumbling toward the trash can nearby as your stomach lurched. Tim was beside you in seconds, holding your hair back, rubbing your back, panic on his face.

“Hey, hey. Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital?”

You shook your head, breath still shaky. “No. I know what this is.”

Tim blinked. “What?”

Still hunched slightly, you turned toward him with tear-filled eyes. “I’m pregnant, Tim.”

The world stopped.

His mouth opened slightly, stunned. “What…? Since when?”

Your voice cracked. “The night you left. I was going to tell you that night.”

He closed his eyes, devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You nodded slowly. “I wanted to tell you in a different way. I imagined your smile. Your hands on my belly. I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am happy,” he said quickly, desperately. “I just—I don’t deserve you. But I want to. I want a second chance.”

You were quiet. He took your hand gently.

“I miss you every second. I miss your voice. Your laugh. Our home. You are my home, and I hate what I did to us. I don’t even know why I did it. But I swear to you, I’ll never do it again.”

You looked at him, your expression softening.

“I missed you too.”

Tim exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“But if you come home, things have to change,” you added, stronger now. “No more secrets. No shutting me out because you think it’s for my own good. I’m not a damsel. I’m your wife. We’re a team.”

He nodded, eyes locked to yours.

“I hear you. I see you. And I swear, I will never put you through that again. I want to be a better man—for you. For our baby.”

You nodded slowly. “Then come home. The house doesn’t feel like ours without you in it. And now we have a baby to think about.”

Tim stepped closer, one hand brushing against your still-flat stomach.

“Our baby,” he murmured in awe.

You placed your hand over his.

“You’re going to be a dad, Tim.”

His eyes filled. “And I swear, I’m going to be the kind of father—and husband—you can rely on.”

You leaned into his chest, heart thudding against his.

“You already are,” you whispered.

And finally, after a month apart, Tim Bradford took his wife in his arms—and this time, he wasn't letting go.

---

End.

#the rookie #the rookie fanfic #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford fanfiction #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford x detective reader #Tim Bradford x detective wife reader

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xo100 · 7 months ago

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A night on the beach - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: At a beach party, you feel out of place until Lando Norris, who’s unexpectedly there, helps you navigate the chaos. Despite your shyness, his charm puts you at ease, and the two of you connect over quiet joys like sunsets. By the end of the night, standing together by the shore, you realize stepping out of your comfort zone was worth it.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1629

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The beach was alive with music, laughter, and the crashing of waves under the soft glow of string lights. The party buzzed with life, but you couldn’t help feeling like a misplaced puzzle piece in this loud, chaotic world. You clutched your small green purse, adjusting the delicate straps of your pastel dress, a masterpiece of soft fabric and embroidered flowers that caught the moonlight beautifully. It was Lucy who convinced you to come, practically dragging you here despite your protests. She called it “breaking out of your shell,” but you were pretty sure your shell was perfectly fine.

You hadn’t even wanted to leave the car earlier, yet here you were, standing awkwardly near the bar. The crowd pressed in around you as people ordered cocktails and chatted animatedly. You weren’t drinking—never did—and trying to get the bartender’s attention felt like navigating a minefield of tipsy strangers. You craned your neck, softly mumbling “excuse me” every now and then, but your words were swallowed by the music.

Lando Norris wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this part of town. Tonight, his name had been written on the guest list of an exclusive gala, complete with black ties, red carpets, and cameras flashing at every turn. He had the perfect black suit tailored for it, ready to make a sharp, polished appearance. But life had other plans. A series of delays and last-minute cancellations had left him unexpectedly free for the evening. On a whim, he decided to wander—just drive until something caught his attention. That’s when he saw it: the soft glow of lights on the beach, the sound of faint music carried on the wind. A party. No pressure, no obligations. Just... people.

It was impulsive, but he stopped anyway. Walking toward the bar, he loosened the collar of his suit, blending into the crowd effortlessly despite his fame. He wasn’t there to be noticed, just to enjoy the anonymity for a little while. But then, he noticed you.

You stood out, not in an ostentatious way, but in the way that draws eyes without trying. There was something inherently endearing about the way you fidgeted, your hands brushing the hem of your dress nervously as you struggled to get the bartender’s attention. You looked so out of place in the sea of wild laughter and carefree dancing, a quiet sort of beauty like a flower blooming amidst chaos.

Lando found himself stepping closer, weaving through the crowd toward you without a second thought.

“Need some help?” His voice cut through the music, warm and playful. You turned, startled, and there he was—a man who looked far too charming for his own good, even with his shirt slightly undone and his tousled curls catching the breeze. His grin was lopsided but kind, his eyes sparkling like he was in on some secret joke.

You blinked at him, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was. “I... uh... I’m just trying to get a soda,” you admitted shyly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Non-alcoholic.”

His grin widened. “The sober one at a beach party. Brave.”

You opened your mouth to respond but faltered. Small talk wasn’t your forte, and this was... a lot. He didn’t seem to mind the awkward pause, though. Instead, he leaned slightly against the bar, signaling the bartender with a practiced ease. A moment later, a soda was slid across the counter toward you.

“There,” he said, as if he’d just performed a heroic act. “Saved you the hassle.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, clutching the cold glass as if it were a lifeline.

He tilted his head, studying you with a curious smile. “Not much of a party person, huh?”

“Not really,” you admitted, glancing down at your drink. “My friend dragged me here.”

“Let me guess,” he said, leaning in slightly. “She said something about needing to live a little?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Exactly that.”

Lando’s smile softened at the sound of your laugh. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not much of a party person either.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, skeptical. “Really? You seem... comfortable.”

He shrugged. “I’m good at pretending. Perks of the job.” There was a playful glint in his eye, but something about the way he said it felt genuine. “But you... you’re honest about it. I like that.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Compliments weren’t something you were used to, especially not from strangers who looked like they belonged in glossy magazines. You took a sip of your soda, hoping it would hide the blush creeping up your neck.

Lando didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. If anything, he seemed content just standing there, the chaos of the party fading into the background as he focused on you. “So, if you’re not a party person, what’s your thing?”

“My thing?” you echoed, buying yourself a moment to think. “Um... I don’t know. I like quiet things. Books, movies... sunsets, I guess.”

He smiled. “Sunsets are a solid choice.”

“What about you?” you asked, surprising yourself with the question.

“Me?” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if the question caught him off guard. “I guess I like... racing.”

“Racing?” Your eyes lit up with genuine curiosity. “Like cars?”

“Something like that,” he said with a grin, clearly amused by your lack of recognition. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll show you sometime. If you’re interested.”

The offer hung in the air between you, and for the first time that night, you felt a spark of something new—something exciting. Maybe Lucy dragging you to this party wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

You hesitated, glancing down at your drink as you processed his words. He wanted to see you again? You weren’t used to this kind of attention, and you didn’t want to overthink it—but it was hard not to. Lando, on the other hand, seemed entirely at ease, waiting patiently for your response, his smile soft and encouraging.

“I think... I’d like that,” you finally said, your voice barely above the sound of the waves crashing behind you.

His grin widened, and he straightened up slightly, looking undeniably pleased. “Good. It’s a deal then.”

The air between you shifted, lighter somehow. You didn’t feel quite as out of place anymore, even as the party continued to hum around you. He leaned back against the bar, his body turned slightly toward you, as if you were the only person worth talking to tonight.

“So,” he started again, his voice teasing, “what’s a quiet, sunset-loving introvert doing in a dress like that? Not that I’m complaining—definitely not—but it doesn’t exactly scream ‘low profile.’”

You laughed softly, your cheeks heating up. “Lucy again. She said it would be a crime not to wear it.” You glanced down at the soft green fabric, the embroidered flowers trailing along the straps. “I guess I thought it might help me fit in.”

He tilted his head, his eyes scanning the dress for a brief moment before meeting yours again. “You don’t need a dress to fit in,” he said gently. “But for what it’s worth, it suits you. The color, the flowers—it’s... soft. Like you.”

The way he said it wasn’t like a typical pick-up line. It wasn’t overdone or cocky. It felt real. And that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks,” you murmured, looking away, unsure how to handle his gaze. You took another sip of your soda, hoping it would cool the flush on your face.

He let the moment linger for just a second longer before breaking the tension. “So, what do we do now?” he asked, his voice light and playful. “Want me to rescue you from this party, or are we braving it together?”

You looked at him, surprised by the question. He was giving you an out—a way to leave the noise and chaos without judgment. Part of you wanted to say yes, to let him lead you away to somewhere quieter, safer. But another part of you—the part that had spent so much of your life hiding away—wanted to try something different.

“I think...” You paused, glancing at the crowd. Lucy was nowhere in sight, probably lost in the music or talking to someone. “I think I can stay. If you’re here, that is.”

His smile turned softer, his eyes warm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he didn’t. For the rest of the night, Lando stayed by your side. He didn’t push you to dance or drink or do anything outside of your comfort zone. Instead, he talked with you—about sunsets, about racing, about the little things that made him laugh. He made you feel like you belonged, not just at the party but in that moment, with him.

When the party finally started to wind down, the music fading and the crowd thinning, he walked you toward the shoreline. The water shimmered under the moonlight, and the two of you stood there, your dress catching the breeze as the waves lapped at your feet.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice just above a whisper. “Sunsets aren’t the only thing worth staying for.”

You turned to him, the sound of the ocean filling the silence between you. His gaze was steady, his expression open. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel shy or awkward. You smiled back, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer air.

Maybe parties weren’t your thing. But tonight? Tonight felt different. Tonight felt like the beginning of something you didn’t even know you were waiting for.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @spookbusters-jr

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a-simple-gaywitch · 8 months ago

Text

A Healing Light

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner's little sister comes running into the BAU, Spencer doesn't expect her to take up such a large part of his heart

Warnings: referenced/heavily implied domestic violence, referenced child abuse, PTSD, other canon-typical violence

Word Count: 9413

Author's Note: my life has been a total shitshow lately so here’s a fic I made to cope. Disclaimer, all of my knowledge of medical education comes from TV shows and brief Googling. Also I could easily write a part 2 to this I have so many ideas with this concept

“Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.” ~Maya Angelou

When Spencer heard the BAU’s glass doors open, he looked up to see a young woman rushing in. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and long pants, unusual for the warm weather the northeast was currently experiencing.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” one of the agents asked, reaching a hand out towards her. Spencer saw her flinch back a bit.

“I-I need to see Aaron Hotchner,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but-”

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said, stepping out of his office.

“Aaron!” The woman ran over and wrapped her arms around Hotch in a tight hug. Aaron hugged her back.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but-” Aaron froze as he took in your face. Makeup was caked on and there were obvious tear tracks cutting through concealer on your cheeks. Your mascara was also severely smudged under your eyes. Aaron brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, revealing a large, dark bruise. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“He showed up at the restaurant, Aaron. He showed up while I was at work. I-I’m just lucky Lucy saw him in the parking lot from the hostess stand. I ran to the back and Joey gave me the keys to his truck, told me to go somewhere safe, so I came here.”

Hotch looked over at the team, who were not-so-sneakily eavesdropping. “Let’s go talk in my office.” He gently led you through the door and pulled his blinds shut.

Meanwhile, the team, minus Gideon, gathered in the bullpen.

“Who was that?”

“His sister,” explained Derek.

“I didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Garcia said.

“Oh, yeah. Sean and (Y/N) are both younger. I only met (Y/N) one other time.”

“She definitely looks more like Sean than Hotch.”

“Wonder where they get their looks from, mom or dad?” Emily chimed in.

Spencer’s eyes drifted to the windows of Hotch’s office, where shadows were moving around. “Guys,” he said, nodding toward the opening office door. The team scattered back to their respective desks, Garcia perching herself on Emily’s.

“Garcia!” Hotch called.

“Sir!” She scrambled off the desk.

“I need you to find everything you can on Nathaniel Walker. Credit card purchases, social media posts, everything. And if he comes even 50 miles from the city, you tell me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” she said, grabbing one of Emily’s sticky notes and jotting down the name before slipping off to her office.

“Anderson!” He called. The blond man popped his head up from his desk. Hotch held up an envelope. “Take this to the DA. Tell her it’s a rush order from Agent Hotchner.”

“Yes, sir!” Anderson took the envelope and scurried off.

“Reid, take (Y/N) to the cafeteria. Make sure she gets something to eat.” Hotch rested his hand on your shoulder. “I have to go call Haley, let her know what’s going on.”

“Oh. Uh, o-okay,” you said.

“Go with Spencer, get something to eat,” he said, his voice soft in a way the team rarely heard. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go, okay?”

You nodded and walked over to the man indicated as Spencer. You followed him through the glass doors and onto the elevator.

“So,” Spencer said, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled around you, “I heard you work in a restaurant?”

“Oh, yeah. Just to work my way through med school. Sean pulled some strings and got me a waitressing gig in Boston.”

“Medical school? Which one? Emerson? Suffolk?”

“Northeastern, actually,” you said. Spencer saw a hint of a smile on your face. “I have one semester left.”

The elevator doors opened to the cafeteria. Spencer gestured for you to go first. “So, uh, what are you planning to specialize in?”

“I want to go into Pediatric Oncology,” you said.

“Wow, that’s-”

“Ambitious? Crazy? Unattainable? Believe me, I’ve heard it all,” you said with a dry laugh. “Mostly from Nate,” you muttered.

“Actually, I was going to say that’s amazing.” The two of you slipped into the cafeteria line. “So, last semester. You have a residency program picked out?”

You cleared your throat. “So, uh, what’s good to eat here? Aaron’s always complaining about the cafeteria’s food.”

Aaron sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. He’d just gotten off the phone with Haley. He sighed when there was a knock at his door. He looked up to see Gideon standing in the doorway.

“You okay?” he asked.

Aaron shook his head. “I’m about ready to drive up to Boston and give (Y/N)’s no-good piece of shit boyfriend a piece of my mind.”

“Hotch.”

He looked up. “She’s my baby sister, Jason. The bastard beat her to hell and back, and I wasn’t there to stop him.”

Jason sat in the chair across the desk. “Aaron, she’s an adult, she can make her own choices. And she chose to drive hours to come see you for help. The best thing you can do right now is help her through the aftermath. Did you call Sean?”

“Not yet. I just got off the phone with Haley. She agrees, (Y/N) should stay with us until this is all settled. I just sent an emergency protective order to DA Martinez. Garcia’s watching Nate’s movements, making sure he doesn’t track her down.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to do. I mean, when it’s a case we’re working it all seems so simple, so obvious. But when it’s your own family…”

“I get it,” Jason said. “Look, why don’t you head home. Take a day or two, help (Y/N) get settled. If there’s anything major, I’ll call you.”

“Did you know that in the late 19th century, a surgeon named Robert Liston was responsible for a 300% mortality rate in a single surgery?” Spencer asked as the two of you picked at the food in front of you.

“Oh, that was only one of the crazy things Liston did,” you laughed. “The man was crazy egotistical. To be fair, he was considered the best surgeon in the world at the time.” You took one of the fries in front of you. “I mean, he cut off a man’s balls on accident, but he’s still legendary.”

Spencer couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted from him. When he saw Hotch walking over, he cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“Reid,” Hotch said with a nod. “(Y/N), you ready to go?”

“Sure. It was nice talking to you, Spencer,” you said.

“You, too.” As you walked away, Spencer felt the butterflies in his stomach finally start to settle.

The drive home was mostly silent. You knew Aaron was thinking, and you were coming down from the adrenaline rush. You felt your eyes drooping as you rested your head against the cool window. The radio played softly in the background. Aaron knew any real conversations about what happened would have to wait until you rested.

As the two of you pulled into the driveway, Haley came running out, baby Jack on her hip. You and Aaron climbed out of the car.

“Oh, (Y/N)!” She gave you the best one-armed hug she could. “Aaron told me everything. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

You were steered towards the house when the realization fully hit you like a freight train.

“I only have my purse. I don’t have any of my stuff.” Your breath started coming in heavy puffs.

“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me,” Aaron said, his hands heavy on your shoulders. “Breathe. Follow me. Deep breath in, count to five, deep breath out.” He coached your breathing back to normal, continuing to model deep breathing. When you were breathing normally again, he said, “I called Sean. He’s driving to Boston to clear out your apartment. He’ll bring your car down with him. And for now, we have plenty. If there’s something you need, we’ll get it, okay?”

You nodded, tears falling again. “Okay.”

You walked into your brother’s house and were immediately met with the warm smell of Haley’s cooking. Even though you didn’t visit often, you always enjoyed Haley’s home cooked meals.

“I made a roast. I hope that’s okay,” Haley said as she set Jack down in his pack-n-play.

“That sounds lovely, Hales.”

After dinner, Haley ushered you upstairs and led you to the spare room.

“This is your room for as long as you need,” Haley said. “I put some fresh towels and some soap in the bathroom for you. Help yourself if you need anything, okay? Our house is your house.”

It didn’t take you long at all to fall asleep. You’d taken a nice, long shower and Haley had given you a pair of extremely comfortable pajamas to sleep in.

You ended up sleeping for nearly 20 hours. When you did wake up, it was to the sounds of Aaron and Haley arguing. You followed their voices toward the home office. As you got closer, you were able to make out their words.

“She’s your sister, Aaron!” Haley hissed. “She needs your help!”

“And the team needs my help, too!” Aaron shot back.

“So they’re more important than family?”

You cleared your throat and they spun around. “Sorry to eavesdrop,” you said, “but I don’t want to be a point of contention. If Aaron needs to leave for work, it’s okay. Really. I need to call the university and handle stuff with them anyway.”

“See? She doesn’t need me,” he said. “And we’re only going to Philadelphia.”

Haley sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. Go. We’ll be here. Like always.”

“You’re the best,” Aaron said, giving her a quick kiss and grabbing his bag. “Love you.” He kissed your forehead. “Love you too.” He practically ran out of the house. Haley glared out the window. If looks could kill…

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling in your new temporary bedroom. Your phone was on speaker, playing mildly annoying music from where it rested on your bed.

Haley popped her head in, a basket of laundry in her arms. “That music’s been playing for like half an hour.”

You groaned. “I know. I’ve been on hold with the dean’s office.”

Haley clucked her tongue. “Unacceptable.” She walked over to the house phone sitting on your side table and dialed. When whoever was on the other end picked up, she said, “Julia, hi, it’s Haley. Tell your husband to get off his ass and call me on his work phone. Why? Because my sister-in-law has been on hold with Dean Wilkins for almost an hour. Yes, I know, she’s horrible.” Haley laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so right.” She laughed again. “Okay, thank you Jules. I’ll see you at the next fundraiser. Okay, bye.” She turned to you. “My sorority sister is married to the president of the university. He’ll be calling us soon.”

As if on cue, the phone began to ring.

“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.”

The call went better than you were expecting. After explaining the situation, the president practically bent over backwards to find a solution for you.

“Let me put in some calls. You might be able to finish up down there.” Was what he had said.

When that call was finally over, you sat staring at your phone for a while. You knew you needed to call the restaurant, let everyone know you’re okay. But for some reason, that was the call you had been dreading.

With a couple deep breaths, you picked up the phone and dialed.

“Park View Bistro, this is Lucy. Dining in or carry-out?”

“Hey, Luce, it’s me.”

She gasped. “Guys, it’s (Y/N)!”

“Are you okay?”

“Where are you?”

“Are you safe?”

You heard your coworkers chime in. You couldn’t fight the smile crossing your face.

“I’m okay, I’m safe,” you said. “I’m at my brother’s.”

“Which brother?” Tad, one of the busboys, asked. “New York or FBI?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “FBI.”

The response was a chorus of “that’s good” and “smart choice” and other positive comments.

“Well, we gave you a bit of a head start,” Lucy said. “I called the police. They, um. They found a gun on him.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. Is Jerry there?”

“Right here,” you heard your manager’s voice.

“So, kind of obvious, but yesterday was kinda my last day. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said. “Just stay safe, okay? Don’t be afraid to reach out if you need anything, though.”

You were laying on the living room couch, flipping through the flashcards you kept in your purse. Jack was happily playing in his playpen and Haley was grabbing a quick shower.

“Peripheral nervous system,” you muttered to yourself. “the sensory and motor neurons that connect the central nervous system to the rest of the body. Voluntary movement of skeletal-“

Before you could finish your thought, the doorbell rang.

“I got it!” You called up to Haley. “Sean!”

Your brother scooped you up in a hug. When he set you down, he gripped your shoulders and looked over your face. “How are you doing? And don’t bullshit me. I know you’re not fine.”

Your chin started to wobble and your eyes started to sting. You started crying yet again, for what felt like the millionth time in 24 hours. Sean pulled you into another tight hug.

When you finally calmed down, Sean asked, “Where’s Aaron?”

With a sniffle and wiping your eyes, you said, “On a case.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Of course he is.” He walked over to his car and opened the trunk. “I grabbed some essentials. Your landlord was very understanding. He said he’ll send your stuff down, free of charge.”

“What? Why-why would he do that?”

“Because you’re a ray of goddamn sunshine,” he said. “You charm everyone you meet. You have a whole army of people ready to hunt down one man on your behalf. Everyone loves you, (Y/N).”

You were staring at the pile of envelopes on your bed. Sean had brought your mail in the boxes. He was helping you unpack them before heading back to New York.

“What’s up?” Sean asked, noticing your staring. “Did those letters personally offend you or something?”

“They’re internship offers,” you said.

“(Y/N), that’s great! There’s like seven letters here!”

“Mmh.”

Sean’s brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” He gestured for you to sit with him on the bed. “This is all you’ve wanted since you were, what, seven years old? Why aren’t you more excited about this?”

You sat silently for a few moments, chewing on your lip. “Did you know that only 30% of interns make it through their residency?”

“What? (Y/N), what are you talking about?”

“What if I’m part of the 70%?” you whispered. “What if I fail out? What if I can’t do it?”

“Nate really messed you up, didn’t he? (Y/N), when people ask me about my family, you know what I say? Well, firstly, I say that my brother’s a jackass but we love him anyway.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “But then I say that my little sister is a genius. She’s going to be the one to cure cancer. She’s so smart and talented, and works so hard. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m not your little sister, I’m your twin, dickhead,” you said with a smile.

“Why did you wait so long to open these?” Haley asked. “There are some really good offers in this pile.

You chewed the skin around your thumb. “Nate. He wanted me to stay in Boston. I didn’t get an offer from Boston. He didn’t understand how internships work so he got mad. That, um, that’s actually what set him off this last time.”

“Oh, honey,” Haley said, pulling you into a hug.

Hours later, Haley said, “So, we’ve narrowed your choices down to Johns Hopkins Medicine-Sibley Memorial Hospital and George Washington University.”

Your leg was bouncing and you were chewing the skin around your thumb. “I don’t know. I mean, the peds department at any Hopkins hospital is world-class. But the research department at George Washington produces some of the most cutting-edge advancements. You rubbed your face with both your hands.

“Hello?” came Aaron’s voice from the kitchen. “I’m home!”

“Living room!” Haley called. She turned to look at you. “Well, you want to help kids with cancer, right? Which place is going to allow you to do that the most?”

“What are we doing in here? Hey, Sean.”

Sean nodded toward Aaron as Haley explained, “Helping (Y/N/N) decide where she’s gonna intern in July. We’re down to two hospitals.”

Aaron looked at the letters on the table. “George Washington University and Johns Hopkins?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I can’t decide.”

He looked over the letters. “George Washington pays more. Go with them.”

Sean scoffed as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What? It’s practical.”

“It’s not that easy, Aaron,” you said. “I need to think about how they can propel my future. Which one’s gonna offer me the better education.”

“Okay, how about this,” Sean offered. “Close your eyes, no thinking, random questions.”

“Sean, that doesn’t work here,” you said. “Yeah, it’s a fun game for easy choices when we were kids, but-”

“What about a pro-con list?” Aaron suggested. “I’ll get paper, we’ll write it out.”

You scoffed. “You sound like Dad.”

“Hey!” He gently punched your arm with a huffed laugh. “Uncalled for.”

In the end, after hours of debating, you decided on Hopkins. It was a short train away from the house, and it was going to help you get where you wanted to go better than the university hospital. And simply making that decision lifted a huge weight you didn’t even realize was sitting on your chest.

Penelope rushed down the hallway from her office to the bullpen.

“Hey-“ Morgan’s greeting was promptly ignored as she raced up the steps to Hotch’s office, “-babygirl.”

She knocked hurriedly on the door.

“Come in!”

“Sir,” Penelope panted out, clutching her tablet to her chest.

“Garcia? What’s wrong?”

“You told me to tell you if any of Nathaniel Walker’s information changed. Well, his credit cards show he stopped at a gun shop in Maryland and he just got gas in Baltimore.” Hotch’s stomach dropped when she continued, “It looks like he’s heading for here.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said, doing his best to hide is panic. “You can go.” He reached for his phone and dialed.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), where are you? Please tell me you’re at the house.”

“Um, no,” you said. “Haley and I are at the mall. Why?”

“Don’t- don’t worry about it. Just, stay there, okay?”

“Aaron, what’s going on?” you demanded.

He sighed and said, “Might as well tell you. Nathaniel is looking for you.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I have someone tracking his car. And, you have a protective order which means police have to intervene if he comes within 50 feet of you. Besides, it looks like he’s coming here first.”

“Is he really stupid enough to show up to a federal building?” Haley asked. The two of you had taken a bench in the mall, and you’d put Aaron on speakerphone.

“He’s stupid enough to follow (Y/N). I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“What-what do we do if he finds us here?” you asked.

“He won’t,” Haley assured you.

“He doesn’t know where the house is. Go home, it’s the safest place right now.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Haley said. “Besides, Jack is starting to get cranky.”

When you got back to the house, you sat by the phone, staring, waiting for it to ring. What if he attacked Aaron? What if Aaron attacked him? He may be horrible to you, and you were definitely broken up, but a part of you still loved him. After all, you were together for over three years. You’d even discussed marriage with him.

Finally, after what felt like years, the phone rang. You scrambled to pick it up.

“Aaron?”

“Hey.” He was panting on the other end of the line.

“What happened?

“Well, you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“What? Is he-“

“He’s alive,” your brother said. “Probably wishing he was dead, though. He probably has some broken ribs and he definitely has a concussion. He’s also facing up to 20 years in federal prison.”

“What happened?”

“Do you really want to know?” You heard him mutter “thank you” to someone in the office.

You chewed your lip. “I guess not.”

July came much faster than you were expecting. Maybe that was because your spring was so busy - testifying in court about Nate, finishing your last few tests, and

“Okay, what do we think?” You asked Haley, slowly spinning with your arms held out. “Too casual? Or too formal?”

“No, it looks nice,” Haley assured you. “Professional without being too stuffy. And your makeup is lovely.”

“Why are you bothering?” Aaron asked. “Aren’t you just going to change into scrubs anyway?”

You sighed with an eye-roll as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What?”

“It’s about making a first impression,” you said. “I’m going to be working here for at least 5 years, I need to start on the right foot.” You straightened out the blouse you had chosen. “Besides, they’re making us sit in a bunch of meetings for most of the morning, I won’t get my scrubs until later.” You took a deep breath before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Today’s the day.”

It didn’t take long for you to make friends at the hospital. You clicked well with a few of the other interns in your class: Austin, Syd, and Ella. By some miracle, you were all scheduled off at the same time, after a long and grueling day. Syd suggested going to the bar down the street, and you all thought it sounded like a good idea.

“What are you guys drinking?” Syd asked, shouldering her way to the bar. “I’m thinking we start with a round of shots.” She started pointing around your small group. “Shots? Shots? Shots?”

You laughed. “Sure. Set me up. Ella?”

“I’m down.”

“Well, if we’re all doing it…” Austin joked.

“Awesome! Four tequilas,” she said when she flagged down the bartender.

Before you knew it, you and your friends were loosened up and laughing around a table.

“No way, you were totally ready to jump over Ness to scrub in,” Austin laughed. “I have never met anyone more competitive.”

“Ah, well, when you grow up with two brothers and a father who uses love and affection as a reward for achievement, you learn to fight for everything.” You took a sip from your run and coke before noticing the table went silent. “What?”

Syd cleared her throat. “Nothing. Did, uh, did any of you sit in the gallery for that transplant?”

“Oh, yeah, so cool,” Ella said. “Kidney transplant on a 5-month-old.”

Austin finished the rest of his drink. “Anyone want to dance?”

“I’ll go,” Syd offered, standing up with him. “There’s some cute guys on the floor. Ella?”

“Sure. How ‘bout you, (Y/N/N)?”

“No thanks,” you said. “I am gonna get a water, though.” After you flagged down the bartender for your drink, you felt someone step up beside you.

“Looks like residency is treating you well.”

Your head whipped around. “Dr. Reid?”

“Spencer. Please, just Spencer.”

You smiled at him as the bartender placed your drink in front of you. “Is the whole team here?”

“Most of them.” He nodded over toward the dance floor where Morgan was clearly flirting with your girls. “Gideon and Hotch chose to go home. JJ and Garcia are over at our table with Emily.” He was about to say something else when his phone started ringing. “Damn.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t that how it always goes?”

He smiled and you felt your stomach flutter in a way it hadn’t in years. Your eyes followed him as he met back up with Derek and the girls.

“I’m telling you, he’s married!”

“Wouldn’t he have a ring if he were married, Syd?”

“No, he would take it off. Besides, what other reason can you think of for a guy suddenly needing to leave after getting a text?”

“You guys talking about Derek?” You asked.

“Wait, how’d you know his name? We didn’t tell you!” Ella said.

“He works with my brother. They just got called for a case.”

“Ha! He’s not married, Syd! Take that!” Ella said. She turned to you. “You think he’ll call?”

“Probably,” you shrugged.

“Wait,” Austin said. “You’ve known this guy for how long, and you’re not showing any interest in Mr. Muscles? What’s wrong with him?”

You scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just… not my type.”

Austin crossed his arms over his chest. “Really? Adonis isn’t your type?”

You shrugged in response.

“Okay, so what is your type?” Syd asked.

Your eyes were still tracking Spencer where the team was gathered. “Tall and lanky,” you said. “Kinda nerdy and dorky. Someone with a heart of gold.”

You were at the library, pouring over a stack of books. The intern exam was coming up quicker than you thought, and you were trying to be as prepared as possible. You marked down some notes before shifting back to the book.

“Little light reading?” someone asked.

You looked up, prepared to tell the person off, but the words died on your tongue when a familiar mop of brown hair and hazel eyes came into your line of sight. “Dr. Reid!” Your cheeks flushed and you mentally cursed yourself. “It’s uh, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, is this your idea of a fun night off?”

You laughed and bookmarked the page you were on. “Kind of,” you said. “Intern exams are in 8 weeks so it’s cram time.”

Spencer hummed. “You want a study-buddy?” he offered.

“Dr. Reid-”

“Oh, Spencer, please. Just Spencer.”

You cleared your throat. “I don’t want to take up your night off.”

He scoffed as he slid into the seat across from you. “I didn’t have any plans. I was gonna check out some books and hide myself away in my apartment. This is definitely an upgrade.”

You smiled and ducked your head to hide your ever-flushed cheeks.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, gesturing toward your notebook.

“Oh! Um, sure.” You slid it across from him. “My resident wrote down some practice questions for me and I’ve been drilling the answers.”

After looking through your notes, he said, “So, just out of curiosity, why pediatric oncology?”

You took in a big breath. “I’ve known a lot of people who’ve suffered from cancer. My dad, my grandmother. But the one that affected me the most was my best friend’s baby sister.” Your eyes started to glaze over as you thought back.

“Sophia lived two streets away from us. We spent just about every day together. When we were four, her mom got pregnant. Lindsey was born severely underweight and had a bunch of health issues from the beginning. She was barely four pounds. Because her parents were practically living in the hospital, my mom let Sophia stay with us. It was actually pretty fun for a bit. It was like we were sisters. And, you know, having two brothers, all you really want is a sister. But then they took us to meet Lindsey. It was rough. She was so small and so pale, hooked up to so many machines. I remember there was this light shining on her. I didn’t know then but it was for her bilirubin level. They didn’t know what was wrong so they were trying everything in the book. But after months of testing and testing and testing, they finally diagnosed her. Leukemia.

You wiped at your eyes. “We didn’t really know what that meant, of course. But we knew our parents were really upset about it.” You took a shuddering breath. “They tried everything. Chemo, surgeries, different radiation treatments. But nothing helped. We lost Lindsey before her second birthday.”

“I’m sure that was really hard for your families. It sounds like you were really close.”

“Yeah. We were. That was really my first real experience with death. And I just remember thinking, this is a brand new person. Why would the universe let her get this horrible, horrible disease? And why does no one know how to stop it? Well, anyway, that was when I decided I wanted to be a doctor and find a cure. For Lindsey and the McDermott’s.”

“So you’ve known what you wanted to do since you were six?” Spencer asked, his admiration for you growing.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“The only other person I’ve known who’s known what they wanted to do since they were that age is well… me.”

“Seems like we have a lot in common then,” you said with a smile.

You had a great time studying with Spencer. He had some great memorizing techniques, and he knew when you needed a break from cramming before you did. He made the time fly by, to the point the librarians had to kick you out so they could close.

You and Spencer were laughing together as you walked to the metro station.

“Wait, so Sean thought zebras were fake until high school? How is that even possible?” Spencer laughed.

“Well, it’s not like our dad ever took us to the zoo,” you said. “His idea of a fun family outing was making us sit in the gallery of a courtroom watching him prance like a peacock.”

“At least yours didn’t leave you to take care of your chronically ill mother before you hit puberty,” Spencer said. He then bit his tongue. He barely knew you, why was he compelled to tell you something so personal?

“Hey, fellow member of the Shitty Dads Club, high five!” You held up your hand and laughed as Spencer tentatively clapped your hand. Spencer felt the knot that formed unfurl. “Tonight was fun,” you said as you got to your platform.

“It was. I, uh, I had a good time.”

“Well. This is my train. See you around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely! Oh, uh, let me know how you do on the exam.”

“Sure. Yeah, I definitely will.”

Aaron was on the plane with the team when his phone started ringing. “Hello?”

“I passed!” you yelled down the line. “Actually, I didn’t just pass, I got it perfect!”

“Hey, that’s awesome!” He turned to the rest of the plane. “(Y/N) passed her intern exam!”

“Hey!”

“Alright!”

“Good for her!”

“Okay, that was it,” you said. “I have to get back to work.” You whooped, “I passed!”

Aaron laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Oh, okay, bye!”

Spencer was distracted. Usually on the plane to a new case, he was pouring over the file. But this time, he was staring out the window, lost in thought.

“Alright, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said, plopping down next to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?” Spencer snapped away from the window. “Oh, hey, Morgan.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“What? Nothing.” He looked around the plane, briefly making eye contact with Hotch. “No-nothing’s going on.”

Morgan looked at him for a moment. “Fine. Don’t tell me now. But I’m not dropping this, kid. I’ll find out what’s got you all distracted. I’m bringing this up again.”

Unfortunately, Morgan didn’t get a chance to bring it up again until much later. The case went off the rails faster and harder than anyone could have expected, with both Spencer and JJ disappearing. As the case continued to unfold, the team knew Tobias Hankle wasn’t going to come in easy.

The team fought, and fought hard. They stayed awake for over 24 hours trying to rescue Reid. Finally, finally, the team succeeded. After what felt like hours of debating, Hotch convinced Reid to go to the hospital to be examined.

“This is ridiculous,” Spencer said from the ER gurney. “I’m fine.”

“Kid, you’re not fine,” Morgan said. “You were held captive for two days and tortured. Let the damn doctors examine you.”

He sighed and flopped himself back on the bed.

Derek leaned closer to the bed. “So, can we finally talk about this girl you got on your mind?”

Spencer’s head snapped over to him. “You-”

“You really thought I wouldn’t piece it together? C’mon, kid, we’re profilers. So, who is she?”

Spencer glanced around before finally admitting, “(Y/N).”

“Wait, wait, as in-”

“Hotch’s sister. Yeah. We, uh, I ran into her at the library a few nights ago, and we had a good time. Did you know she skipped two grades? Second and tenth. And she was valedictorian at her undergrad.” Spencer smiled up at the ceiling. “And she’s funny. She made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe.” He grew quiet. He whispered, “Thinking of her helped me get through it. Her smile, her laugh. When I thought about just giving up, I thought about how she lights up the room. She gave me hope.”

You were having a terrible day. You’d woken up late, meaning you nearly missed morning rounds. Then, you got stuck doing scut work for being late. Then, while you were working on some papers, you knocked your coffee all over the file and yourself.

“Hate this damn day,” you muttered, grabbing the box of tissues nearby to mop up the papers. “God fuckin-”

“Well,” Ella drawled, sidling up to the counter, “I have something that might cheer you up.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a very handsome professor guy asking for you,” she said. “Says he wants to talk to you.”

You looked up from the desk, prepared to yell at whoever was interrupting your already terrible day. Whatever vitriol you were about to spill died when you saw who Ella was talking about.

“Spencer!” You jumped up, completely forgetting about the coffee seeping into your scrubs. You ran around the desk. “Aaron told me what happened in Georgia, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m okay. I, uh, wanted to talk to you, though.”

“Sure. What’s-what’s going on?”

“Actually,” ‘he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “can we talk somewhere private?”

“Oh! Sure.” You led him to a nearby exam room that was empty. “So, what’s up?” He was looking everywhere but at your face. “Spencer?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I had a really great time with you at the library. I loved getting to know you and-and I would love to get to know you better.”

You started smiling. “Spencer Reid, are you asking me out?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am. Or, well, at least I’m trying. I’ve never really been good at this kind of stuff.”

You were smiling so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. “Well, I’d love to go on a date with you,” you said. “And I promise, I won’t be wearing coffee-soaked scrubs.”

Spencer laughed and said, “Well, I still think you look great. You always do.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as Spencer gazed at you. “So, uh, I know you have a crazy schedule. Are you free Friday at 7?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I actually get done at 6. Meet here?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Your day went a lot better after that.

It was almost 3 in the morning when you got to the door. Your heels were in one hand, and you tried to quietly unlock the back door with the keys in your other hand. You winced as the door squeaked open and you started tiptoeing across the kitchen floor. You were halfway to the stairs when the light flicked on.

“Shit!” you hissed.

Aaron was sat at the kitchen counter. “So, you want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “I plead the fifth.” Aaron looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Look, I’m an adult, I don’t need to tell you where I was or who I was with! I’m not in high school anymore, Aaron. And you’re not Dad.”

“So you were on a date.”

“Maybe.”

“With who?”

“Not telling.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, I get that you’re looking out for me, I do. But I’m not a teenager, and you’re not my legal guardian anymore. You have to let me live my life. Make my own mistakes”

“(Y/N), this is your first date since Nathaniel-”

“That you know of.”

“-are you really so surprised I’m worried about you?”

You sighed and sat down next to him. “No, I’m not surprised. But I really like this guy,” you said. “I don’t want you scaring him off by going all Scary Big Brother on him. If it helps, I know you’ll like him.” Aaron just hummed in response. You leaned your head on his shoulder and the two of you sat in silence for a bit. “For the record,” you said, “I’m glad you’re not Dad. You care more than he ever did.”

Spencer hummed happily as he added sugar to his morning coffee. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at the message on the screen.

“So, I take it the big date went well,” Morgan said, walking up next to Spencer and pulling his own cup out of the cabinet.

Spencer hid his smile with his mug as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Wait, wait, did I hear the word date in relation to Reid?” Emily asked.

“You sure did. Pretty Boy’s got game. So, is there a second date in your future?”

“Possibly.” Spencer felt his face flushing and he took another sip of coffee to hide it.

“So, what’s the name of this girl that’s got you all starry-eyed?” Emily asked as they walked back to their desks.

“I think I’m gonna keep that to myself for a little longer,” Spencer said, his eyes tracking Hotch as he walked from Gideon’s office to his own.

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell us her name, can you at least tell us where you took her?”

“Well, we started at an escape room, like Morgan suggested, but we beat it way too quickly. They said we set a new record.”

“Wow. How long?”

“Five minutes. Then, since we couldn’t make any reservations, we just walked around the city, seeing what looked interesting. We found a bar hosting a trivia night. And then we just spent the rest of the night… talking. We just sat there, getting to know each other. It was- it was actually really nice.”

“Sounds like all that worrying was for nothing,” Morgan said.

“Well, not for nothing,” he said. “There’s still that big elephant in the room.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Emily asked. “Morgan knows who it is?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the one that convinced me to ask her out.”

“And it’s more like the elephant in the big office,” Morgan quipped. “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually.”

“And we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But for now, she doesn’t want to tell him and I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell him.”

“Reid, please tell me you’re not seeing a married woman.”

“What? No! Emily, no!”

“Let’s just say she has a pretty protective family,” Morgan said. “Someone who’s known to flip his lid if his family is hurt.”

“Wait a second…” Emily took in how Spencer was avoiding eye contact and Morgan’s eyes flicked between him and Hotch’s office with a smirk. She gasped. “No way!”

“So, how’d date night go?” Syd asked the next day at work.

“It was great. Until Aaron caught me sneaking back into the house.”

She barked out a laugh. “What are you, 15?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, Abbot,” you joked as you lined up for your morning rounds.

“So, is he taking you out again?”

“Yeah, next Wednesday. We’re going to see a show at the Kennedy Center.”

“Ooh, which one?”

“Abbot, Hotchner!” your resident snapped. “Something you’d like to share with the group?”

You cleared your throat. “No, ma’am. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“It better not, or you’ll be buried to your eyes in scut. Now, who’d like to present?”

“You sure you’re ready to do this?” Spencer asked you. The two of you had been together for four months, and had decided to make things official by telling your family.

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, besides, I think he already knows and he’s just waiting to hear it from me.” You took a deep breath and unlocked the door. “Aaron? Haley?”

“Kitchen!”

You motioned for Spencer to wait as you walked in the room. “I, uh, I have someone I want you to meet,” you said. “Or, well, you’ll see. Uh, I want to introduce my boyfriend. Spencer.”

You motioned for him to come into the room and you gripped his hand. He gave yours a squeeze in reassurance.

Aaron smiled. “I was wondering when you’d finally admit it.”

Date nights with Spencer were probably your favorite nights. The two of you had decided to have a night in rather than go out. Dinner was simple: just pasta with some frozen garlic bread. Neither of you was a very talented cook.

You were helping clean up, putting dishes back in the cabinets, when a plate slipped from your hand and smashed on the floor.

Suddenly, you were back in Boston with Nate. He was yelling, cursing at you, and you were just standing there.

You jumped when an arm landed on your shoulder. You cried out and scrunched in on yourself, expecting Nate’s harsh slap.

Instead, you were met with Spencer’s concerned eyes and soft, “(Y/N)?”

You snapped yourself out of it. “You know, I-I just remembered, I have an early shift tomorrow. I-I should probably go,” you stuttered out before grabbing your purse off the counter and rushing from the apartment.

“(Y/N)-”

The next day in the office, Spencer went to Hotch’s office. He sat down in the chair across from his desk and said, “(Y/N) made it home last night, right?”

Hotch looked up. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She, uh, she dropped a plate and it broke. Then she just stood there, staring at it. I wasn’t thinking and touched and she freaked out. She got all defensive, her breath started racing and she rushed out of my apartment. She claimed she had to work but I know she has off today.”

Hotch frowned. “She had a flashback.”

“I think so. I want to fix it but I don’t know how,” he admitted. “I mean, what am I supposed to say? I promise I’m not like your psycho ex, I care more about you and your safety than a piece of porcelain?”

“Well, I would leave out the psycho ex part,” Hotch said, giving Spencer a small smile. “But sincerely, give her a little bit of time.”

“She seemed really distressed, Hotch.”

He sat for a moment before saying, “Okay.” He picked up his phone and dialed. “Hey. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I need a favor. It’s for (Y/N).”

You were sitting on the living room couch, bundled in a blanket. You were staring absently at the blank TV, your mind filled with what felt like static. When you heard keys in the door, you jumped. You let out a sigh when you saw Haley’s familiar blonde head peak in the door.

“(Y/N)? Hey.” She walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of you. “You okay?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Do I look okay?”

Haley gave you one of her sympathetic smiles before saying, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You found you did. So you told her everything. “It was like I was right back there,” you said. “I was back in that Boston apartment and Nate was breaking things and throwing things because I wasn’t doing what he wanted.” Tears were running down your face.

“Oh, sweetie,” Haley said, moving to the couch to pull you into a hug. “I’m so sorry. But you know, you weren’t back there. You were with Spencer, one of the most gentle, caring men I know.”

“I know, I know. Logically, I know that. Logically, I know Spencer wouldn’t hurt me. But in that moment, I couldn’t think logically. I was back in fight or flight.”

After a few days, you decided to sit with Spencer and talk it out. You explained where your head was, and Spencer assured you the episode didn’t scare him away; he was in it for the long haul with you.

“You ever notice how we’re always at my place?” Spencer asked, breaking away from where the two of you were making out on his couch.

“What?” You brushed some hair out of your face.

“Not that I mind,” Spencer rushed out. “I mean, I-I get it. You’re still living with Hotch, he’s my boss, it’s awkward.”

“Yeah? Spence, where are you going with this?”

“You spend most of your nights here anyway. I think my closet is more your clothes than mine-”

“Spencer.” You gripped his hand.

“Right, right. I’m rambling.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I was thinking. What if- what if you moved in here? With me?”

Rather than a verbal answer, you tackled him down on the couch, kissing him again.

When you finally broke away, Spencer laughed, “I take it that was a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes! I love you.” You froze. That was the first time either of you had said those words. A knot of panic was starting to form in your chest.

Spencer must have noticed because he gently took your hands. “Hey, hey, breathe. You’re okay.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you, too.”

You groaned as you unlocked the door. “You would not believe the day I had,” you said, kicking your shoes off by the door. Your boyfriend looked up from where he was reading a book on the couch.

“First, the coffee machine in the lounge was busted. Then, I was put in the ER which, you know, fine, whatever. But this group of drunk college girls come in because their friend passed out and we had to pump her stomach. Normal Friday night, right? Well, as we’re taking care of this girl, one of her friends vomits all over me. But, before I can go change my scrubs, an emergency trauma comes in. Apparently, this guy collects Civil War memorabilia and he and his buddy thought it would be fun to play with the musket. So this guy has a bayonet stuck in his abdomen and a bullet wound that’s stuffed with a sock that had clearly been worn recently so we have to worry about infection on top of him bleeding out. All over me, by the way. Then, finally, I get a chance to change my scrubs because they need me in L&D. So I’m helping with this geriatric pregnancy, which by the way is a term I hate, and the mom starts coding. So we’re rushing, trying to get a crash cart, prepared to resuscitate, and then we see the DNR order on the chart. At least the baby was healthy. And nearly 9 pounds.”

You huffed and plopped onto the couch. Spencer pulled your legs up into his lap. “I’m sorry, baby. Hey, you know what might cheer you up? Morgan got yelled at by the accountant for kicking down an unlocked door on our last case. And Penelope totally embarrassed herself answering the phone.”

You snorted a laugh. “Course she did.”

“Oh, and she invited us on a double-date with her and Kevin. Movie night. It might help you destress a bit. Take your mind off that chief resident decision I know you’re constantly thinking about. Which, by the way, you’re gonna get. You’re perfect for the job, they’d be crazy to pass you over for this.” He lifted your hand up and kissed the back of it.

Spencer was right, they’d chosen you as chief resident. And you loved it. It was stressful and difficult, but it was what you’d been waiting for. It came with unexpected challenges, like when an emergency trauma came through the ICU.

You were on your way to check on the unconscious man when you noticed a crowd gathered in front of the room.

“What is this?” You asked, pushing your way through the crowd of mostly interns and first-year residents. “Out of the way. Move.” When you finally made your way into the room, you saw a familiar group talking to the intern sent to check vitals. “Agents.”

Your brother was standing next to the bed, and you noticed handcuffs around both the patient’s hands. You pursed your lips before turning to the gathered crowd. “I know you all have somewhere to be. Go!” Finally, you turned back to the team. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“When will Mr. Holsten be awake?” Aaron asked. “Your intern here didn’t seem to have an answer for us.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “First of all, don’t talk about my intern in that way. Dr. Lester has only been here a few weeks, the new class just started. Secondly, we can’t say for certain. He had significant trauma, so he’s pretty heavily sedated at the moment and-“

“Can you wake him? We have some questions he needs to answer.”

“No, we cannot wake him, Agent Hotchner. Waking him could prove detrimental to his healing. Over the course of his treatment we will start to decrease the medications, but we will not forcibly wake him.”

“You don’t understand, Dr. Hotchner, this man killed-“

You held up your hand. “Right now, at this moment, I don’t care who he killed. He could have slaughtered a convent full of nuns and I would not provide less than adequate care. Within these walls, he is just a patient in need of medical attention. I refuse to violate my Hippocratic oath for your investigation. So, you have two options. One, let us care for him as our team seems fit and you can ask all your questions after he wakes up. Or two, you leave this hospital and wait for him to be discharged. The choice is yours.”

As you stared down with your brother, the team could clearly see the family resemblance. It was in your eyes, in the stubbornness you both exhibited.

Finally, Aaron took a step back. “Fine. Call us the second he wakes up. But the cuffs stay on unless absolutely necessary.”

“Deal.”

It was a rare night when you and Spencer were both home, at a normal time, and at the same time. You’d had a nice dinner together and were laying in bed. Spencer was reading a book while you were working on a report for the research grant team.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“We should go to Vegas,” he said. “To see my mom.”

You froze. “You want me to meet your mom?”

“Well, yeah.” He set his book on the side table and turned to face you. “I’ve already told Mom all about you. She loves you already and she hasn’t even met you. She’s been doing really really well on this medication and I really want the two most important people in my life to meet each other.” He took your hand and squeezed it.

You gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, might as well get the hard part over with, right?” You took a deep breath. “I have to meet her sooner or later, why not make it sooner?”

The next day at work, you were telling your friends about the conversation.

“So it looks like I’ll be cashing in some of my PTO.”

“You’re really going to meet his mom?” Syd asked. “That’s, like, practically a step away from getting married. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Definitely not,” you said. “From what Spence has told me, she’s, like, Superwoman. She was this awesome English professor for years and raised Spencer on her own after his dad left.”

“So you’re totally intimidated,” Ella said.

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Hey look on the bright side,” Austin chimed in. “At least he doesn’t have to meet your parents.”

You laughed. “Yeah, just one of the many reasons I’m glad my father’s under the ground. Think I would have wanted my mom to meet him, though.”

The end of your residency was quickly approaching. Offers for fellowship positions were starting to come in, meaning your class had to finalize their specialties with the head of the program.

“Dr. Hotchner,” the director of the program said, looking over your file, “you’ve shown much interest in pediatric oncology. Are you sure that’s the specialty you want?”

“Absolutely.”

He set the file down. “You do know that specialty’s not easy? Not from a technical perspective, but from the very nature of who your patients are and what they’re facing.”

“I know, sir.”

“You show great promise as a trauma surgeon. Are you sure-”

“Sir, with all due respect,” you said, scooting the chair closer to the desk and straightening up in the chair, “I’ve wanted this job since I was a child. I know what I’m getting into. This is not something I’ve decided on a whim.”

He sighed. “Alright. In that case, I should let you know, I received a call from the chief over at St. Jude’s. They wish to extend a fellowship offer to you, of course with the condition that you pass your board certification.”

That night, Spencer came home to find you pacing and muttering to yourself.

“(Y/N)?”

“Good, you’re home,” you said. “I, uh, I need to talk to you.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?” He sat down on the couch with you. “(Y/N), what’s going on?” You were fidgety, looking everywhere but at Spencer. “(Y/N)?”

Finally, you took a deep breath and said, “I got some big news today. I, uh, I got a fellowship offer from St. Jude.”

“What? (Y/N), that’s fantastic! That’s, like, your dream to work there.” He took in how distressed you seem. “What’s wrong?”

“Spencer, fellowships are three years long. I’d be living in Memphis for three years. I don’t know if I want to live that far apart from you for that long.”

“So you’re torn between your professional dream and me.” He turned his body to face you. “(Y/N), I wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from your goals because of me.” After a few moments of silence, Spencer said, “I could go with you.”

“What?”

“Yeah! There’s an FBI office in Memphis, I could transfer there,” he said. “If you’re turning this down because of me-”

“Spence, it’s not just because of you,” you said. “I love working at this hospital. I love the team I work with, and I feel like I can learn just as much from Hopkins as I can from St. Jude. Plus, Aaron and Jack are here. I can’t leave them after they just lost Haley. And you can’t leave the team here. They’re your family.” You gripped his hand in yours. “I promise, I thought this through. It’s all I’ve done all day.”

After the end of your conversation, Spencer spent some time thinking. He impulsively offered to uproot his life so that you could follow your dream. Never did he think he would be the kind of person to do that. He thought back to six years ago, when you first walked through the doors of the BAU. If only he knew then how absolutely head over heels he was for you, While you were on the phone with your brother, telling him about your decision, he decided he needed to call Penelope.

He needed help picking out a ring.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #x reader

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redvexillum · 10 days ago

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Thirteenth Kiss: Captivate I

A/N: Okay. So for my Lucifer x Reader fans, I know I promised Luci Angst Week like back in January and... well you know, burn out happened 😭. Please take this mini-series as penance or something to gnaw on as I work on my very belated Luci Angst Week story ✨️ Also tagging @heart-of-the-morningstar, the biggest Lucifer fan I know. I hope this is good enough, Queen of all Sexy Luci fic 😫💦

Summary: In a city of sinners and second chances, you were hired to play Lucifer’s fake girlfriend and found yourself entangled in something far more real than you have ever expected. Amid fireworks, confessions, and unexpected tenderness, two broken souls dare to hope for something true.

Tags/Warning: f!reader, eventual smut, fake relationship, Lucifer is touch-starved

Lucifer stared down at his phone, the screen glowing in the dim light of his lounge. A garish new app pulsed with red and pink hearts—“RENT-A-GIRLFRIEND”—and the absurdity of it made him scoff under his breath. Humans… ever the creative, desperate little things. He flicked his thumb with slow disdain, swiping left through profile after profile of sinners draped in seductive outfits, each more ridiculous than the last.

His smirk twisted into a grimace when a particularly bold profile appeared—a sinner with deer-like features, wearing nothing but a g-string, her chest clumsily censored in a pixelated blur. “Oh, for Hell’s sake…” he muttered, recoiling like he’d just bitten into something sour. With a groan, he smacked his face and dragged his palm down it, dismayed.

This is what I’ve been reduced to? Swiping through Vinder just to save face?

He imagined Charlie's disapproving eyes, her warm smile dimming with disappointment. The thought alone was enough to sink a rock into his gut.

He hated the thought of showing up alone to Charlie’s New Year’s party. Not after everything. Not after failing her for so long. Not after losing Lilith and fumbling his chance to raise their daughter properly. This—this—was his chance to do better. To be better. To show her, he could be present. That he wanted to be in her life. Really be there.

When he visited the hotel last week, she’d pulled him aside. There was something in her eyes—something unsure and fragile—that made the air in his lungs tighten.

“Dad…” Charlie’s voice was small, her fingers fumbling nervously with each other. Her eyes flicked from side to side like she was searching for an exit.

Lucifer’s stomach dropped. A cold dread curled in his chest. Had he messed up again? Said something? Done something? He'd only just begun to repair the fragile thread of their bond. The idea of fraying it again, of losing her, was unbearable.

He forced a broad, nervous smile and leaned on his staff, the apple-shaped top catching the light. “What’s up, kiddo? You didn’t like the stuffed animal I brought?” he asked, glancing at the absurd twenty-foot-tall plush rabbit looming in the corner. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and it had twisted horns, a bat wing, and a crooked spiny tail.

“It’s all the rage in Lu-Lu World,” he added, hoping to lighten the mood.

Charlie winced at the doll, her lips curling in a polite but pained smile. “N-no, that’s not it. I’m not a kid anymore, Dad…”

That stung more than he expected.

His throat tightened, a bead of sweat slipping down his temple. She’s pulling away… again. The crushing anxiety returned like a vice around his heart—panic that she might ghost him, shut him out, vanish from his life as if this reconciliation never happened.

“But I still like the gift!” she rushed, waving her hands in mock surrender, her laugh nervous and forced. “It’s just that… uh…” Her eyes darted to the side. Lucifer’s gaze followed—and caught Vaggie watching the scene with a thumbs-up and an encouraging nod.

He mirrored his daughter’s tension, his voice softening. “What is it, sweetheart?”

She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, that’s not right…” she mumbled to herself. Then, after a pause, she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Dad… I love you. You know that, right?”

Lucifer froze.

The words wrapped around his heart and squeezed, tender and unexpected. His expression cracked into something real—unguarded. His voice trembled with sincerity as he reached for her hands.

“Aw, Charchar… I love you too. You mean the world to me.”

“I—I know that after Mom left, things haven’t really been the same, but—”

Lucifer’s brows lifted as though someone had flipped a switch in his head. His mouth formed a small, perfectly round “o.”

“Oh, Charlie,” he said slowly, a hopeful gleam flickering behind his eyes. “Do you… do you want me to find you a new mom? Is that what this is ab—?”

Charlie flinched. Her shoulders jerked upward, and her face scrunched as if she’d bitten into the sourest lemon in existence.

“What? No!” she burst out, scandalized. “It’s not for me, Dad.” She pulled her hands away from his, her voice carrying both frustration and care. “It’s for you.”

She clasped her hands together tightly, grounding herself, her gaze softening with an ache that mirrored his own. “I don’t want you to be alone anymore. I don’t want you to keep clinging to the past like it’s all you have left.” Her voice cracked, just barely. “Dad, I just want you to be happy. And maybe… maybe if you found someone again…”

Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to Vaggie, who stood nearby watching quietly. Charlie looked at her with a gaze full of warmth—adoration, even. It was the kind of look that said she knew love. That she believed in it.

“…maybe you’d be less…” She made a swirling motion with her hands, as if searching for the right word. Her nose scrunched before she finally winced and said it.

“Lonely?”

Lonely.

The word hit him like a whip crack in a silent hall.

He blinked. Coughed. And then—laughed. Wheezing, awkward laughter that felt like it belonged to someone else. “L-Lonely?” he echoed, louder this time, as if saying it again might make it more absurd. “Me?”

He wanted to tell her she was wrong. That he wasn’t lonely. That he had her, his brilliant, compassionate daughter, and that was enough. That he didn’t need a partner to fill a void he didn’t acknowledge.

But the truth was quieter.

Crueler.

Because when he thought of his palace, the place that once rang with life and arguments and laughter, it was hollow now. Cold. Like time had congealed there, untouched. Every room seemed frozen in memory, as though merely walking through it would crack the fragile illusions he’d built to protect himself.

And beneath all of that… there it was.

That dull ache in his chest. The one he never spoke of. The hole Lilith had left behind when she turned away from them all to chase some misguided idea of the “greater good.” A cause that had swallowed her whole. A goodbye that had no closure. No return.

Centuries.

It had been centuries since he’d heard her voice. Since he’d felt truly seen by someone who understood the weight he carried.

Lonely?

Was he really?

He thought about coming home after visiting the hotel—how the silence would stretch for miles. How even the crackle of firelight seemed muted. He’d even considered moving into the hotel permanently. The thought had lingered more often lately. But leaving their home behind still felt like turning his back on everything he once was.

Turning his back…on her.

Still…

“Dad?”

Charlie’s voice was gentle. Concerned. Grounding.

He blinked back into the present, the warmth of her presence tugging him out of the depths.

And what he said next…

Well.

He’d regret it.

He’d regret it more than anything he’d said in the last three days.

“Charlie, I… I don’t know how to tell you this, but…”

The words hovered at the back of his throat, sticky and sharp like broken glass. His inner voice was screaming—Don’t say it. Don’t lie. Don’t dig yourself into a hole you can’t crawl out of. But then he looked at her. Really looked.

The worry in her eyes. The gentle furrow in her brow. The way her hands fidgeted nervously, like she was holding back tears or hope or both.

And maybe…it wasn’t fear that pushed him over the edge.

It was pride.

The same pride that cast him down from Heaven. The same pride that built his kingdom in fire and gold. The same pride that now whispered, Don’t let her pity you. Don’t let her see you as hollow.

So, he smiled—tight-lipped and trembling—and said, “I’m actually… seeing someone.”

The last two words came out in a tumble, mumbled like a confession, as if saying them quietly might make them less real.

Charlie blinked, her lips parting slightly before stretching wide into a smile that was radiant and unguarded. It was the kind of smile that could disarm angels and make demons question their loyalties. Her whole face lit up with joy. Pure, unfiltered joy.

He should’ve laughed. Tweaked her nose. Called “Bazinga!” and told her it was just one of his dumb old-man jokes.

But then he saw it—the way her eyes sparkled. The genuine excitement, the hope, the relief.

And just like that, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take it back.

Not without shattering that beautiful expression.

“I’m… seeing someone,” he repeated, rubbing the side of his arm with a sheepish motion. The words tasted wrong on his tongue, bitter and false.

And the lie began to grow.

He spun a story. It was painfully careful and absurdly romantic about a mysterious woman he’d met, someone unlike anyone he’d ever known. He explained he’d kept it a secret because he wasn’t sure how to bring it up, how to explain that loving someone new didn’t erase what he’d had with Lilith.

And he meant that part. God, he meant it. He would always love Lilith. Even now, with the echo of her absence lingering in every hallway of his life.

But he told Charlie he was happy. That he’d found someone who brought him light again.

And the more she listened, the more she believed—the brighter her features became, until her aura shimmered like rainbows in sunlight. She gasped, hands pressed to her chest, and then threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

“Oh, Dad! That’s wonderful! You have to bring her to the party—I need to meet her!”

He hugged her back, guilt clawing into him like a parasite.

And now… now here he was.

Sitting alone in his cavernous bedroom, bathed in the cold glow of his phone, the silence around him suffocating. The walls of his room felt tighter tonight.

More judgmental.

App after app filled his screen—swipe-based hellscapes of desperation, lust, and neon-filtered selfies. He downloaded everything he could, until finally, he found it:

Rent-a-Girlfriend.

The name was so ridiculous it was practically divine intervention.

It was precisely what he was looking for.

Except… not really.

He’d been swiping for five hours now. Five hours. And every profile blurred together—dozens of sinners in sultry poses, dressed in next to nothing, their expressions blank or predatory. The commodification of companionship. The illusion of romance.

All looking for a quick fuck. None looking to play the part of ‘Lucifer’s True Love.’

His thumb paused mid-swipe. A hollow ache settled in his chest again, curling inward like a dying star. He should tell Charlie the truth. Rip the bandage off. Confess. Face the fallout.

But he couldn’t.

He’d already painted this woman as perfect. Ideal. A new beginning. Charlie believed in her. She believed in him.

He couldn’t take that back. Not without breaking her heart. Or worse—breaking her trust.

Maybe… maybe he’d find someone. Just for the night. Bring a beautiful, convincing date to the party, smile for the pictures, sell the dream.

And afterward?

Afterward, he’d say they broke up. Quietly. Sadly.

A love lost too soon.

And maybe… This whole mess would fade into the background.

But first…

He needed to find a woman.

As if Heaven itself had momentarily lifted its eternal restraining order on him—which would be shocking, considering Lucifer was fairly certain God had put him on a celestial Do Not Call list centuries ago—his phone suddenly chimed.

A soft bell tone, bright and clear, echoed through the stillness of his dark chamber. The screen lit up, casting a pale glow across his face like moonlight filtering through a stained-glass window.

Lucifer, sprawled on his bed in a dramatic mess of silk sheets and self-loathing, flipped onto his stomach with the grace of a fallen starfish. He squinted at the screen, his eyes still adjusting to the light.

A notification pulsed gently at the top:

He blinked once.

Then twice.

And then—pure, unfiltered chaos.

“HOT DIGGITY DOG! HALLELUJAH!” he howled, startling the infernal crows roosting outside his window. His voice echoed through the chambers like a choir of mad angels. A manic laugh burst from his throat, giddy and frenzied, tumbling out in wild waves.

He kicked his legs back and forth like an overgrown teenager, gripping his phone like it was a holy relic. “Finally! Finally, something in this godforsaken hellscape is going right!”

Without wasting another moment, he summoned his notepad app with a flourish, fingers tapping feverishly as he began crafting the ultimate list. Every trait, every nuance, every detail his imaginary perfect partner might possess.

If this app could deliver what it promised, he’d have four whole days to train this lucky lady in the sacred art of not embarrassing him. Four days to teach her about Charlie, the hotel, his favourite wine, his good side, his better side, and most importantly—how to make it look like they’d been in love for years.

This was it.

The lie had grown too large to abandon now. But if he could just pull this off, he wouldn’t have to face that flicker of disappointment in Charlie’s eyes. Maybe she’d never know how hollow the truth really was.

All he had to do now was find the woman of his manufactured dreams.

And rehearse one hell of a love story.

You leaned in gently, pressing a soft kiss to your fake boyfriend’s cheek—a delicate gesture choreographed with practiced ease. His mother stood a few feet away, clutching a rosary like a lifeline, her eyes shining with naive relief. She believed it. She really believed it. Her precious son wasn’t gay—just shy, just particular, just… reserved.

And that’s all it took. A single kiss. A single illusion.

It was almost absurd—funny, in that bleak, bitter kind of way that made your chest ache more than your stomach. The mother and son were both damned, both condemned to the fire and rot of Hell, and yet… to her, the only thing that seemed to matter was that her son wasn’t gay.

Not the endless torment.

Not the bloodstained skies or the scent of sulphur that clung to everything like guilt.

Not the screaming, the violence, the centuries of pain.

No.

In her mind, the worst possible fate wasn’t damnation.

It was deviation.

There was something grotesquely tragic about it. This stubborn clinging to a false sense of morality, this desperate need to preserve some imagined social order even in a realm where rules were shattered and rewritten with every scream. As long as her son was “normal” in her eyes, that was enough. That was her line in the sand.

You watched her, the way she came over to him and held his hand a little too tightly, the way he forced a smile that barely masked his fatigue. You saw the flinches, the tension in his shoulders, the quiet sadness behind his eyes—because even here, even after everything, he still wasn’t allowed to be himself.

And it wasn’t your place to say anything. This wasn’t your story to rewrite. You were just a performer in their little play—an actress brought in to deliver a convincing scene and exit stage left.

Still…

You couldn’t help but feel the sting in your chest as you showered in her compliments of how her son finally found himself a lovely girlfriend.

You knew that some prisons weren’t made of bars.

Some were built from expectations—and love twisted into chains.

When the charade ended, the two of you parted like actors after a curtain call. The shrimp-like sinner, small, dainty, and practically humming with nervous energy, pulled out his phone and, with trembling fingers, transferred the agreed-upon sum to your account.

“Thank you so much,” he said, voice fluttering like a hummingbird, delicate and sweet. “She completely fell for it!”

You smiled warmly, the same customer-service grin you’d mastered over dozens of gigs. “It’s no problem at all! If you're happy with the service, please remember to leave a five-star review!”

You turned to leave, already mentally checking this job off your list, but something in your chest gave a soft tug.

A pang.

A whisper.

You hesitated.

“Uhm… Carl?” you called, voice quiet, almost hesitant, as if the words themselves tiptoed past your lips. You weren’t sure if this was the right thing to say, or even your place to say it—but sometimes, when something weighed on your heart, it had to be let out.

Carl tilted his head, those shiny black eyes wide and curious. “Hm?”

You placed a hand gently over your chest. “I hope you and Jack can be happy one day.”

The words hung between you, tender and sincere.

Then, quickly, you added, “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” wincing slightly, your feet already turning to walk away, retreating before the awkwardness could bloom.

But just as you stepped out of earshot, you caught a soft whisper carried on the wind like a secret blessing: “Thank you.”

Your chest tightened—just a little—and you smiled to yourself.

Another job finished.

You pulled out your phone, ready to check out, when you noticed several missed messages buzzing in the Rent-A-Girlfriend app. At the top of your screen glowed a tiny pink envelope, sealed with a heart-shaped sticker. It shimmered faintly with golden light as you tapped it open.

Premium Client.

The aura of the message alone was enough to tell you one thing: whoever this was, they weren’t just rich—they were seriously desperate.

You read the request slowly, eyebrows raising with every line. The client was looking for someone… specific. A girlfriend not for a day, not for a date—but for a long-term illusion. Someone who could fake a deep, meaningful relationship with him. Years of fake memories. Shared laughs. Old habits. The kind of familiarity you only get with time.

He wanted a trial run first. Thirty minutes. One-on-one.

You blinked. That wasn’t exactly standard.

Your phone pinged again—this time a new chat invite. A private group with the other Rent-a-Girlfriend workers. You opened it curiously.

The messages were blowing up:

You stared at the chat in amused disbelief. Thirty girls, all saying the same thing. This Luci guy? Apparently, unbearable.

You tilted your head, thinking.

“Interesting,” you murmured aloud. Only thirty minutes, huh?

Part of you knew better. The warning signs were right there.

But then again… you’d always had a hard time turning down someone in need.

So, you pressed the “Accept” button.

Just thirty minutes.

What could go wrong?

NEXT ->

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piscesbae7 · 2 months ago

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coriolanus and his pretty little best friend <3

trigger warning: coriolanus snow is a manipulative, whiny bastard!! discrimination against the districts, misogyny, self righteousness, sexual implications, sassy man apocalypse, etcetera!!

District bound for the foreseeable future and cheated out of the Plinth prize by his own hand, an 18 year old Coriolanus Snow’s thoughts often turn vile, driven by his maddening desire for revenge — against the war about nothing that had cost him everything, against the Districts, against dean Highbottom, against mother nature herself for taking his young self’s only source of light in childbirth.

If any positives are to be sought, he was rendered starving no more in the Districts — in exchange for slumming it in 12, mingling with morale lacking filth under the guise of serving his country, his basic needs were met. Late at night, when the barracks prove too noisy to sleep in due to the hushed ramblings of his fellow peacekeeping grunts, Coriolanus’ mind would drift to her. The Crane’s youngest daughter, who had begun to attend the Academy amidst his junior year — those who broke the strict dress code never ceased to irk him, serving as a cruel reminder of his calculatedly hidden class insecurities; but he found himself unable to be truly vexed by the darling bows she adorned in your hair, the sparkly pink lip gloss she thought unnoticeable to those unsuspecting. He knew by the end of the first semester, he simply had to have her.

And as it would seem, fate had other plans for him — a Snow, diminished to serving in arguably the lowliest of Districts? The mere concept is laughable. With each and every boyish string cut — the luckiest of which being Sejanus, clearly, as Strabo Plinth took it upon himself to give his dear boys inheritance to his self proclaimed brother — he was back in the Capitol just in time to begin University.

Not long after returning, he purchased an opulent penthouse separate from Grandma’am and Tigris with a small chunk of his fat, newly granted inheritance, assuring the two of them are taken care of entirely before he takes his leave. It’s still on the Corso, of course, but with the gained luxury of beginning his adulthood on his terms. Not long after settling into his shiny new bachelor pad, he offered his darling girl her own room in his home — after requesting her parents permission, of course. While he thinks Mrs. Crane a sentimental fool and Idmon Crane a slimy bastard, he’d paid his dues in kissing their asses whilst in the Academy — therefore, he feels owed the companionship of their now only daughter. He’d weaseled his way into her life through becoming Arachne’s science partner, though her death is what truly solidified their lifelong friendship — he’d wiped the tears from her pretty face, coddled her endlessly and swore never to rest until payback was had on the Districts for their barbaric, senseless violence. Arachne deserved what she got, of course, but he didn’t dare say that aloud.

With his somewhat self detrimental work ethic and blossoming desire for power, Coriolanus graduated University in 2 years rather than 4, the Valedictorian of his class. Now that she lives in his home and is partially provided for by him, a proposal is an unspoken expectation amongst their friend group and families — with Coriolanus’ ability to swiftly clime the ranks, as he was given the role of co- Head Game-Maker almost immediately upon his graduation, any young lady would be lucky to become his bride!

Bitterness and cynicism had long ago dominated his mind, plagued his relationships. Oh, but he adores his girl. Perhaps it isn’t love — he isn’t quite sure he’s capable, after being foolishly conned by Lucy Gray — but he feels as if he owns her. She is his to provide for and to protect, to have and to hold. Over his dead body would he allow some silly boy to steal her from his grasp — she’s to be Mrs. Coriolanus Snow, in due time. Unbeknownst to her, a ring with a price tag fat enough to feed an entire District for a year is awaiting being picked up at the jewelers this very week — a beautiful, richly colored ruby, surrounded by glittering diamonds; nothing lab grown, as the price increase for mined ones are well worth the bragging rights.

The lighting in his study is dim, on the middle setting, as he burns the midnight oil — so to speak — attempting desperately to finish the tonight draft of his latest Game proposal before he retires to bed for the night. His gelled back, platinum blond hair is messed up past what he’d ever show his face with in public by now, his tie strewn across one of the overstuffed armchairs in the corner of his office and his cufflinks neatly pushed beside his fathers watch, rested on the antique mahogany of his desk. The crack of the door and a pair of hands daintily rested upon his shoulders alert him to his sweet girls presence rather than the usual tell-tale announcement of her heels click clacking against the hardwood flooring, the silk material of her nightdress smooth against the side of his head as she leers over him in an attempt to catch a sneak-peak of his proposal.

“Just a few more pages, I promise.” Coriolanus claims, sighing heartily as he leans back in his chair. He glances at his watch — the time reading 5 past 1 AM — before running a hand through his hair. Unsettlingly blue eyes now fixed upon her smooth, glittery eyeshadow free face, he takes her wrist and presses a kiss to the palm of her hand. He prefers her this way, he thinks, free from the intricately made confines of the Capitol’s latest fashions, in merely her pajamas — so utterly his. God forbid anyone catch him acting such a way; Festus had, once, having stumbled upon them giggling like lovesick fools in a secluded hall of the Heavensbee’s manor, having snuck away from last years reaping party. He’d snickered before walking away, insisting Coriolanus was ‘pussy whipped’ — the thought was so crude he thought it almost laughable; if only she’d let him get so far.

“I’m afraid there won’t be any essays if you drop dead of exhaustion.” She comments, sarcasm more prominent than worry in her tone, sweet like summer rain no matter what she’s speaking of.

“There won’t be a thing if I don’t get these wretched plans approved.” The blond sulks, his never dormant desire to poke and prod at her boundaries bubbling up alongside his instinct to wallow in loathing for Volumnia Gaul. He grabs her wrist, yanking her to stand in between his legs.

Draped in silk and heavy velvet, a chiding sort of smile appears on her features. “Coriolanus.” She scolds — Coryo is saved for his redeeming, chivalrous moments, which are slim to none nowadays. It isn’t necessarily that she’s a pure hearted saint — she had starred in a rather raunchy musical during her time in the Universities theater program as a freshman, thank you very much — she simply knows she’s worth a fat diamond ring and a prestigious last name before gracing any man with a thing. Certainly Coriolanus would have bored of her by now, had she granted him what he seeks. He is very much aware of that — but, a Presidential hopeful undoubtedly needs a wife, and Miss Crane will do just fine.

“My father would have a heart attack.” She reasons, a little gasp falling past her lips as borderline manhandles her, tugging her down onto his lap.

“He would.” Coriolanus agrees with a soft chuckle, cocking his head to the side slightly to gaze at her properly. He adored her propriety, not partaking in the same sexual promiscuity as many of your shared peers — as the call girls he’s visited on more than one occasion. A rare gem indeed. Greedily, he sinks his fingertips into the flesh of her plush hips, shifting to sit up beneath her.

“He should be thankful I remain a gentleman, even in private.” He reasons, shamelessly burying his face against the soft skin of her breasts, sighing as he inhales the heavenly scent — rose and vanilla — of her now signature perfume, the one he’d gifted her over the holidays. His perfect girl, through and through.

“If I were a lesser man, I would do far more to you than simply pull you into my lap.” The Game-Maker promises, voice somewhat muffled by the steady, open mouthed kisses he’s littering where her velvet robe is fallen open.

She simply sighs in discontent, feigning propriety in a surface level attempt to keep the upper hand. The gossip rags remain correct in her newfound title — the gem of Panem — sickeningly desirable with her conditional affections and good family name.

“Enough.” She finally finds it upon herself to insists, smothering a girlish grin before it can fully blossom as she steadied herself against his broad shoulders, feigning being scandalized at his vulgar implications, his desperate touches. Standing up, she wraps her robe tighter around herself, leaning against the edge of his desk — careful not to slide around any important documents regarding his work. All the riches he spoils her in and necessities he provides for her aside — they aren’t yet married! Simply the best of friends.

Coriolanus groans lowly in disapproval, reluctantly letting her hips slip free from his eager grasp. He leans his head back, resting it against the back of his heavily padded leather chair. Although he remains immensely disappointed that he cannot have his darling girl in his arms anymore, watching her strut around tauntingly in her silk nightgown and velvet robe was — and will eternally be — pleasing on the eyes.

He sighs once again, reaching forward to tug at her hand. "Cruel woman." He accuses, a hint of frustration in his tone.

“It’s already far past midnight. Come sleep with me.” Coriolanus prompts, dangling the enviable thread count of his comforter and sheets so silky they’re borderline sinful as one would a prettily bundled ball of yarn to an awaiting feline.

“Shameless.” Is all she has to say in response, turning her nose up at him as if he’s insulted her entire bloodline and requested she drop out of University to pursue a career as a high dollar whore, secluded to his spacious office downtown.

She leans down, pressing a dainty kiss to his clean shaven cheek — a token of her affection, rendered precious due to the scarcity.

“Goodnight.” She offers with a squeeze to his tense shoulder, before sauntering off to her professionally decorated bedroom down the hall and leaving her political-to-be best friend to brood in the solitude of his own company.

Coriolanus sighs heavily, glancing to the grandfather clock on the wall of his study. How a silly young woman with more fashion sense than brains has managed to wrap him around her perfectly manicured finger is beyond him — perhaps he should beckon a call-girl over to the penthouse, he ponders, endlessly fed up with her playing hard to get.

But, alas, there is an essay to be completed — a Presidency he strives for, respect he demands — so, tomorrow, maybe.

Realistically? Not even then.

If all else fails the young Snow, his delusion prevails — his sense of spite, branded to him permanently as a result of all he’s lost. It’s saved him many-a-heartbreaks, really — Crassus would most definitely be proud of the dictator-to-be, strikingly resembling him in more ways than one.

not proof read oopsie

#oneshot unless anyone wants a second part 😓😓#coriolanus snow #tbosas #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow oneshot #dark!coriolanus snow #thg blurbs #panem #tom blythe #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow blurb

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russo-woso · 1 year ago

Note

hii i have an alessia russo request :)

basically reader is a huge fuckgirl and everyone knows this, then when she meets alessia after alessias transfer to arsenal they become really close and start sleeping together but r makes it clear it’s just casual, then lessi starts catching feelings for her and r is aware of it but she is kinda playing with alessias feelings and showing mixed signals, eventually lessi breaks down and starts yelling at r about how cruel she’s being by playing with her feelings, happy ending though please maybe there’s an explanation on why r was acting the way she was?

also please write it with a bottom!alessia :)

No strings || Alessia Russo x Bronze!reader

Warning smut 18+, ab riding, fingering, orgasm denial, bottom!alessia, top!reader

Summary You’re known for getting around, but what happens when you start to fall for a special someone?

It’s a long one :)

Moving to Arsenal from Barcelona had been a hard move.

You knew it would be a hard move but you had prepared yourself for it.

The worst part of it all was the fact you were leaving your big sister, Lucy, behind.

Over the summer, you had been too focused on the World Cup to think about the dread of moving, but once you reached the airport, Lucy approached to say goodbye and that’s when it finally hit you.

You hated it.

You hated the fact you had to move.

But you had to. You had to leave.

You had to leave her.

Her being Jana Fernández.

You and Jana had been dating since you were both twenty and had dated for two years, however, when you were still madly in love with her, she came to you and said she had fallen out of love with you. She told you that you weren’t the one for her, and that killed you.

Once you’d broken up with Jana, it just became awkward and toxic to be around her.

Every training, you purposely avoided her but it became impossible to do that when you were always put at partners for training.

So you left.

You left everything behind so you could have a new beginning, and you wanted that.

You promised you wouldn’t fall in love again, not for a while at least, but that rule started to fade once you saw her, Alessia Russo.

Still being 22, you were playing with the under 23s, however, within the days prior to meeting her, you had received your call up for the World Cup.

Due to the fact you were only getting your call up then, you had never met Alessia but Lucy and Kiera had both told many stories with a certain blonde striker in them.

Alessia and you signed your contracts for Arsenal on the same day and the photographers suggested you take pictures together, which meant Arsenal got to show off their two new signings that could potentially be the future of English football.

It was only after the shoots that Alessia spoke to you.

“You’re Lucy’s sister aren’t you?” Alessia asked and you nodded in response, worried that you’d stutter if you opened your mouth. “You two look alike.” It was the truth. You and Lucy really did look alike. You both were tall, muscular, tattooed.

“Alessia, right?” You questioned, already knowing the answer and was confirmed when she nodded. “I’ve heard lots about you from Luce and Kiera. I’m guessing you’re the blonde striker that goes by Less in their stories.”

“They talk about me? What stories do they tell you?”

“There was this one story where you supposedly tripped over someone’s boot and face planted the floor.” You slightly giggled as Alessia’s face went a light shade of red. “Don’t worry, I’m clumsy too. Ask Luce. I’ve always been clumsy since I was a toddler. Running into stuff, tripping over things, everyone says they’re surprised I don’t trip over the ball when I play football.”

“No way, I get told that all the time.” You and Alessia laughed as the similarities you shared arose.

“Anyway, I best go, my plane back to Barca is in a few hours and you know what London traffic is like.” You joked and Alessia smiled. “See you in Australia?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you in Australia.” Alessia confirmed and with a small smile, you waved and left leaving a very confused Alessia.

Alessia had never come across a girl who made her feel the way you made her which racked her brain full of questions about you, and herself.

———————

“Luce, come on, I don’t like her. I can’t like her.” You complained as Lucy kept going on and on about you liking Alessia.

Once you’d gotten back from London, you told Lucy your encounter with Alessia and she had been teasing you for the past week.

You were currently on the way to London to meet up with the team before making your way to Australia for the World Cup.

“Yeah, but you do deep down, don’t you?” Lucy asked, desperate to get the truth from you.

“Kiera, please tell her to stop.” You begged, for the fourth time, as Kiera looked, unimpressed, at the both of you.

“Lucy, stop it.” Was all Kiera said and it was your turn to look unimpressed at her.

“Look, Luce, I get it. You’re my older sister, you want to know who I like, but I can’t like Alessia. Not after Jana.” You explained and Lucy gave you a sympathetic look. “And anyway, Alessia doesn’t even like girls.”

“Listen, kid, as your older sister, it’s not just my job to know who you like, but it’s also my job to make sure you’re happy, and if I think you’d be happy with Alessia, I say to shoot your shot.” Lucy told you and you nodded along, pretending to listen to her when actually you were blocking her voice out because you knew you wouldn’t do what she was saying.

Once Lucy had finished talking, she pressed resume on her laptop and went back to watching her film which you were grateful for because it meant that you didn’t have to continue the conversation.

———————

“Y/N, hi.” You heard a voice say before a pair of arms wrapped around you.

“Hi Alessia.” You said, taken aback at how sudden the action was.

“How are you? How was your flight from Barcelona?” Alessia questioned, you figured to try make conversation.

“It was good. A bit of turbulence and Lucy being annoying, but other than that, fine.” You replied, grabbing your suitcase before starting to walk away, hoping to end the conversation with your action but nope, Alessia grabbed hers too, walking side by side with you.

“Oh, why was Lucy being annoying?” Alessia asked and you mentally screamed.

As much as you wanted to speak to Alessia, like you really really wanted to, you couldn’t.

Could you?

“Just being herself, you know?” You lied, definitely not being able to tell Alessia the truth.

“Y/N!” You hear Georgia shout from across the terminal and you let out a small thankful sigh, not loud enough for Alessia to pick up on it though.

“I’ll see you on the plane, okay? Bye less.” You smiled at her, before walking to Georgia who enveloped you in a hug.

——————

To say you had had the best weeks of your life was an understatement.

Smashing through the group stages and winning against Nigeria, the whole team had an excited buzz around them.

The only thing that could make the summer even better, was if you could just admit your feelings to Alessia.

Over the past weeks, you and her had grown closer and closer, and you were definite that feelings were there for her but you pushed them away, also definite that your feelings were wrong.

To celebrate the win against Colombia, the whole team decided to go out after the match.

It had started with you saying you weren’t drinking much, but with constant nagging from Lucy, Mary, and a few other girls to drink, you figured you might as well.

You deserved to and it also meant you could get them off your back.

Once you had your first drink, you expected to feel a bit tipsy and then that would have been time to head home.

However, what you didn’t expect to happen, was to be drunkenly taking Alessia back to your room.

Whilst at the bar, flirty and needy touches from both, you and Alessia, had occurred and you took Alessia’s hand in yours, leading her outside before planting your lips on hers.

“Stay in my room tonight.” You whispered in her ear, breaking your lips from her jaw.

Alessia nodded almost immediately, moving to look you in your eyes before pressing her lips on yours.

From that moment, you booked a taxi and eventually ended back at the hotel, you and Alessia the only ones there.

You led Alessia upstairs, not letting your lips off her.

As you entered the room, you pinned Alessia against the wall, moving your lips down her neck whilst her hands tangled themselves in your hair.

A small sigh escaped Alessia’s mouth, her grip in your hair tightening as you continued to attack the sweet spot on her neck.

“Fuck” she murmured, whilst you licked the sensitive, fast growing mark on her neck.

You grabbed ahold of the bottom of her shirt, pulling it quickly over her head, before reconnecting your lips with her body.

This time, instead of moving to her neck, you pressed your lips to her collarbone and down to her chest, just above where her bra sat.

“Move to the bed?” You questioned, pulling away from her body.

“Please.” She whined as you grabbed the back of thighs, lifting her up, effortlessly, and carrying her to the bed.

You placed her down in the centre of the bed before climbing above her.

“Fuck, you look so good beneath me.” You whispered in her ear whilst reaching beneath her to unclip her bra.

“Take this off.” Alessia told you, playing with the hem of your shirt.

You sat up, nearly ripping the shirt off you, your abs flexing at the cool air.

You watched as Alessia’s eyes trailed down your body to your abs, her eyes growing when she landed on them.

You smirked lightly before grabbing the top of her trousers, pulling down swiftly along with her underwear.

“Please hurry up.” Alessia mumbled, your mouth quickly attaching itself to her right nipple.

“Patience, pretty girl.” You told her, your voice husky which clearly affected Alessia because the moan she let out was almost pornographic.

Your tongue swirled around her nipple, your teeth often biting down gently to give her even more pleasure.

“Please, Y/N.” Alessia begged, and you lifted your head to look at her.

Her eyes were screwed shut, her head against the bed.

You locked eyes with hers once they opened, the blue that you’d fallen in love with was the only thing you could focus on.

“Are you sure you want this?” You asked, needing the confirmation before continuing.

“I want this, I’ve wanted this for a long time.” She revealed and you lowered yourself so you were in line with her pussy.

Planting teasing kisses to her inner thighs, you eventually thought it was time and connected your mouth with her mouth.

Alessia sucked a breath in as you made contact with her.

The whole experience was intoxicating for you.

The taste of her was intoxicating.

The smell of her was intoxicating, the perfume she wore was all you could smell.

Her laugh was intoxicating.

“You taste so good.” You moaned shamelessly into her pussy which made her buck her hips into your face.

You grabbed ahold of her thighs, keeping them in place whilst you continued to eat her out.

Your tongue took turns between going to her core and to her clit.

“I’m so close.” Alessia breathed out, her breath uneven and ragged.

You hummed in response, sending vibrations through Alessia’s body, moving her closer and closer to the edge.

The sounds escaping Alessia’s mouth made you feel like you were in heaven.

You felt Alessia’s pussy begin to clench so with a final lick you pulled away, leaving a very confused and angry Alessia.

“What? I was so close.” Alessia whined, out of breath.

“I know, pretty girl, but you’re gonna cum. I promise.”

You wiped your mouth, due to it being covered in Alessia’s juices, before leaning down to kiss her.

She moaned into the kiss due to her tasting herself.

As you deepened the kiss, you felt Alessia’s hand work its way to your abs, slowly tracing her fingers over them.

You smirked into the kiss, knowing how much she loved them.

“‘m gonna flip you, okay?” You stated and switched your positions so now, head was against the headboard and Alessia straddled your hips, more so your torso.

She bucked her hips at the contact with your abs.

You grabbed ahold of her hips, slowly guiding her up and down your abs.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” You praised her as she started to pick up the pace of her hips.

Moans escaped Alessia’s mouth and she increased her speed.

With the sensitivity from the denied orgasm, you figured Alessia would cum quickly and as you expected, she did.

It didn’t take long for her to mumble that she was close.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Oh god — ‘m gonna cum.” Alessia nearly screamed, and at that point, you flipped her again so she was beneath you and you slipped your fingers into her.

You continuously pumped in and out of her, to push her over the edge.

Curling your fingers to a particular spot, she moaned for the final time and her legs spasmed around your arm.

“God, I love you so much. I’ve loved you for ages, Y/N. I’ve wanted your lips on mine for months.” Alessia revealed and your face turned white.

You were speechless.

You didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was just post orgasm talk. Or maybe it was the truth.

“And I’m not just saying that because you just gave me the best orgasm of my life. I really do like you, Y/N.” Alessia admitted.

Bingo. There was your answer.

Thoughts swirled through your head.

You liked her back. You know you do. But you couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t.

“I’m gonna get a clean cloth and I’ll help you clean up.” You told her, desperately trying to change the topic.

“Oh, okay.” Alessia said, the sparkle in her eyes disappearing which killed you to think that you were the reason for the action.

You promised yourself from that moment that you wouldn’t sleep with anyone, especially Alessia, until you were ready for an actual relationship.

Seeing Alessia hurt and confused killed you, and you didn’t want to experience that again.

You broke that promise though.

Following the win against Australia, the girls went drinking and Alessia ended up in your bed again.

It wasn’t planned and you didn’t intend for her to end there.

But similarly, you left her confused and hurt when you came up with an excuse for her to go.

You hated it.

You hated yourself for making her go through torture.

But most of all, you hated yourself for giving her mixed signals.

You ignore her when you walk past her, but then sleep with her.

You pretend like you don’t know her, but then sprint to her when she scores.

You show her that you don’t like her, but then show her that you love her.

You figured Alessia would snap at you at some point.

What you didn’t expect, was for her to snap at you at the worst time possible.

After the final and the loss to Spain, the team went out for a final time, hoping the drink would take away their emotions.

The night consisted of alcohol, dancing and jealousy.

The jealousy part in all the girls who were jealous of Spain for taking the win, but for you, it was a different type of jealousy.

Throughout the night, a bloke had made his way to Alessia, a flirty smirk resting on his face.

You saw Alessia smile back and within the space of a few hours, they’d gone from talking, to his hands resting on her hips as they danced.

You hadn’t realised just how jealous you were until Mary pointed it out.

“Mini Bronze, what’s with the frown and the red face? Angry are we?” Millie teased and the rest of the team agreed.

Instead of responding, you got out of your seat, stomping over to Alessia and the guy before pushing him away from Alessia.

“Get away from her.” You almost shouted as he pushed back.

“Why?” He snarled, harshly pushing you again. “Are you her girlfriend?”

“What if I was? Have a problem with that?” You squared up to him before he threw a punch.

You eyed him down, throwing a harder punch back.

You felt a pair of arms wrap around you and Lucy telling you to stop.

She separated you and the bloke before telling him to get out.

“What’s your problem?” You heard Alessia shout at you.

It took you, and the rest of the team, by shock at her shouting because she never raised her voice.

“You give me signs that you like me and then you ignore me! You fucking sleep with me, but then walk straight past me the next day. I like you Y/N! Why can’t you just tell me if you like me back? I just want an answer!” Alessia continued to shout.

You watched everyone’s jaws drop at the sudden reveal.

“I do. I do like you Alessia. I’ve liked you since Lucy and Kiera would come home talking about this climbs blonde striker. But I can’t love you. I can’t.” Your voice broke as you said the final sentence.

“Why? Why can’t you love me?”

“Because…” You were about to explain but remembered all the people who had surrounded you, including your big sister and all your teammates. “Can we go outside?”

Alessia nodded, and you both walked out the door and into the darkness that surrounded the bar.

“Why can’t you love me, Y/N, because I need to know. I need to know if you love me or not. Because I’m wasting my life waiting for you when potentially, you don’t even like me back.”

“I can’t love you because I loved Jana and she left me. I loved her and she said randomly one day that she didn’t love me anymore. I don’t want that to happen to us, because I love you too much Alessia. I think I loved you before I even met you. I don’t want to lose you and if that means staying friends, then so it stays.” You explained, Alessia’s face changing from anger to sympathy. “I wish I could love you Alessia, I really want to. But I don’t want any of us to get hurt.”

“I don’t care if I get hurt, Y/N. And I promise I won’t hurt you. I’d rather quit football than hurt you. I’d give up football in a heartbeat for you, and that’s telling you something. Please, let me love you.” Alessia said, inching closer and closer until she stated the last sentence against your lips.

“I’ll never stop loving you.” You whispered against hers before connecting them.

This time, the kiss was slow and full of love.

“I’m so sorry for everything, Less. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to confuse you.” You rambled as you pulled away from the kiss.

“It’s okay. I understand, I promise you, I understand. That’s in the past now.”

Alessia was true.

Jana and that experience was your past, Alessia was now your future.

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #womens football #woso fanfics #woso smut #alessia russo #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo smut

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voxslays · 6 months ago

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THE CURSE

Featuring >>> Lucifer x Reader; In which, an attempt to kill baby Charlie goes south. Resulting in a soporific curse placed upon the reader, who struggles to deal with the aftermath of its affects.

Part Three Part Five

The waiting was agonizing. You loved your husband, you truly did—but there was no way you were going to sit out your baby’s sweet sixteen party! She only got one of those! So you close your eyes for another few moments, waiting until Luci is out of sight to sit back up again. You slowly get up, quickly and quietly making your way to the door of the master bedroom and stepping out of it, into the long, wide hallway.

You quickly go up a familiar set of stairs that leads to one of the Palace’s towers. Once up though, you find yourself in an unfamiliar dark hallway—one that didn’t even match the aesthetic of the gold, white, and red decor of the rest of the estate. Yet, you found yourself walking down it anyways. Was it stupid? Absolutely, but you needed to find that dress for Charlie. She was counting on you.

At the end of the long, dark hallway is a small round room, with nothing but a peculiar spinning wheel inside. You slowly open the door, hearing a loud creak. You jump back in fear, only to see a singular spinning wheel in the middle of the room. You instantly relax. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Yet, you strangely find yourself staring at the spinning wheel. The longer you look, the more peculiar and out of place it seems. It was made out of a mahogany-like wood, with a gold and red string wrapped around the wheel…was it sewing something? And there were white and pink roses all along the dark marble walls, covering almost every inch. The only rays of sunlight came into the room from a small window at the far end of the small room. The window has a small panel covered in both dust and the overgrown roses. Strange.

You slowly walk closer and closer to the spindle—examining the strange textile, each step heavier than the rest, it’s almost like you’re in a trance—and before you know what you’re doing, you touch the sharp spindle, causing a small drop of blood to fall from your finger onto the dark, cold, stone floor. “No.” You softly whimper, wiping your bloody finger on your dress.

As another drop of blood hits the floor, the room suddenly feels colder. The spinning wheel creaks loudly, and the room begins to spin slowly. More roses cover the walls, completely blacking out the small window. You feel the vines of the roses slowly wrapping around you too. You try to shake them loose, but it’s no use. The vines are extremely strong, and you are growing weaker by the minute. What had you just done? How could you be so careless? You feel the vines wrap around your bloody finger as you yawn once, before falling to the ground unconscious.

You had been missing all night. Lucifer had checked nearly every room, closet, hallway, and tower—and you weren’t in any of them. Feeling downtrodden and concerned, Lucifer travels up the last place on his list, the east tower. It was a place he had never shown you…because, well…it was dangerous, to say the least.

As Lucifer reaches the tower and finds the door open, he opens the door to a truly horrific sight. You were out cold, covered by a pack of overgrown roses and thorns, the light was completely missing from the room, and the spinning wheel within was turning by itself. He quickly steps inside the room, kneeling to the floor. “Ducky, this isn’t funny…wake up…!” He shakes your unconscious frame—to no avail because of the excessive amount of roses.

Lucifer snaps his fingers twice and the roses and their vines quickly retract and disappear into the shadows. He rocks your limp body back and forth in his arms as he checks your pulse. You’re still alive. Maybe you were just napping? Luci sees a red dot out of the corner of his eye. Blood. He quickly looks to the spinning wheel as a cold and dark realization washes over him. “No no no…wake up my love.” Lucifer sobs as he cradles you in his pale arms. But it’s no use. You won’t can’t wake up.

Lucifer carefully carries you out of the room, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows exactly what has happened, and the implications are dire. He rushes back down the stairs, holding you tightly against him. He does the only thing he can think of—locking the memory of you away as he swears to never tell Charlie the horrors of what he experienced that night. She can never know.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin x you #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer x you #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne #hazbinhotel #luciferxreader #hazbin hotel angst #angst

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mellowsadistic · 8 months ago

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Costume Changes - Part 1

Three college girls perform a childish prank on a woman’s house on Halloween, not realising the occupant is an actual witch. The girls are helpless to resist when she instructs them to come inside, and to their horror they find themselves being permanently altered by her magic.

***

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” said Amber, glancing nervously at the front door of the house.

“Oh lighten up,” said Lucy, handing her a roll of toilet paper. “it’s just a bit of fun.”

“Yeah, don’t be such a downer,” said Candace, pausing her examination of her nails to accept a roll of toilet paper from Lucy herself. “TP’ing someone’s house is a Halloween staple.”

“But what if that woman comes out and catches us?” Amer asked anxiously, adjusting her glasses and glancing again at the front porch of the house. Fake cobwebs stretched between the wooden pillars, plastic bats hung down on strings, and numerous pumpkins were sat around on the ground, leering at them.

“We’ll be long gone before she realises what’s happened,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes impatiently. “Besides, what’s she gonna do? Chase after us? It’s her own fault for not giving us any candy. We did things properly, didn’t we? We said trick or treat, and if she won’t give us a treat, she gets a trick. That’s how it works.”

“Aren’t you three a little old for trick or treating?” Candace mocked, echoing what the woman in the witch’s outfit had told them when they’d knocked on her door. “I’d rather save these sweets for the kiddies. What a bitch!”

Lucy put her hands on her hips. She wore a devil costume with a red vinyl bodysuit, matching boots, and a horned hairband. “And now it’s time for a little Halloween justice,” she said, tossing back her sleek brown hair and smirking.

Amber fussed with the sensible cardigan and knee-length skirt of her librarian costume. “Alright,” she conceded. “I’m in.”

“Well now that Amber’s given us permission,” Candace said scornfully, “I guess we can start.” She was dressed in a flowing blue gown with a loose, revealing bodice. A very realistic crown sat in her golden hair.

“I was just saying-”

“Ugh, stop bickering!” Lucy snapped. “Let’s get on with this! When we’re done, we’ll head to the bar, okay? I could do with a drink, and warming up a little.” She shivered in the cool Autumn air. Her costume left her shoulders, arms, and most of her legs bare.

Lucy threw the first roll of toilet paper, looping it high over the squat tree in the woman’s front garden. Amber and Candace followed suit, covering the hedges and flowerbeds with toilet paper, some of which began to melt immediately on the damp leaves. They moved on to the house itself next, arming themselves from the plastic bag of toilet rolls they’d brought with them, and tossing them over the porch and up onto the tiled roof, leaving trails of increasingly soggy paper everywhere. Soon the three college students were giggling like schoolgirls. At least until the front door opened and light spilled out onto the lawn.

“Well, well, well, looks like I was wrong,” said the woman in the witch costume. “Maybe the three of you are just kiddies after all.”

“Run!” Lucy gasped. She could feel a giddy excitement bubbling up within her, and she let out a laugh. But it died in her throat almost instantly. Something was wrong. She’d tried to sprint away towards the street, but it was as if her legs were frozen in place. She couldn’t move! She looked around wildly and saw Amber and Candace in the same situation, both gawking at their feet in confusion.

“I don’t think so,” said the witch woman lightly. She let out a sweet, tinkling laugh that sent a shiver down Lucy’s spine. “My, my, look what a mess you’ve made!” Her eyes travelled over the garden, coming to rest on the place where Candace had stuffed a roll of toilet paper into a drain pipe. “What silly, messy girls you are!”

“What have you done to us?!” Lucy demanded. She tried her best to sound confident and calm, and not scared out of her wits, but her voice shook nonetheless. There was something freaky going on here. “Why can’t we move?!”

“Just a little freezing spell,” said the woman, gently. “I can’t have you running off, can I? Now let’s see, what do we have here…” She walked up to Lucy, whose heart was thumping rapidly in her chest. “A naughty little devil!” She examined the other girls. “A snobbish queen too. And a fussy librarian!” She laughed again, shaking her head. “No, no, no, I don’t think that’s right at all! Come inside, little ones. I have some costumes that will suit you much better.”

The witch woman turned around and walked back inside the house, and to her horror, Lucy found herself following after her. It was as though her body was on auto-pilot, acting totally without her permission. Amber and Candace followed too, and Lucy could see the expression of fear on Candace’s face, and the look of shock and disbelief on Amber’s.

“This isn’t possible,” Amber was whispering to herself. “This can’t be happening. She can’t be an actual witch…”

They crossed the threshold into the house, and the woman closed the door behind them. “Follow me, girls,” said happily, leading them on into the living room. Even on the inside, the house was covered in Halloween decorations, but otherwise it looked normal. Regular chairs and regular tables and regular wallpaper. No giant cauldrons or bloodstained pentagrams, no place they might be sacrificed or eaten alive. Still, just being out of control of her body was enough to frighten Lucy to her core.

“Halloween is my favourite night of the year,” said the witch, walking over to a large wooden chest that sat against the wall and kneeling down in front of it. She lifted the top, and a gold light emanated from within. Lucy, Amber, and Candace stood in a row watching her, glued to the spot. “It’s always fun seeing what people choose to dress as. I think it reflects something about our inner selves.” The girls exchanged frightened glances as the woman rooted around inside the chest. “But some people need a little help understanding who they really are.” The witch stood up and turned around, holding a bundle of clothes. “And that’s certainly true of you three.” She handed a sparkly pink mass to Candace. “That’s for you, sweetie. You’re not a queen, I’m afraid. Just an overgrown little princess.” She moved on to Amber, pushing something white and tartan into her arms. “And you might think you’re a big, smart librarian, young lady, but I know better. You might be in your twenties, but you’re not ready to be out of school just yet.” Then she reached Lucy, and she handed over something soft and silky and pure white. Lucy’s hands reached out to take it without her say-so. “A devil is completely the wrong costume for you, little one,” the witch said sweetly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re just an innocent little angel, aren’t you?”

Lucy looked down at the bundle she was holding. It was a wispy white dress, a pair of strap-on angel wings, and a fluffy halo attached to a hairband by a piece of wire. There was something else sitting on top, but for a moment she couldn’t comprehend what it was. Then the realisation came to her, and she felt her heart drop down into her stomach. Pull-ups. Soft and crinkly, with little flower designs for wetness indicators. A pair of Huggies pull-ups, just her size.

“For just-in-case,” said the witch, winking at her.

Lucy felt sick.

“But there’s nothing just-in-case about yours, is there, sweetie?” the witch cooed, looking over at Candace. Lucy followed the woman’s gaze and saw Candace looking stricken as she extracted something from the mass of pink frills she was holding. She unfurled it slowly and stared at it, horror-struck. “It’s only fitting for someone who clearly doesn’t know what toilet paper is for, don’t you think?” said the witch. “That will handle all your wees and poos.”

Candace blanched. She seemed unable to tear her eyes away from the enormous disposable diaper in her hands.

Lucy glanced at what Amber was holding. Resting on top of the tartan whatever-it-was was a pair of white panties with a My Little Pony design on the front. Amber was staring down at them intensely.

“Well come on, girls!” said the witch brightly, clapping her hands together twice. “Chop, chop! It’s time to change into your new outfits! Then we’ll see about some trick or treat candy!”

#mellowsadistic

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stellar-constellations · 7 months ago

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Heart on the Market (ONGOING SERIES) Chapter 1

WARNING: This series will include; NSFW, dead dove, reader is a serial killer, black market possible inaccurate historical slang and fashion, gore, alcohol, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, implications of misandry (male misogyny), perversive thoughts, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (Ashley doesn't exist).

Incest is not Wincest.

Andrew Graves x Old school! Serial killer! Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 3,000+ words

Chapters: Current chapter, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

It’s 12 in the morning at the 24 hour diner. Despite it being midnight, the diner was bustling with people eating pancakes and drinking spiked milkshakes; a classic 50’s diner.

The floor had black and white checkered tiles had fallen pieces of bacon. One of the tables had spilled milk after a baby knocked their bottle of milk over (why the family is here at this time, she doesn’t know nor does she care). The chairs had chewed gum under them matching the table bottoms too. The red and white counter had drunk men watching an episode of I Love Lucy.

“Do you need anymore coffee?” (Y/N) smiled, holding a piping hot coffee pitcher, steam escaping from the top of the lid.

“Thank you, dear.” A little old lady smiled, probably thinking it was 5 AM in winter when the sun wasn’t up instead of it being 12 o’ clock in the summer.

“Need anymore hash browns?” (Y/N) smiled, grabbing her notepad and pen from her white apron tied around her waist, the tight strings accentuating her figure.

“No, but I’ll take a cookie for the road.” The lady smiled.

“Coming right up, ma’am.” (Y/N) smiled, her black flats walking against the sticky tiled floor as her light blue skirt twirled around her knees.

She walked behind the counter to the display of cookies resting there since yesterday, grabbing a cookie and throwing it in a small, white paper bag. She stapled the bag closed and walked back to her customer, handing her the cookie.

“There you go, ma’am. Is that all for you tonight?” (Y/N) smiled.

“Yes, that’ll be it.” The lady smiled, her sunken cheeks turning up to show her dentures.

“I’ll get the check.” (Y/N) hummed, walking back to the counter and printing out the check for table 26.

She walked back to the old lady, grabbing the printed receipt and handing it to the lady.

“Careful, the ink’s fresh.” (Y/N) smiled.

“Thank you.” The lady smiled, placing 30 bucks on the counter.

“Oh, ma’am. You dropped a few bucks.” (Y/N) spoke, counting the cash. “Your meal was 13 bucks.”

“Keep the change as a tip.” The lady smiled, before leaving the diner.

“Fool…” (Y/N) snickered to herself, placing the tip in her tip pouch on her hip as she took the meal’s money to the cash register.

Old people are so easy to butter up. She thought, smiling. All it takes is a few nice words to make them smile a million bucks. Not to mention their retirement money.

If she keeps it up earning these tips, maybe she can buy a new dress. She’s been meaning to get another poodle skirt anyways.

(Y/N) sorted out the money in the cash register before closing it, walking into the back. There were tablets there on the walls for her to clock out of.

Unnecessary screens in unnecessary places… (Y/N) thought, annoyed. These new generations and their technology!

(Y/N) clocked herself out on time, heading to her work locker and inserting her combination. She grabbed her work bag and took it with her into the bathroom, changing into her regular clothes.

She put on a black and red fit-and-flare dress with her nude stockings and black gloves. She grabbed her black hand-purse, throwing her work clothes into her work bag. She undid her hair’s bun and brushed her hair out, letting it hang off her shoulders as she put on a black headband with a bow on top in her hair.

She exited the bathroom, putting her work bag back into her locker and shutting it, then exiting the diner out back, walking down the streets.

The streets had an occasional stranger walking down, giving her a weird look at her old 1950’s outfits, but others have seen her enough to know it was her style by now.

She held her purse and walked down the streets, before taking a turn down a dark alley.

It stunk of trash and the air was humid, but that was normal in every overpopulated city. Thank god this city wasn’t a night-life one at least, how troublesome it would be for her work.

A stumbling man appeared in view, leaning on the brick walls of a building, taking a few wary steps before stopping again. He looked absolutely shit-faced, with a fire red face and dilated pupils; drunk and lethargic.

“Do you need any help, sir?” (Y/N) questioned, her transatlantic accent she gained from growing up watching too many movies of the 1930’s shined through.

“I-I need… "urgh…” the male groaned, tipsy before collapsing to his feet, trying to hold his stomach in.

“Oh, pardon me.” (Y/N) smiled, walking closer without fear as her black Mary Jane’s hit the ground.

He probably thought he traveled back in time as he looked at her, confused at the blurry figure approaching.

“Now, sir. Public intoxication is very bad, you know? You can be charged!” (Y/N) scolded, a playful tone in her voice as she crept closer, before coming up behind him.

She fished a black lipstick container out of her purse, popping open the lid to show a black tube with a small green and red button.

“Allow me to help you.” She smiled, pressing the tube to the back of his neck, before holding down the red button, allowing blue sparks to buzz through the air, shocking him.

He convulsed, drool flooding out of his mouth as he yelped, before a flood of vomit followed.

“There you go!” (Y/N) cheered supportingly as he kept the stun gun to his neck.

She removed the tube, watching him fall to the ground, disoriented and confused.

“See, sir. The problem there is your stomach was empty. You don’t ever drink on a empty stomach, no wonder you’re ill!” (Y/N) smiled. “A proper man could hold their liquor at the very least.”

Then again, this modern day and age doesn't know a thing about chivalry unless it's to get under a woman's dress... (Y/N) thought, frowning.

"Now, let's see." (Y/N) hummed, crouching down beside the drunken male lying in his own vomit.

She picked his head up by his hair, yanking it back roughly. "A 4 o' clock shadow that's stubbly. Dilated pupils. Nauseating scent. You must not take good care of your liver considering your performance of drinking tonight..." She frowned, sighing. "It must not hold much value, but something is better than nothing..."

She threw his head back into his bile, reaching into her gloved hand into purse and putting away her lipstick stun gun, replacing it with a 1930's Remington Rh36 hunting knife. She picked the disoriented man's head up, placing the knife under his throat, before making a jagged line around his neck.

"It's a good thing I wore my black pair today!" (Y/N) chirped, referring to her gloves as she dropped the man's head, sitting down on his back so he couldn't get up and fight.

She watched him squirm under her, warm crimson puddling under her as she counted, "99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall." She smiled, looking down at him. "Oh, good sir. Where is your spirit? Sing with me!"

She grabbed his chin, pressing her thumb on his bottom lip and pressing down as blood spurted out of his mouth. "98 bottles of beer on the wall, 98 bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around——how many do we have?" (Y/N) smiled, pressing down on the now dead man's lips. "97!" she chirped, putting on a high-pitched voice. "Good job! 97!" she smiled, letting go of his chin.

She stood up, smoothing down her dress and stepping off the man's back. She grabbed her dirty knife, wiping the blade on the man's clothes.

She placed the knife down into her purse, pulling out a neatly folded black trash bag. She unfolded the bag and opened it, shoving the man's head in first (careful to avoid the pile of vomit), before bending his body awkwardly, a crack playing out somewhere in his legs as she forced him into the bag, tying it up.

"Citizen's trash duty: completed." She smiled, picking up the trash bag handles and pulling it down the alley with her.

(Y/N) dragged it with her, taking a shortcut down the alleyway and walking a few blocks until she got to the back of her apartment complex.

(Y/N) dragged the body bag up the fire escape stairs, careful not to tip backwards as the dead man’s head ‘thunked’ against the metal stairs over and over.

Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, she grabbed a spare key she copied stealing the owner’s once, grabbing the copy from her purse and unlocked the door.

She dragged the body inside the halls, taking the body up the stairs since every lazy piece of modern trash around here used the elevators.

She took the body with her down her hallway, fishing for her front door’s key inside of her purse, before pausing as the neighbor’s door next to her opened.

A man stepped out, pale skin akin to snow and eyes fresh like the Iceland hills. There were bags under his eyes, tired as he yawned, wearing a red shirt as his uniform for his job as a gas station attendant.

Andrew Graves; a recluse of a man, if even a person. Andrew doesn’t talk with (Y/N), not unless she corners him by the mailboxes and blabbers with him.

For some reason, the boy couldn’t fall for her charisma or even her appearance. She didn’t understand it; everyone likes her, why doesn’t he?

Perhaps he was just one of those people with a good sixth sense, but whatever it was, it infuriated (Y/N). How was she supposed to maintain a good social image if her next door neighbor didn’t have any good words to say about her?

How could he have any good words to say now that his eyes were widened with surprise and fear, looking down at her feet, where she looked and saw a leg hanging out of the bag, a trail of blood down the hallways.

The bag must’ve ripped upon climbing the stairs somewhere.

(Y/N) stared at the leg, both of them frozen in place as the complex’s AC kicked in.

(Y/N) quickly lunged at Andrew, shoving him back into his apartment. She drug the bag with her, entering his apartment and closing the door behind her.

Andrew’s apartment was completely dark, an unfamiliar terrain as she felt the walls for a light switch before switching it on, illuminating the room.

Andrew was on the ground, silently crawling backwards, making sure to look in her direction before he froze as the light came on.

“Ah!” (Y/N) sighed, happy as she quickly dropped onto her knees, crawling after him like a child.

She caught up to him quickly, especially since he hit the back of his couch, her hands pressing down on his chest as she leaned in, pushing her nose against his.

“I found you~” she smirked.

“What the fuck was that?” Andrew questioned, his eyes shooting behind her at the body bag.

“A Halloween prop.” (Y/N) responded quickly.

“It’s December.” Andrew retorted.

“A prop for Krampus, dummy! He’s a Halloween-Christmas guy!” she smiled.

“It’s an apartment complex! We don’t do decorations!” Andrew spoke, still scared but a bit annoyed that she took him as dumb enough to believe that.

“Well we do now.” (Y/N) smiled.

“I’m not dumb!” Andrew snapped. “So you’re the Manson Murderer, huh?”

Ah, the Manson Murderer, what a name she’s built for herself! "Manson Murderer Multilates Again!" and "Who is the Man of Manson?"

How funny they even think it’s a man. The only reason why so many men are trialed for murder, is because nobody believes a dainty flower of a woman could stabbed a man 41 times in his chest.

“Oh, my! What an accusation!” (Y/N) giggled, staring into his eyes as their faces were mere centimeters apart.

“Don’t you even try lying to me…” Andrew growled, his eyes hardened as he toughened himself up in front of her.

“Oh, have no fear, darling! I would never lie to you, you’re much too smart!” (Y/N) giggles, although she knew it was true.

Could it be possible he never liked her because he knew something was up with her? Is this his proof to having a reason to dislike her, not just because he was an introverted loser?

“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew…” (Y/N) muttered, clicking her tongue as her hand came up to his cheek, caressing it as he flinched at the sudden affection. “My love, why are you so scared? Don’t you know I would never hurt you? Not a man as handsome as yourself at least.” She purred.

“See, Andrew. There are certain duties people like I must fulfill. Someone has to clean the streets up after all.” She hummed.

“Why’d you do it?” Andrew questioned.

“Why didn’t I?” she smiled.

“That isn’t an answer—“ Andrew muttered, but was cut off by her.

“Now, Andrew. You’ll keep your mouth shut, yes?” she smiled. “I would certainly hate… for you to become scum at the bottom of a dumpster after all…

Andrew knew was she was implying. Trash for her to take out like it was a normal Monday.

“Yes…” Andrew seethed through his teeth, not too happy about it.

“Good!” (Y/N) smiled, taking her purse and flipping out her pocket knife.

“W-woah, hey! Hey! I said I won’t tell!” Andrew panicked, squirming but had nowhere to run as he was still pressed against the couch.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’m only sealing our promise.” (Y/N) smiled, pulling up his shirt.

Andrew froze as she placed the knife onto his right side, before a hiss escaped his lips as she impaled the skin, carving into it like leather.

“Pardon my handwriting; mother always said I was messy.” (Y/N) smirked, smiling as the pretty blood ran down his side, matching his red shirt.

“F-fuck!” Andrew gasped, biting down onto his lips.

“When this mark heals, you can tell people it’s me who is the Manson Murderer.” (Y/N) smiled. “But for now, you’re mine to keep, so be a good boy and be quiet.”

(Y/N) smiled, admiring her craftsmanship before wiping the excess blood from the knife off on Andrew’s shirt.

She placed her pocketknife back into her purse, before looking at her words. She stuck out a gloved finger, scooping up some of the red liquid and wiping it on her bottom lip, closing her lips and smearing it like lipstick.

“Mwah! Red looks good on me, don’t you think?” (Y/N) smiled, looking at Andrew as his head was thrown back against the couch’s back, panting as he endured the pain.

“F-fuck… fucking bitch.” He hissed, his eyes sharp as he looked down at her. “Gonna fucking kill you…”

“Mm… keep talking like that…” (Y/N) purred, sitting down on her knees in between his legs, resting both her hands on his cheeks. “I like it.”

She leaned in, kissing his lips with her bloodied ones.

Andrew froze, shocked and helpless on what to do as he bled from his side. His neighbor, his neighbor who was a murderer, was kissing him right now.

One of her hands traveled down to his jaw, before guiding down to his chest sensually, reaching his stomach. Her lips moved against his closed ones, enjoying the power she had over him.

Her hand went to his side, her thumb pressing down onto his wound, causing him to yelp and open his mouth. She quickly dove her tongue into Andrew’s mouth, his cheeks puffing out as her tongue hit them, exploring the taste of his mouth and blood.

“Ah, you taste good…” (Y/N) muttered against his lips. “It’s too bad your heart isn’t on the market, I’d love to own it…” (Y/N) smiled.

Andrew couldn’t look further into her words as she kissed him again. He couldn’t taste anything except rust, and was that a hint of strawberry? Strawberry lipgloss perhaps? She did wear red lipgloss just like every other 1950’s girl did, just like her preferred timeline. Lipgloss so it wasn’t too showy, but still shined and was appropriate for every outfit.

Her tongue parted from his mouth, leaving him breathless (from her lips or from his wound, he wasn’t sure) as a string of saliva connected the two.

“I’ll teach you how to reciprocate later on. It makes it far more enjoyable, you know?” (Y/N) giggles, watching as Andrew’s face went pink.

It felt hot in here even though the AC was on, signaling to (Y/N) that she had to go and take care of this body before it started decomposing faster due to this heat.

“I’ll see you real soon, Andrew… You’ll keep our promise, right?” (Y/N) spoke, tilting her head and purposely puffing out her lips in a show of innocence and seduction.

“Mm… y-yeah. Yeah, I will…” Andrew muttered, laser-focused on her lips.

“Be good for me now.” (Y/N) smiled, getting up off the floor.

Andrew watched from the floor as she walked to his front door, dragging the body bag with her as she shut the door behind her, going back to her apartment.

He couldn’t believe this. His cute neighbor was a murderer, and he kissed her. And he liked it.

His face was burning up, along with his body, but he didn’t know if that was his pain receptors responding to the pain or not. He was hot and sweaty, it suddenly felt too hot for his shirt and everything else, especially under his belt.

Why the fuck did her lips have an impact on him like that? Why was it just her lips? Why did she kiss him in the first place?

Andrew groaned, looking down at the marking she made on him, carving him like a piece of property.

“Mine.” The carving read.

Fuck. He can’t go to work like this. He needs to go to the bathroom, clean up this wound and jerk one (or maybe a few) off.

Oh, he’ll get her back for doing this to him.

Chapters: Current chapter, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

I'm sorry for the short chapter, the first chapters are always short to get the reader's attention. I don't want to add too much information that'll draw you guys away! This story is gonna be a spicy one featuring NSFW, so beware.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

#stellar constellations #andrew tcoaal #tcoaal andrew #andrew graves x reader #andrew graves #andy and leyley #andy graves #andy graves fluff #the coffin of andy and leyley #andy graves x reader #tcoaal

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casssmalefantasy · 2 months ago

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team usa: the series — paige bueckers x oc!

vii. gold looks good on you—final games. gold medals. everything on the line—including your heart.

s: ivy and paige’s final game with team usa brings everything full circle — the pressure, the payoff, and the person they’ve fallen for. what comes next?

w: language, sports-related tension, fluff, kissing, feelings, soft confessions, long-distance talk, celebration

word count: 6.7K (yeah it’s a long one)

last part | this is the final chapter

part six: “gold look good on you”

paige’s pov

i’ve never been more locked in.

last usa game. gold medal on the line. everybody knows it. feels like i’ve waited my whole life for this moment—and at the same time, i can’t stop thinking about ivy.

she’s across the court during warmups, headphones in, focused, lacing her shoes like it’s just another game. but it’s not. we both know it.

this team. this summer. this version of us — it changed everything.

coach calls us in and the nerves start crawling up my spine. i bounce on my toes, look over at ivy. she meets my eyes and smile, real soft. like she already knows we’ve got this.

ivy’s pov

i’ve never felt pressure like this before.

my last game with team usa. last shot at gold. last summer moment before everything changes again. and i can feel it—deep in my chest.

the gym is loud. everything echoes. sneakers. whistles. my heartbeat.

and then i see her.

paige.

standing with her hand over her heart during the anthem, eyes closed, jaw tight, jersey clinging to her frame. her biceps flex a little when she shifts, and i’m suddenly warm all over. i shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, but…

too late.

—

"we’re down six. you know what to do," coach says, pointing to the whiteboard. "we run motion until ivy curls around the screen. if she’s open, take the three. if not, paige, you drive baseline. look for the dump off."

i nod. breath heavy. "got it."

paige glances at me as everyone breaks.

"you good?" she asks.

"yeah," i lie.

my heart’s beating too fast. the pressure’s all over my skin.

—

i’m winded. coach is yelling. my knees burn, but then paige grabs a steal, sprints full court, and lays it in

and fucking one.

"let’s fucking go!" she yells, pounding her chest.

i catch yourself smiling.

i hit a three next possession. then drive and dish to caitlin. then steal the inbound. the crowd’s insane. it’s loud. overwhelming. and perfect.

me and paige lock eyes after a timeout. she jogs past me, slaps my hand, grinning. “told you we’d turn it up.”

"you always wait until it’s dramatic," i mutter, breathless.

"i like the spotlight," she winks.

—

coach calls another timeout. the final one.

"alright. we win it here," coach says, eyes darting around the huddle. “ball goes to paige. ivy sets the back screen, pops to the wing. you’ll be open ivy. don’t hesitate."

"i won’t," i promise, chest tight.

hands in the middle.

"usa on three. one, two—"

"usa!" everyone shouts.

i take my spot.

paige sees me. the pass is perfect. i plant, step back, release—

swish.

the sound of the buzzer.

gold.

before i knew it i was sprinting across the court. screaming. someone tackles me in a hug. i think it’s caitlin. i’m not sure.

confetti rains. fake but perfect. sweat on my neck. medal in my hand.

i turn—and there she is.

paige.

medal swinging. crying. laughing. hugging azzi, then she spots me .

i collide into her.

"you did it," she whispers.

"we did it," she breathes, voice wrecked. her arms are around me. tighter than before.

"you were unreal today," she murmurs into my ear.

"you too."

"you always are."

✦ ✦ ✦

string lights. empty water bottles. medals still around our necks. my legs stretched across paige’s lap.

i hear the team still partying downstairs, music echoing faintly through the concrete. someone yelled "usa baby!" five minutes ago. probably lucy.

but here? it’s quiet.

paige’s fingers trace my hand.

"so," she says. “gold medal and all. what now?”

i laugh. "retire on top?"

she turns, gaze soft and slow. "nah. i got one more thing i wanna win."

i raise a brow. "yeah? what’s that?"

she swallows.

"you."

my chest stutters.

"i mean—" she rushes, stumbling. "if you want. i know this summer’s been…a lot. but i’ve never felt something like this with someone. and i don’t wanna leave without knowing if—"

"yes," i say, interrupting. already smiling.

"yeah?" her eyes light.

"yeah. of course."

she leans in. her lips brush mine. soft and sure.

this kiss feels different.

not unsure. not maybe.

just yes

—

we’re downstairs again. someone brought ice cream from the hotel dining. a bunch of us are in pajamas now, slouched in chairs or sitting on the floor.

caitlin’s wearing her medal like a tiara. azzi’s showing everyone a slow-mo replay of the final shot. someone’s crying happy tears.

"speech!" reese yells, banging a spoon on the table.

coach stands up, laughing. "alright, alright. first of all—i’m proud of every single one of you. this team fought for everything. you earned that gold.”

she looks around. “and this isn’t just about basketball. it’s about the work. the friendship. the way you showed up for each other. that’s what i’ll remember most.”

everyone claps.

i glance at paige beside me. she’s already looking at me.

we both smile.

paige’s pov

i glance over at ivy just as she turns to me, and in that second—the noise fades.

all i see is her.

ivy.

lit up by gold light and a gold medal. hair messy from the game. hoodie on over her shirt, that really was mine. eyes warm, soft, steady on mine.

and i think about everything that got us here.

the miscommunication, the almost kisses, the fights, the makeups, the weight of “what are we”, the ache of wanting her even when i wasn’t sure i was allowed to.

and now — she’s mines.

i smile before i even realize it.

because i’ve fallen.

hard.

the kind of fall that feels like flying.

"ugh, god, you’re so gone," azzi mutters beside me, nudging my shoulder.

i blink, startled out of it. "huh?"

"don’t ‘huh’ me," she grins, smug. "you’re looking at ivy like she hung the moon and then hit the game-winner with it."

i laughed under my breath, cheeks burning.

"shut up," i mumble, trying to hide my smile.

"nah. i called it. from the start," azzi says, proud. "and now you’re all in love and shit. finally. and guess what?"

“what?" i sighed, half-expecting chaos.

"now she has to deal with you, too," azzi smirks, leaning back in her chair. “thank god. i’m free.”

i roll your eyes, still smiling.

ivy glances over at me again, this time tilting her head with a quiet curiosity—like she’s wondering what you’re laughing at.

i just shake my head.

"nothing," i mouthed.

✦ ✦ ✦

ivy’s pov

in our shared hotel room. medals still on the nightstand. i’m half under the blanket, laying on my side, facing paige.

"you know," she whispers, "you make me wanna believe in timing."

"yeah?" i breathe.

"yeah. like maybe this wasn’t random. maybe we were supposed to meet like this. here. now."

my throat tightens. “me too,” i say, barely there.

her hand finds mines under the covers.

"we’ll figure it out," she says, voice like a promise.

and i believe her.

because she’s mine.

and i’m hers.

gold looks good on her.

but love? love looks better

author’s note: can’t believe my series is over omg. this took so long and i hope yall enjoyed it <3

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #ncaa women’s basketball #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x black!reader #azzi fudd

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zepskies · 3 months ago

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Writing Update ✍🏽

Hey, friends! I haven't done one of these in a while, have I? lol

Well here we go! I just finished posting the last chapter of Between the City & the Stars (Dean Winchester x Reader | 1940s AU). 💖

Before we dive into some Jason Teague for Jacklesverse Bingo, I have a surprise Dean AU story for you that brings us back to the modern world, and it's a firefighter!Dean AU! ❤️‍🔥 (No, it's not set in the Smoke Eater-verse, but there's a little one-shot for that series coming in the future. 😉)

This one is a request from a new member of my Patreon, @redhoodieone. It's a whopper of a two-parter for Dean, called...

IF I STAY

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

👀 Sneak Peek

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. You gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind…

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

⋆˙⟡ Part 1 coming 3/16!

⋆˙⟡ Or read Part 1 on Patreon now! - Part 2 will be posting there on 3/14~

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @impala-dreamer @supernotnatural2005

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babyscottoncandy · 3 months ago

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Night Shift

Art Donaldson, Challengers

Summary: Stanford¡Art Donaldson x Fem¡Music Artist Reader,, Art and (Y/n) were more than just a fun college "fling" - it was a real connection. (Y/n) writes the story of their ending love through music as he projects his aftermath of them in his tennis performances.

TW: Angst,, Sexual Innuendos,,

Based off the song "Night Shift" by Lucy Dacus

I do not own any of the songs mentioned, it's all for fanfic purposes :)

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Not just any party. One of those crowded, sweat-drenched, red-cup-in-hand frat disasters that reeks of beer and bad decisions. You’re there because your band’s bassist begged you to “get out of your own damn head” and Art is there because… well, he’s always there.

He spots you across the room after your half-drunk karaoke rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams.” And he’s grinning like he just won Wimbledon. That smug, golden-boy, tousled-blonde charm oozing off him like cologne.

“You know you sing like heartbreak in a leather jacket?” he tells you, a little too close, definitely too bold.

“You play tennis like you’ve got something to prove,” you shoot back.

You don’t sleep with him that night.

But you text him the next day.

It’s never serious.

Not really.

He shows up at your apartment at 2AM with a busted lip from practice and kisses you like the world’s ending. You play him your demos while lying on your back, legs tangled, wine-stained teeth, laughing at your own lyrics. You scribble his name in the margins of your notebook but cross it out twice. He brings you a guitar pick keychain from his first away match win. You joke that you’ll write a song called Boy with a Backhand.

Sometimes he disappears for days — training, tournaments, locked in with Tashi and Patrick. You don’t ask questions. You don’t have the right to.

But when he’s with you? It’s electric.

A storm bottled up in his grin, your voice, the tension of two people who almost fall in love every time they touch — but don’t. Not really.

The lamp is on — dim, warm. A Fleetwood Mac record crackles faintly from the dusty turntable in the corner. It smells like incense and sweat and sex in the air, and Art’s arm is slung across your stomach like it’s his birthright. You stare at the ceiling. He stares at you.

“Your ceiling needs work,” he says lazily. You snort. “So do your commitment issues.” That earns a sharp grin. He doesn’t deny it.

He shifts, half-draped across your body now, chin nudging your shoulder, voice low and boyish. “You’re meaner after sex. I kinda like it.”

“Shut up, Donaldson.”

You both fall into silence again — but it’s not uncomfortable. Not really. His thumb brushes slow, lazy circles into your hipbone. You can feel your heartbeat syncing to his without even meaning to.

“You ever think about it?” he murmurs, suddenly.

You blink. “About what?”

“If we weren’t just… whatever this is.”

You turn to look at him. “You mean if you weren’t busy being golden boy of the court and I wasn’t writing breakup songs about you before we’ve even broken up?”

His smile softens. “You’d write good ones.”

“You’d deserve them.” Another beat of silence.

He kisses your shoulder. Gentle this time. Not the frantic, breathless thing it usually is. Just soft, like he’s saying sorry without saying it out loud.

“I like this,” he says, and he means you. “Even if it’s messy.”

You should say something clever. You’re always quick with him. Always deflecting.

But instead, you just whisper, “Me too.”

You both lie there, knowing it won’t last — but pretending it could, just for a moment longer.

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The air is still except for the hum of her space heater and the soft creak of her guitar strap shifting against her shoulder. The room is low-lit, draped in shadows and string lights that cast a soft glow across her desk — cluttered with tea-stained mugs, scribbled notes, and last week’s setlist.

She’s in his hoodie. Of course. She didn’t mean to put it on, but it was the one closest to the bed, and it smells like him — like detergent and the faintest hint of sweat and something warm and sharp that always made her dizzy when he leaned too close.

Her notebook is a mess of half-finished thoughts. Lines crossed out. Words rewritten. Arrows pointing toward margins where she tried — and failed — to make sense of what she felt. Or maybe, what she wasn’t supposed to feel.

She strums absently. Slow. Thoughtful.

It’s not supposed to be a sad song, but everything comes out aching.

This wasn’t love. Not really. But it’s enough to keep her up at night. Enough to make her wonder what would happen if he ever looked at her the way he does when he talks about tennis. The way he does when he’s winning.

She hums a melody, soft and low, then catches the thread of something real. Something sharp and too honest. Her pen scratches the paper fast now, fingers trembling a little. The song takes shape like a bruise — slow to form, impossible to ignore.

It’s about him. Obviously.

But she doesn’t write his name. She never does.

The title comes last — written in all caps at the top of the page: LOVESICK.

She underlines it once. Then again. Then a third time, harder.

Her tea’s cold now. Her guitar is quiet in her lap. The song is finished, but the ache is still there.

And so is he. Even when he’s not.

It’s been a week since Art’s last message, a text that she’s still replaying in her head. She tries not to obsess over it, but it lingers, gnawing at her. The message was simple enough: “Busy. Catch up later.” But there’s something off about it. Something that feels like he’s already pulling away without saying it out loud. She knew he was distant, but this… this felt like an end without the finality.

She stares at her phone, at the little blinking cursor in the text box, but the words don’t come. It’s like she’s frozen in place, too afraid to write something too much or too little. So, she doesn’t write at all.

Instead, she taps out a half-hearted reply, hoping the weight of the last message doesn’t sit too heavily in her chest. “Alright, take care.” She sends it before she can second-guess herself, dropping the phone to the desk and forcing herself to look away.

She doesn’t reach for her guitar like she normally does when she’s trying to shake off an uncomfortable feeling. Instead, she leans back in her chair, staring out the window at the soft glow of campus lights. It’s hard to ignore the pit in her stomach. He hasn’t stopped texting her altogether — no, that would be too obvious. But it’s all become so… distant. His replies are shorter now, more detached, like he’s just going through the motions. The playful banter, the easy flow of their texts, it’s all gone. And she knows why. She knows it’s because he’s moving on — without saying it.

The next day, another message comes through from him. She jumps when she hears her phone buzz, reaching for it with a mix of hope and dread. It’s another simple message, but this time, it’s even more detached than the last. “Busy. Catch up later.”

She forces herself to breathe, pushing down the growing sense of disappointment. It’s not his fault, she tells herself. He’s a tennis player, he has a life outside of her. He has commitments. He’s just not her commitment. She can’t expect him to change. She’s been trying to convince herself of that for days now, but the more time passes, the more she can’t ignore the quiet ache that’s starting to settle into her chest.

The next few days pass in a blur. She goes through the motions — classes, rehearsals, writing, hanging out with Avalon — but every minute of it feels a little heavier without him. She can’t stop thinking about him, even though she’s telling herself it’s fine. She writes a few new songs, each one spiraling into something more raw, more real. She doesn’t mean for them to be about him. They never are, until they are.

One evening, she gets another text from him. She picks up her phone, her heart racing for a brief moment. This time, it’s a group chat. His name shows up among the list of students from their program, asking if anyone’s up for a game. It’s casual, nothing special, but it stings all the same. The absence of his personal messages — the ones that used to be just for her — feels like another goodbye.

She doesn’t respond. She just stares at the screen, fingers hovering over the keys. She wants to send something back, something that says I’m still here, still waiting, but she doesn’t. She won’t.

Days turn into weeks. The space between them becomes a void she can’t cross. She tries to fill the silence with music, with friends, with everything else, but it’s always there, looming.

Then, one night, after weeks of almost nothing, her phone buzzes again. She picks it up, her heart jumping into her throat when she sees his name.

It’s a simple text. “Yo, sorry I’ve been MIA. Let’s hang soon?”

It’s a text she would’ve expected to come a few days after that first one. Not now. Not after all this time. Her thumb hovers over the keyboard, but she doesn’t know how to respond. There’s too much between them now. Too much silence. Too many unspoken words.

Let’s hang soon? It’s so casual. So easy. And maybe that’s the problem.

She puts the phone down, staring at it for what feels like forever. He’s reaching out, but it’s like he doesn’t even realize how much he’s already pulled away.

She tries to tell herself that it’s fine. That this is what he does. That maybe he just doesn’t understand how much it hurts. But deep down, she knows the truth — he’s moved on. And part of her hates herself for still caring.

She never answers. She lets the message sit there, and in the quiet that follows, she finally admits something to herself: he’s gone. Not in the way she thought he would be, but in the way that leaves someone feeling hollow, like the absence of someone you thought was never going to leave.

It doesn’t feel like closure. It feels like a door quietly shutting. And there’s no way to open it again.

The quiet hum of the campus outside the dorm is drowned out by the muffled chatter of the other students in the hallway. Inside, the dim glow of string lights cast soft shadows across the room, her guitar leaning against the desk in the corner. The space is cozy, cluttered with books, scattered notes, and a few random items from various shows she’s played over the past few weeks. It’s a place she feels safe, but tonight, it feels different.

She sits on her bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. She hasn’t heard from Art in days, and she’s told herself she’s okay with it. He’s busy with his tennis, with his life — she can’t keep clinging to something that was never meant to last. But even as she tells herself that, she can’t shake the emptiness that settles in her chest when she realizes he hasn’t reached out. Not in the way he used to, not in a way that makes her feel like she matters.

And then, there’s the knock.

It’s quiet at first, just a faint sound against the door, but she knows exactly who it is. Her heart skips, a sudden, inexplicable rush of anticipation running through her. She doesn’t want to let him in. She knows what that would mean — the heat of it, the mess of everything they haven’t said yet. But she can’t ignore it. Not now. Not with him standing on the other side of that door.

She stands up and opens it, her breath catching in her throat as she comes face to face with him. Art. His tousled hair is messier than usual, his eyes tired, but the smile — that familiar, crooked grin — is there. He looks like he’s been thinking about this moment just as much as she has.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

She crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “What do you want?”

It’s a defensive tone, the kind she’s been using the past few weeks, but it’s hard to hide the way her body still responds to him. The way she’s never really been able to stop wanting him, even if she’s tried.

“I…” He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering to hers before dropping to the floor, like he doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been great with words when it comes to this. But he steps closer, closing the distance between them. “I miss you.”

There’s something raw in the way he says it. Not like the usual flippant way he says everything, but like he’s admitting something to himself too.

She looks up at him, her arms still crossed, but her walls feel thinner now, the anger from weeks of silence starting to crumble. “You’re only here because you need something, aren’t you?”

Art frowns, shaking his head. “No… not just that.” His hand brushes against hers, tentative at first. When she doesn’t pull away, he lets his fingers trace along her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m here because I want to fix this… whatever this is between us.”

She swallows, her pulse quickening despite herself. “And how do you plan on doing that?” She can’t help but sound sarcastic, the frustration bubbling up, but it’s mixed with something else. A quiet hope she’s been trying to bury for weeks now.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, his voice a little rough. “But I want to try.”

The tension between them thickens, the air charged with something neither of them can ignore. She knows she should say something, tell him that this isn’t the way to fix things, that it can’t be that simple. But she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls him closer, hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt, and kisses him. It’s not slow or gentle. It’s all the frustration, all the confusion of the last few weeks, spilling out into a kiss that’s almost desperate.

Art responds immediately, his hands on her waist, pushing her back toward the bed, following her as she stumbles back, breaking the kiss only for a second to catch her breath. Her heart is hammering in her chest. She knows this isn’t the answer. She knows this won’t fix anything. But she doesn’t care. Not right now. Not when he’s here, this close, looking at her like maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way.

He kicks the door closed behind him, and the next few moments blur together — hands on skin, lips on necks, the frantic rush of bodies trying to reconnect in a way words never could.

She feels his breath against her skin, his hands tugging at her shirt, desperate and slow all at once. They fall onto the bed together, tangled in a mess of limbs, both of them moving like they don’t want to think about what this means, just feeling each other. His lips trace the line of her jaw, down her neck, and she shivers under the warmth of his touch.

For a moment, it feels like everything else doesn’t matter — not the silence, not the distance, not the way they both know this can’t last. She doesn’t want to think about the end. She doesn’t want to think about the mess they’ve made of things.

But when their lips meet again, slower this time, there’s something deeper in it. Something that feels less like a quick fix and more like something they’ve both been craving. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at her, his expression unreadable.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching hers.

For a second, she thinks about the mess they’ve made. About the silence. The distance. But then she looks up at him, her heart racing again, and she knows, without a doubt, what she wants.

“I don’t know,” she admits, her voice soft but honest. “But I want this. I want you.”

And in that moment, as their lips meet again, she forgets about the consequences. She forgets about the unspoken things. For now, all she wants is him. And for once, it feels like that’s enough.

The room is quiet now, save for the soft hum of the campus outside. The string lights that decorated the corners of the room cast a gentle glow, but the air between them feels thick with something unspoken.

She lies beside him on the bed, the weight of his arm still draped over her, his fingers lightly tracing circles on her skin. She’s staring up at the ceiling, her mind spinning as the quiet settles in. The adrenaline of their heated kiss, the rush of their bodies moving together, has faded into something deeper, something more confusing.

Art shifts beside her, his breath still coming a little faster than usual. He’s always been good at pretending like nothing matters, like everything’s just for fun, but there’s a tension in the air now, something new that wasn’t there before.

He doesn’t say anything at first, and she’s almost grateful for the silence. What can either of them say after this? What are they supposed to do with the tangled mess of feelings and broken boundaries they’ve just created?

She feels him shift again, this time sitting up slightly, his back against the headboard. He’s looking down at his hands, the momentarily post-coital bliss fading into a nervous tension. She can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, the weight of his usual detached mask starting to settle back into place.

“So…” he starts, his voice breaking the silence like he’s unsure of where to go next. “That was…”

She turns her head to look at him, her body still flush from the heat of their kiss. The space between them feels vast now, like they’re two people who’ve just shared something intimate but are no longer sure how to bridge the gap that’s still between them.

“Yeah,” she says softly, trying to keep the vulnerability from creeping into her voice. “It was.”

His gaze flits over to hers, lingering for a moment before quickly looking away. She sees the slight tension in his jaw, the way he seems to be avoiding the deeper implications of what they just did. It’s always been like this with him, hasn’t it? Everything’s a game until it gets too real.

She sighs, the weight of it all settling heavily on her chest. “I thought this was just… supposed to be a fling,” she says, testing the words on her tongue. She hadn’t expected it to feel so confusing, but now that it’s over, she can’t stop wondering if it was ever really just that.

“Yeah, me too,” he replies quickly, almost too quickly, as if trying to convince himself as much as her. He doesn’t look at her, his eyes still fixed on the space across the room. The cool detachment in his voice doesn’t match the warmth in his touch just moments ago, and that shift makes her heart ache in a way she didn’t expect.

The air between them grows colder, the tension thickening like a fog she can’t shake. She swallows, the words catching in her throat. “Art… why did we do this?” She’s not asking for an apology. She’s not even sure what she’s looking for. But she needs to understand.

He finally meets her eyes, and for a moment, it feels like he’s seeing her for the first time tonight — really seeing her. But the guard in his expression quickly returns.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quieter this time. “I think we both know the answer. But neither of us is ready to say it.”

His honesty stings, but it also makes her heart ache even more. She wants to tell him that it’s okay, that they can just leave it behind them and pretend it was nothing, that they can go back to the way things were. But the truth is, she’s not sure she can do that anymore. She’s not sure she can pretend it didn’t matter.

Instead, she sits up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “I don’t want to play games, Art,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to keep pretending that I don’t care, when I do.” Her heart races as she says it, the vulnerability slipping out before she can stop it. “I don’t want to keep doing this thing where we’re just… this. Where I’m just someone you see when it’s convenient.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches on. She can feel him pulling back again, the space between them growing even larger than before. She’s not sure if it’s the tension from their night together, or if it’s the realization that everything has shifted now, but the words he finally speaks make her heart drop.

“I told you,” he says, voice low, almost regretful. “I’m not good at this. At being… what you need. I don’t know how to be that for you.”

It’s a punch in the gut, hearing him say it out loud. She wants to argue, to tell him that he doesn’t have to be perfect. That she doesn’t need him to be anyone other than who he is. But she knows, deep down, that she can’t change him. She can’t make him want more if he’s not ready for it.

She swallows the lump in her throat, pulling her knees to her chest. “I know,” she says, her voice barely audible. “But I thought maybe… maybe there was more to us. Or at least, I hoped there was.”

Art looks at her for a moment, his eyes filled with something — guilt, maybe, or regret. But it’s too late for that now. He doesn’t know how to give her what she needs, and she can’t keep hoping he will.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s the first time she’s ever heard him sound so unsure. “I’m just not the guy you need, and I don’t know how to be him.”

She nods slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. “Yeah,” she says, voice cracking slightly. “I guess I knew that all along.”

He doesn’t say anything more after that, and neither of them moves. The space between them feels infinite now, and neither one of them knows how to bridge the gap.

After a long pause, Art gets up, his movements stiff and mechanical. He grabs his jacket from the chair, looking back at her for a brief moment before heading toward the door. “Take care,” he says, the words hollow in the air.

She watches him leave, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing through the room. For a long time, she just sits there, alone, letting the silence wash over her. She’s not sure what she expected, but she knows that whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

And now, all she has left is the emptiness.

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It starts slowly. A single uploaded clip from a smoky bar set. Her voice — smooth, aching — wraps itself around a melody she wrote on the floor of her college dorm the week after he stopped answering. People listen. Then they listen again.

Within a year, she’s playing sold-out shows in indie venues, her lyrics dissected on TikTok, fans crying in front rows to songs they don’t know are about him. About Art Donaldson, the boy who kissed her like a promise and left like a storm.

She never named him. She didn’t have to.

The songs said everything.

They weren’t angry songs — not all of them, at least. Some were soft. Remembering the way his laugh curled around the edges of her bed. The way he’d press his forehead to hers like he was trying to memorize her. But there were others, too. Bitten-off lyrics about unreturned texts, the silence that never came with closure, the way he made her feel like a question without an answer.

By the time her debut album dropped, it was clear: she had become something real. Something permanent. Critics called her “a poet with bite.” Rolling Stone named her the voice of heartbreak for a generation. Her second tour sold out in hours.

And Art?

He saw her name more often than he admitted. First on a playlist someone else was playing. Then in ESPN articles mentioning her in passing — Stanford alumna and rising artist (Y/N). The same girl who used to hum melodies under her breath while folding her legs into his lap. The same girl who asked him what they were and got silence in return.

He didn’t listen to the album at first.

Then one night, alone in his apartment, he played it. Track one to eleven. No skips. Her voice hit him like a bruise, familiar and unforgiving. She didn’t sound bitter. That’s what hurt most. She sounded… past him. Like she’d loved him deeply. And then learned how to leave.

He knew he had no right to feel hollow.

They hadn’t spoken since graduation. He hadn’t reached out. She hadn’t either.

But every time her voice floated through a store, or a girl he brought home played her music off her phone, he’d freeze. Because every line — every verse — was proof she remembered. That it had meant something. That he meant something.

And she was everywhere now.

He wondered if she knew how famous she’d become. If she remembered the way he used to tease her about singing too loudly in the shower, or how she once made him sit cross-legged on the floor of her dorm and listen to a half-finished song.

She used to look at him like he was the only thing in the world she couldn’t figure out.

Now, the whole world was listening to her trying to do just that.

He never reached out. He couldn’t. She had become something brilliant, untouchable. And he was still stuck at the edge of that memory, holding a version of her he no longer had any right to.

He had always been good at running from things.

But her voice was everywhere now. And no matter how far he went, he couldn’t outrun that.

The art gallery in Manhattan is small, tucked between a café and a bookstore, the kind of place where people sip free wine and pretend to care about the brush strokes. She’s only there because her label’s throwing a private event — “an intimate evening with taste-makers,” whatever that means — and she agreed because they promised her she wouldn’t have to perform.

She’s dressed in a dark silk slip, leather jacket hanging off her shoulders, a glass of red wine cradled in one hand. Her hair’s a little messy, her eyeliner smudged just enough to look intentional. She looks like success. She looks like a woman who’s healed.

But then she sees him.

Across the room, standing in front of an abstract painting he’s probably not even really looking at — Art.

It shouldn’t hit her so hard. But it does. That stupid familiar profile. The jaw she kissed at three in the morning, the curve of his shoulder she cried into once and pretended she didn’t. His hair’s shorter now. He’s wearing a button-down and dress shoes, like he might be here on behalf of some sponsor or charity tennis thing.

He looks… older. Like time’s touched him but hasn’t taken anything away. He still looks like Art.

And he sees her.

The moment hangs there — a quiet, invisible thread tugging across the gallery. His expression shifts, flickers. Not surprise. Not really. Just a kind of slow, dawning ache. Like he knew this would happen one day, and it still caught him off guard.

She doesn’t look away.

Instead, she downs the last of her wine, sets the glass down, and walks toward him — not slowly, not confidently. Just steadily. Like she’s been walking toward this for years.

“Didn’t think you were the art gallery type,” she says when she reaches him, her voice even.

Art breathes out a quiet laugh, but it’s tight, caught somewhere in his throat. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Well.” She shrugs, glancing at the painting behind him. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

Silence stretches between them like a wire, thin and sharp. She can feel it — all the weight of what was left unsaid. The night in her dorm. The way he disappeared. The songs.

“You’re… everywhere now,” he says, voice low.

“Yeah. I know.” There’s no pride in it. No smugness. Just fact. It’s the one thing she has that he can’t run from — she made sure of that.

He clears his throat, eyes dropping for a second. “I heard… the first album. All of it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You and everyone else.”

“No.” His eyes meet hers again, suddenly sharper. “I heard it. I knew it was me.”

She crosses her arms, leans against the wall beside him. “Took you long enough.”

His jaw tenses. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

She blinks. Laughs once, incredulously. “Are you serious? You disappeared, Art. You ghosted me, and then what — I’m supposed to chase you down and beg for closure?”

His face twists, regret creeping in. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You didn’t have to say anything,” she snaps, voice quieter but harder now. “But you didn’t even try. You made me feel like I imagined the whole thing.”

He flinches. Just a little.

She sighs, shaking her head. “It’s fine. Really. I wrote songs, people listened, I moved on.”

“Did you?”

The question lands heavy. He doesn’t say it with cruelty — just curiosity. Honest, stupid, late curiosity.

She hesitates. Because part of her wants to lie. To say yes, of course, and mean it. But the truth is, a part of her still carries him in those lyrics. In the silences between chords. In the parts of herself that still ache when she thinks of what they almost were.

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “But I don’t write about you anymore. That’s gotta count for something.”

He nods slowly. Looks at her like he wants to say something else — I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready. You deserved better — but all of it would be too little, too late.

So instead, he just says, “You’re incredible, you know. You always were.”

She smiles, tired. “Yeah. I know.”

And then, she walks away.

She doesn’t look back.

And neither does he.

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#fanfiction #art donaldson #art donalson x reader #challengers #mike faist #mike faist x reader

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saturneras · 1 month ago

Text

Private Eyes VI

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: While your hometown is known for its beautiful wide fields and great horses, it's also got a spectacular dance hall once a month. And while you thought it was cringe when you were in high school, since you've been away for so long, you've come to appreciate a good hoedown. So when Casey asks you to join him and his friends, you're quick to tag along. You definitely don't wanna miss the possibility of a little Friday night fun and the chance for a little slow dancing with Texas' finest.

Note: Thank you all for reading my daydreams. All your interest gives me such joy. If you don't listen to Rumor by Lee Brice or Dress by Taylor Swift on this one, you're missing out. Warnings: Minor sexual harassment, but nothing graphic.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

You're sitting on your old desk in your room and looking at your phone. The space bar is blinking, expectantly waiting for you to decide what you want to say. Or more, what you want at all, maybe. It's been a week since you saw him and a week since you got that text sitting in Tommy's car. You've spent days just staring at it, pondering what to say. You thought maybe you would see him at work, thought he might drop by, drop in and say something. Something more. Something to hold onto, to bounce off of. But when you came home from a day spent at your friend Lucy's on Sunday, the Mercedes was back in the garage. No note, no text, no call. Nothing. And when you arrived at work on Monday, he was nowhere to be found. On Tuesday, he called in to say that he was going to some town business thing and on Wednesday, Daniel said that the chief told him he wouldn't be coming in for the rest of the week due to some cross-country case he had to work on. So you just sat there, staring at his office or at the entrance door, patiently waiting for it to open.

Maybe he chickened out? Maybe he decided that he made a mistake? That the day and the evening had gotten away from him and he had lost his grip on the reigns. Maybe he was waiting for you to text him back. Lots of maybes for a Friday night. You ponder as you turn your chair to the window, looking out in your parents' backyard. And what were you even gonna say? You wanna come over? Let's get into trouble? Where are you? Are you coming in today?

Definitely not. This is all just stupid. If he had wanted to see you, he would have just said hello when he brought over the Mercedes. He would have just texted to tell you he was coming. But he didn't. So might as well forget all about that little slip up and get on with your life. Stop thinking about some controlling and annoyingly handsome man, who is probably not only too old but also too damn opinionated for you.

You make up your mind to just leave it for now, when Casey calls from downstairs to get going. You haven't been to a dance in ages and can't wait to see a couple of your old friends and dance the night away.

When you and Casey enter the barn, the band is playing Jim Croce's Rapid Roy and even though you both are a little early, the dance floor is packed with people all ages, dancing, singing and drinking. String lights cover the ceiling, glazing the hall with a soft glow. Casey walks off to see his friends at the bar and you take it in for all of two seconds before Lucy slaps you on the back and hugs you from behind.

"You came!" She cries and lets go to see your face.

You laugh and nod. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Liar," she says and grabs your hand. "Let's get you something to drink."

Lucy has been your friend since elementary school and while you went off to a college as far away from home as possible, she stayed close and took over her parent's cattle ranch with her older sister. Before you decided to spend the summer here, you hadn't seen each other in almost a year, but the moment you stepped off that plane, Lucy was waiting next to your parents to pick you up.

"I already have like three guys I want you to meet," she says, while motioning for the bartender for two beers.

You roll your eyes. "I told you, I'm not dating at the moment."

"You need to get yourself a southern man, babe," she says, "these city boys aren't for you."

"You just want me to stay here and settle down," you say.

"Maybe my intentions aren't entirely unselfish," she shrugs. "I'd love to see you more than for just a couple of weeks in the summer and on Christmas."

You gently touch her shoulder. "I know, I know."

"But let's not dwell on details. We've got work to do."

You laugh and Lucy hands you a beer, while pulling you toward the dance floor. Lucy takes off her denim jacket and throws it on a nearby chair.

"Let's see if you've got any country left in ya, honey," she says and pulls you into the crowd.

The band starts playing some Keith Urban song and you both dance until you've almost finished your beer and Lucy seems to be out of breath. She grabs your hand and pulls you toward her.

"Did you do something to make Joel angry?"

You shoot her a confused look. "What? Who told you that?"

Lucy grins. "He's looking kinda like he wants to take you out and not to dinner."

You turn your head and let your eyes roam around the hall. Every time. Every time you lay your eyes on him it is as if something goes off inside your chest. It's as if the grip you have on your composure seems to slip fast every time you dare to let your glance wander and find its way to his.

"What did you do?" Lucy asks, following your glance.

"I don't know," you say and it's the truth. What did you do?

Joel is leaning against the bar, next to Tommy, who seems to be in the middle of a heated conversation with some guy you recognise from the poker game a couple of weeks ago. His fingers are wrapped around a glass of probably whiskey, neat. As always he is wearing a flannel, but he seems to have cut his hear that is neatly slicked to the back, forming tight curls at the ends. His exterior looks quite calm. His eyes are what makes you catch your breath. They're glued to you. A man starved. It's as if he's not even blinking, just his stare on you. His jaw tenses, when you let your eyes meet and he quickly downs the rest of his drink in a swift motion.

Lucy chuckles. "Looks like you're in trouble."

It's not as if you couldn't tell Lucy about the chief. But what even is there to tell? How can you tell someone about something that you haven't even made your own mind up about?

Before you can say anything else, he's moving. Joel pushes himself off the bar counter and seems to be walking toward you two.

"Uh oh," Lucy mumbles and runs her hands through her jet black bob.

Joel stops at a reasonable distance in front of you two.

After a while, Lucy is the first to speak. "Hi Joel, how's it going?"

He glances over to Lucy and nods. "Good, how are you, Lucy?"

"I'm doing well," she says and smiles. "We were dancing just now."

"Yeah," he says and his glance jumps back to yours. "I saw."

Lucy's eyes wander from Joel to you and back and then she raises a hand in a waving motion. "I think I'll get us another round."

You nod, but keep your eyes on the man in front of you. His arms hang by his sides, but his hands are clenched into fists.

"Anything specific you want?" You say, trying to talk over the music.

He narrows his eyes. "What are you wearing?"

You look down at your summer dress. "It's what people call a dress, Miller."

"It's short," he says and his eyes focus on the hemline, dangling in the middle of your upper thigh.

"It's pretty," you snap.

"That's not what I was trying to say," he says.

You cross your arms. "What are you trying to say, Chief?"

Joel sighs and scratches his beard.

"Listen folks, if you ain't dancing, you need to get out of the way," a woman leans over and says to you two.

"Oh hi, Joel," she says and gives him a little pat on the arm. "Go dance."

Joel shakes his head, but she grabs hold of his arm and pulls it toward you, until it is placed on your lower back. The feel of his hand on the back of your dress runs like jolt through your body. It feels intense. Exposed, so out in the open with everyone to see. You turn your head, but nobody even glances at you.

Joel grunts and then takes your hand, pulling you into a dancing position toward him. His leg steps between yours and your hips are tauntingly close. His calloused hand feels warm and strong around yours.

"What are you doing?" You hiss.

"Dancing," he says and begins to lead you into a sway, in a rhythm with the music.

Just seconds later the band plays the opening of a slow country song, you've heard on the radio a couple of times. The guitar is playing smooth and bluesy notes, sounding exactly like the sound you hear in your ear whenever he looks down at you.

His hand is stretched out on your back, his fingertips just barely leaving any space before touching your ass. It's as if each of his finger is burning a mark into your skin. And without even trying, with every step, your body seems to be moving into his. Like two currents ripping into each other, morphing into one.

"Where were you this week?" You finally say, trying to ignore the familiar smell of his body making its way up your nose.

"Was workin'," he says.

"I didn't see you at the station," you say.

He looks down at you, his fingers pressing into your back. "I needed some time to think."

"About what?"

"Things," he says.

You sigh. "Sounds tough."

He frowns, but keeps quiet. After a while, he clears his throat.

"I wasn't trying to say that your dress isn't nice," he says.

"But you don't like it?"

"No, I- I mean, it just," he shakes his head curtly. "It just lifts up when you dance."

"And?" You ask.

"It looks like it could easily rip or something," he says and you frown.

"Why does not matter?"

"It just doesn't seem durable," Joel says.

"And for what reason would my dress need to be durable?" You ask. "I ain't gonna wear it to go riding outside."

Joel's eyes snap down to yours. He inhales sharply.

You stare at him blankly until you realise what you've just said and you can't help but chuckle.

"Depends on the kind of ride, I guess," you say, "might actually be quite fitting-"

"Watch it," Joel grunts.

"What?" You say, lifting your chin. "You're the one talking about how easily it lifts up."

"Not like that," he says and you chuckle.

"Like what then?"

"Just 'cause you were dancing," he says, "I was just making sure you knew."

"Making sure I know how it looks when I dance or how easily you could lift it up?"

Joel's jaw clenches slightly. "I wasn't saying that."

"Saying what?"

Joel exhales a pressed breath. "That I could lift up your dress or anything."

"But you thought about it," you say.

He turns his head slightly, so his bearded chin grazes the side of your head. His fingers curl a little, grabbing the fabric of your dress, scrunching it up between them.

"You think I don't know how easily it rides up?" You whisper and feel his grip tightening on your back.

"I really am trying to be good here, Darlin'," he says huskily into your hear, dropping his head.

"Like you were trying to be last Saturday?" You ask.

"Didn't seem like you cared about last Saturday."

You frown. "I wasn't the one hiding all week."

"I wasn't hiding," he snaps.

"But you didn't want to talk," you say.

"You were the one who didn't reply to my text or open the damn door on Sunday, not me," Joel growls.

"What?" You say, confused.

"When I brought back the Mercedes," Joel says. "You didn't open the door."

"I wasn't there," you say, feeling your hand soften in his. "I was out on the ranch with Lucy."

His brows furrow.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming over?"

"Wasn't sure you wanted me to," Joel mumbles.

The band changes into a Chris Stapleton song and all of a sudden the dance floor clears a little, leaving you and Joel almost by yourselves. You take a look around, but Joel continues to stare down at you, expectantly. His eyes warm and inviting.

"You too proud to ask?"

"Just trying to do the right thing," he says.

"And what might that be Mr. Miller?" You ask.

"Not getting into trouble," he says.

"For someone so concerned with doing the right thing, you sure often come pretty close to trouble yourself," you say.

"Didn't say it was working, Darlin'", he says.

"Hey, mind if I cut in?" A voice resounds from behind you. "You've kept her for quite a while, man."

You turn your head and find yourself looking at Daniel's friend from the auction. What was his name again? Mark?

Joel doesn't make a move, just keeps staring at him. Mark grins and stretches out his hand.

"Remember me?" he says, "from the auction?"

You nod, but when you try to turn around, Joel's grip tightens on your body, pressing you into him against his hard chest. You glance at him and shake your head slightly.

"I'll talk to you later," you whisper and Joel furrows his brows and takes a second too long before he reluctantly lets go of your hand, slowly stepping away. He turns his back and walks over toward the bar.

Mark smiles exaggeratedly and pulls you toward him into a two step. He is a good dancer but seems a little over eager for your taste.

"You got a boyfriend?" He shouts over the music into your ear and he is close enough for you to smell the alcohol on his breath.

You shake your head. "No."

He grins. "You want one?"

You keep shaking your head. "I'm good, but thanks for the offer."

Mark spins you around and then pushes you tight up against him. "Maybe you need to get a taste first, huh?"

You try to lean back a little, to put some space between you both, but he keeps his grip on you a little stronger than you like.

"Again, I think I'm good," you say and hope the song is about to end.

"Come on," he says, "let me show you how good I am."

He pulls you in even tighter and you raise your hands to press against his chest.

"That's enough, Mark," you say and try to push him away from you. But he doesn't budge and laughs.

"I like 'em a little feisty," he says and puts both his hands on your back, sliding them down.

"Hey, stop it," you say, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

"Come on, baby," he says and grabs your ass with both hands.

"Fuck off!" You yell and before you can continue to push him away, Mark is pulled back from you with a jolt and thrown across the floor.

You stumble back a little, confused. Everyone has turned to you. The music has stopped abruptly.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Joel shouts and points at Mark, sprawled out on the floor.

Joel stands before you, heavily breathing.

"Are you okay?" He asks, softly.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You hiss, looking around you. Everyone is staring at you three. Someone is coming to help Mark up from the floor.

"I was trying to help," Joel whispers and steps toward you.

"Well, don't," you say and Joel frowns, making a move to grab your arm, but you pull it away quickly.

"Come on," he says.

You step away and without saying another word, turn to walk out the hall quickly. Knowing that everyone's stare is following you. What the fuck was he thinking, making a scene like that? With everyone around to see? You make your way out of the barn as fast as you can without running. As the cool summer breeze engulfs you, you exhale heavily and walk straight into Tommy and Casey.

„Hey!“ They both say and immediately look worried.

„What’s wrong?“ Casey says and grabs your shoulder. „Are you okay?“

You nod your head. „Yeah, I just need some air.“

Tommy frowns. „You sure?“

„Yes, very sure.“

„I thought I heard some commotion, what the fuck was that?“

„Just some boys being stupid,“ you say and make your way around them.

„Okay,“ Casey says, still frowning. „We‘ll be back inside when you need me. Don’t stray too far, yeah?“

You nod, forcing a smile and then head for the road. You walk for a couple of minutes down the sidewalk, collecting your thoughts. Without even having to turn around, you immediately know whose heavy footsteps suddenly resound from behind you. He calls out your name, but you keep walking.

"Stop!" Joel shouts and you do so in your tracks.

You turn around and he stops before you.

"What the fuck is going on?" He snaps.

"That's what I could ask you!"

"I was trying to help you," he says angrily.

"For fuck's sake!" You shout, "I don't need your help, Miller."

"He was harassing you!"

"And that makes you entitled to try to drag me out of there like some child?"

"I was just-," he starts.

"I don't need you to help me and I don't need you to be my saviour," you say, "I am an adult. It is my fucking decision how I handle it."

"It didn't look like you were handling it," he says.

You frown, putting your hands on your hips. "What did it look like then, huh?"

"He was grabbing your ass, for god's sake!" Joel shouts.

You laugh, mockingly. "So that's what this is about? Didn't mind it when you were the one grabbing, did you now?"

Joel's gaze turns cold. "I didn't grab your ass."

"And now you're regretting being a gentleman or what? You want your turn, Chief?"

"Watch your tone," he growls.

"You know what, Miller," you say, "maybe you should start watching yours."

He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. A stray lock bouncing back into his eyes.

"You think because I let you have a little fun you have some kind of claim on me?" You hiss, "Like I'm your property?"

Joel scoffs. "A little fun? Are you being serious right now?"

"Are you?"

"You're being a fucking brat."

"And you're being a fucking asshole!" You snap back.

"How does me trying to help you not get harassed by that guy make me the fucking asshole, huh?" Joel shouts and takes a step toward you.

"You made a fucking scene in front of everyone! I'm never going to hear the end of it in this fucking town," you reply, "as if I can't handle a man being a fucking dick by myself. Do you think I haven't done that before? It's not your fucking place to play the hero."

"So you can call me when you're stranded and I can come get you, but I'm not allowed to when someone's watching?"

"I don't need you to protect me, Miller," you say, sternly. "I am not your fucking girlfriend."

Joel veers back as if you had hit him across the face. His face goes blank and his shoulders drop slightly. As if accepting something he hadn't wanted to before, he nods slowly.

"Right," he says and then stays silent.

He watches you for another moment and then clears his throat.

"You're not," he says calmly, his voice lacking any emotion. "It won't happen again."

His gaze drops to the floor and then back to yours. The exterior of stone making a reappearance.

Joel nods again and then wordlessly turns around, his dark figure a contrast to the street lights. With every step he continues to walk away from you, with every bit of space he puts between you two, the feeling of anger and embarrassment that was boiling and dripping over, slowly morphs into something much more ugly. Something much worse. When he turns the corner and is swallowed by the darkness, you realise it feels a little less like rage and much more like regret.

Before you can think of anything else to say, you see your brother making his way toward you in strong and angry steps. Lord have mercy, this ain’t gonna be a fun Friday night after all.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x female reader #fanfiction

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