#maybe... some time... if I can find a place for them to dry safely

[astrasng]

ꕤ BLUE SPRING

【 IN WHICH 】 ⏖ dongmin is your first love. a story revolving around two defining feelings - love and friendship, told by you. it all starts back in middle school when you coudln't stand boys but there was one exception : it was han dongmin. however, this blossoming love quickly faded away due a misunderstanding, him unexpectedly moving away during the summer. so how could you not think about the lost love 4 years later ?

wc : 3k

a/n : this is inspired and basically by the plot of the blue spring ride anime! everything is based on the episodes, so if you haven't seen the original story you don't have to worry because this is almost the same as the original. i made a few changes about the timeline so i can still think of it as mine. also, this will be a small series, maybe 3-4 chapters so not everything will be in this fic as in the anime! i just felt the need to see a small fic of taesan being kou, because they are practically the same.

taglist {. @arunainluv @liloraet @tmrwsuns @chenlezip @ivxae @bgomtori @saqiknb @luckygirlminjuu @rinnonigiri @yiiscorner @xngelsthesis @aracy @liznvis }

【 comment if want to be tagged 】

PAGE 1

It was precisely 4 years ago when you met your first love – a sudden summer rain sealing that day.

It was sudden but gentle, just like meeting him.

You had no choice but run to a safe place from the heavy raindrops disturbing your calm walk back to your home after school. Following the same path every day, you were itching closer to the neighborhood park. You’ve never been there before — no matter how many times you walked away from it, it looked unnecessary. But for some reason,that day it told you to step further in and seek shelter.  

It was weird, because your legs moved on their own only to find yourself under a curved, traditional brick temple. The wind has taken up at that point when you reached dryness under a roof, somewhat shielding you from the strong monsoon rain. 

It was an ordinary day, just like any other.

Except it wasn’t anymore.

There are moments in life that you cannot forget. And this was one of them. 

Seeing Dongmin for the first time in his school uniform with his hands crossed in front of him and chewing softly on his bottom lip as he’s scanning the sky made that day unforgettable.

He didn’t make any noise — no, somehow you sensed his presence next to you, on the other side of the temple. Sensing his heart beating, his nervousness and nonstop thinking loudly speaking to you once you reached a safe place to rest. It somehow came naturally to you, feeling his true form.

“It came down pretty suddenly, right?” 

Dongmin would say, his rounded eyes once staring at the sky now scanning your face, your trenched clothes from the weather. 

You nodded mindlessly, but couldn’t stop staring either — of course when he wasn’t looking at you. It was just that his youth, the soft features of his captivating you at such a young age made you confused. What could you know about love at 13? 

The feeling stuck with you, grabbing onto you until you felt him stepping closer to your side, suddenly feeling a heavy material thrown over your head. As you could lift your head up to look properly at him, Dongmin steps to the side next to you and picks up his bag off the ground. 

“Dry yourself with that. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t.” His voice was gentle, but firm enough to make you move on your own.

There were sparks in your eyes, as if you could see. But you were sure Dongmin could see it. He did, he saw everything in your eyes. The moment he laid eyes on you too was when he was sure he didn't want to let go of you.

“Really?” You’d say with a taken-aback expression, holding his white gym shirt now in your hands as you scan the clothing.

“Yeah, I haven’t used it, it’s clean.” He says, and that’s when you notice his school uniform. He goes to the same school as you. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you happy. You could play with him outside in the courtyard any day, or even study with him in between breaks.

“Maybe once.” 

From his sudden confession you shriek and snap back to reality, tossing his shirt back right into his hands. “So you did wear it!” 

The absurdity of the situation was not surprising at all as you saw him laughing wholeheartedly, his eyes brightly shining and his laughter immediately making you blush and admirably scan his features furthermore. It was obvious, the atmosphere between you was easygoing,not many people bringing this out of him.It would have been unnecessary to elaborate further, you loved being with him.

“Okay then! I will use it anyway..” You sulk, a pout painting your young face as you dry your hair and skin slowly, the boy standing closer to you unbeknownstly. 

Dongmin nodded softly, his hands now in his pockets as a slight blush appeared on his face too, looking away the minute he saw your actions becoming real. In the corner of his vision he saw your movements, slowly moving the white thin shirt towards your arms. 

“Thank you..” You mumble out the gratitude, shyly looking away from him and towards the trees in the park. 

Han Dongmin was in the class next to yours. He was always quiet and calm, short and his voice sounded almost like a girl's. Before that, you didn’t really pay attention to his presence, not because you chose to, but rather because him as a person was hard to reach. Always with his three or four friends, in a small pact, talking and playing in the courtyard with them without looking at you once. It was obvious that you two have no reason to hang out, until now, when the next day you bring his uniform back. 

“Are you going to the summer festival?” He suddenly mumbled out as his delicate hands reached for the shirt. You pick your head up at his question, and try to calm your overbeating heart down. “I-I mean, did you make plans with your friends?” He repeated with slightly more confidence than before, his eyes still on the shirt in his hands. 

“Not yet..” You blink and say, voice unsure about how you should answer him. 

“7:00 PM! “ 

He interrupts you softly, his figure shaking slightly as a bright pink blush appears on his face. Dongmin takes the courage and speaks up again, one of his hands lifting up to cover the blush to prevent you seeing it. 

“ 7:00 PM at the clock in the neighbourhood park.” 

And before you could realize what his intentions are, you are already walking back to your class, heart wanting to jump out of your chest and a small smile decorating your face. 

“So what’s up with you and Dongmin? You’re telling me there’s nothing going on between you two? I saw you guys talking just now!” Your classmate says, walking closely behind you. 

It wasn’t your fault for saying what you said. It wasn’t Dongmin’s fault he heard it. It wasn’t your classmates fault for annoying you, or rather being curious. It was the whole situation that got you where you are right now, hands curled into a fist as you just realized what you said to the boy in front of you. 

The sentence “Stop being annoying! That’s why I hate all the boys! I hate them! ” slipped out just as quickly as you wished you'd never said it, because when you see Dongmin’s expressionless face witnessing the whole scene, you want to disappear from the earth. 

You wanted to stop him and tell him it’s not true, to make sure he understood you and that it was a slip out. But then you see him walking away from you with his hands in his pockets, and all you can do is pray that he will meet you at the park. 

And all you can do is just stare, when you stand alone at the park in the dusky sunset, your flowy dress soaring in the wind as you wait and just wait, but no sign of him. You waited and waited, and all you could blame was you. For saying what you said and doing nothing about it when you hear the next day that he moved away and switched schools. He didn’t even tell his close friends, leaving everything behind without a word. You blamed yourself for possibly making him think you hate him. Dongmin was embarrassingly awkward,and seemed to always fumble his way through everything. But somehow, and you still don’t know how and why.

You loved him. 

It’s been four years now, and you, seemingly managed to make your way to your third year of high school. The term dangerously close to an end, excited to have new classmates and many many possibilities. You just had one rule. 

Don’t be feminine. Don’t have the feminine appeal. 

It was stupid, and you knew it too, especially when you get it from your friends and classmates how unfeminine you are when you buy too much food at the cafeteria, or how messy and clumsy you are with your stationery. 

“Well now, that’s what makes Y/N so fun!” Your friend, Asumi, suddenly hugs your shoulder from the side and pokes your bag which almost spills everything out. 

“Good morning, Asumi!” You chirp happily, not paying a single mind to the latter comment. 

“At least you are not like her.” Asumi adds, nodding his head towards the entrance door to the classroom, a snicker on her face as a smaller girl walks in through the threshold. You see Yuuri walking in with her bag in her hands, her head hung low as two boys immediately greeted her in the class. She’s wearing a pink coat and the cute little ponytails in her hair flutters in motion as she moderately nods her head and wishes a good morning, continuing her walks to the seat at the last row. 

“I don’t get what they see in those types of girls. She’s not even that cute if you look at her closely.” Asumi says once again, twirling her hair with her hands. 

“It’s just an act. Boys love girls acting all cute and petite.” Your other friend says, rolling her eyes as she takes a seat in front of your desk. 

But you think. You scan Yuuri as she’s sitting alone, getting ready for the class neatly. She’s completely isolated from everyone, knowing that every girl in the class hates her. Is she really okay with that? How can she live with this feeling of the girls snickering and talking behind her back like she’s not in the room with us. You know the feeling, how everyone thought you were just acting cute and innocent in front of the boys in middle school. You couldn't stand being called awful and annoying in your last two years.You hated being alone, isolated from everyone and not having friends anymore.  So you made a decision, you created a new version of yourself. You wanted to bring down your feminine appeal as much as you could so others wouldn't hate you. So what happened in middle school, wouldn’t happen again. 

That’s why everyday, you buy a full bag of breads, and ramens at the cafeteria, exclaiming that you are so hungry. 

“I could eat a horse. Will this be enough?” You whine, already walking back to your classroom with your friends ahead of you. 

“You do this everyday, Y/N – it’s honestly impressive.” 

You smile to yourself mischievously, paying no attention to the bubbling laugh inside you. You thought it was impressive how they believed you really are like this. Doing this for two years in a row, made the whole plan actually look pretty easy for you now. Nothing could ruin your plan now, nothing. 

“Hey Han!” 

You nearly stop in your tracks when you hear the familiar name, curiosity picking up as you slowly turn your head to the side to see a boy standing further away from you, friends surrounding him. He looks so familiar, but also so distant from who you know. 

“I told you we are way past formalities! Just call me by my name.” The boy says, smiling at his friends as he takes a piece of candy from one of them. 

You must be staring, because suddenly you feel weight on your shoulders almost dragging you down. “Oh, look at that. Y/Nnie finally has a crush on somebody? And it’s a junior?” 

Asumi says, her voice snapping you back to reality as panic rises within you and an alarm sets off. “W-what? Don't be ridiculous, no way! 

She giggles and lets your shoulders go, flicking your forehead softly to tease you more. “I’m just joking, you are not cut out for love Y/N.”  

“Seriously, if you were more careful with your womanly assets you’d be totally popular with boys!” Says Yumi, your other friend. It almost makes you want to turn around and leave them there with their pathetic ideas, but you stand your ground and laugh it off. “Come on now, I’m terrible with boys anyway – why would I pay attention to them then -”

In the middle of your sentence a shoulder bumps into you, making you almost drop your bag in your hands. You gasp slightly, and reach for the bag before it could fall – but the mystery person gets ahead of you and the bag lands in his hands. The second when you want to lift your head up and apologize, your heart stops.

“That’s really unattractive food.” 

It seems like time stops, everybody around you slows down and it’s just you and him. It's like you immediately know who it was.

It’s the presence you are familiar with. 

Somehow your whole body wakes up, heart going at an irregular speed just from one sentence and your eyes are already searching for the lost figure in the waves of students. Asumi and Yumi curiously look at you and the innocent situation,trying to get a word out of you, but in no vain, you are totally frazzled in your head. “Dongmin..?” You mumble to yourself, your eyes zigzagging between students. 

“Y/N? Let’s go, we have a lecture soon.” Somebody says but you pay no attention to it as you almost immediately answer them. 

“Go on without me, I forgot to buy something.” 

And before they could say anything else, your legs are already taking you where you saw the last bit of him. You are running, almost bumping into everyone who gets in your way. You don’t know if it really is or not, his voice and height not matching the measurements in your head from years ago. You didn’t see his face, so why do you think it was him? So why do you assume it’s him after all these years? You pant by the time you reach the courtyard, seeing a glimpse of his uniform walking away further from you. 

You take a few steps out in the yard, your lips parting and ready to call out to him – just to see if it’s really him. To see his face and hear his voice. 

“Taesan!” 

A voice suddenly says from behind you at the threshold, making you freeze on the spot when the so-called Taesan turns around in your way and sends a small smile. It looks like him, and that’s all you could say about him. It’s not him, and you know it. But do you truly believe it?

“Taesan! Are you hitting the school grounds? Let me join.” The stranger walks past you in Taesan’s way, his arm swinging around his shoulders, both of them making their way to the other side of school. 

It was all you could think about that day. 

How did you mistake someone for him? He looked the same as him, but he moved away years ago without a word, why would he come back all of the sudden, and especially now? Was it your mind messing with you? There are times when you wish you could go back to those days and tell him how wrong you were and it was a misunderstanding, wishing he could be here now. But it was unnecessary. To think about what could’ve happened and what not. 

You sigh and follow the same path as everyday to your home.kicking the dust on the pavement as you mindlessly mumble under your breath. “I’m so foolish. Besides, what could happen if I meet him again? Then everyone would hate him in school if they find out I’m being friendly with a guy. Stop it Y/N, just stop.” 

While talking to yourself, you notice Taesan standing a few steps ahead of you in the distance, his body turned in your way as he heard your mumbling presence. You blush, covering your mouth and shaking your head all in one second. “I-I’m not following you! I swear.” You quickly explain, a frown forming on your face as you know exactly what this guy is thinking of you. You look like a stalker. 

But he lives in the same neighbourhood? How come you’ve never seen him before? 

Taesan pays no mind to your excuses. He simply looks over his shoulder before turning in the park next to the street, slowly and surely walking away from you as you stand there dumbfoundedly. And when your eyes follow him, you suddenly remember. This is the park. 

Curiosity sparks up in you, following him in quick, but quiet steps. 

It’s him! It’s actually him! 

You go up on the steps and turn in the corners, practically running until you meet with the familiar brick temple where you first saw him. 

And you see him once again, sitting on the ground,leaning on the brick wall with his head hung low. Your panting makes his head perk up, his eyes landing on you. The moment you lock eyes, you can feel it. Your mind running in circles you part your lips and say – 

“Dongmin?” You blink, licking your lips once to prevent it from going dry enough so you can’t talk. The wind blows your hair and suddenly you feel your bones shaking in nervousness.

“It’s Taesan, actually.” He softly answers, finally hearing his voice. It’s deep and husky, something so distant from what you know. 

A beat passes. Then another. 

And by the time he answers you are already turning away, wanting to walk home and never meet this guy again because it’s not him and will never be.

“It came down pretty suddenly, right?” 

You stop in your tracks because your legs gave up on obeying you. You look up at the sky and see the clear, sunny but slightly cloudy day shining down on you. And you feel it, you feel him. 

You turn around softly, and he’s looking at you. 

He’s smiling at you with his soft eyes, his lips curled up into a soft smile because everything about him was so soft. It makes your heart ache, and eyes blink repeatedly as you try to understand what he’s saying. 

The voice, and the height – it’s all different and yet,

 This boy standing in front of you now, is your first ever love. 

‧₊𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐 @ astrasng 2025

⋮ do not copy, translate, steal, or modify without permission! ⋮

[elektroyu]

Hey look an art related thing!

I recently figured out that I CAN hang artwork IF they're small and/ or lightweight. Turns out small and medium sized canvases tend to be light enough to put them on small nails, which are the only things that can penetrate those walls (many thanks to my neighbor for telling me this!), so that's what I'm gonna do :D

These are technically not finished yet. I can't decide if I want to varnish the two fluid paintings or not, because I'm really scared to mess them up 🙈 And they do have a very nice texture even unvarnished. Maybe it doesn't matter if I keep them unvarnished, since I'm probably keeping them for myself anyway (originally I wanted to sell them because they did turn out better than most of my other fluid paintings, but I think I like them too much together on my own wall haha). The title of the middle one is "Sea Dragon Monochrome" and the one on the right is "Cosmic Mamba".

The painting part of the freesia piece is definitely unfinished. This one is part of a triptych that I painted with my sisters a few years back for our mother's bday; each of us painted a freesia flower on a canvas like this and all of them have the same background color. I think we took ref pictures of the flowers and then painted them from the pics. They look really great together! So, our mother used to display all 3 on a dresser in her bedroom where she used to stay most often, but since she passed away last year and my siblings sorted out her stuff I got reminded that I never actually finished this painting (I think it was due to time constraints at the time and then... life happened). I now took it home in hopes I can finish it some time, and until I can get to it it's hanging out with the others in my entry. :) Maybe we can get prints of all of them once mine is done, so each of us can display the complete set, that would be cool!

[goldfades]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 ☆ BUECKERS⁵ (ev's 6k celly!)

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

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ᝰ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.6k

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | dating paige means learning to share her — with fans, cameras, the league. you’re used to being in the background: her pregame text, her airport pickup, the face she looks for in the crowd. but when she finally has a bad game — one that leaves her jaw tight and chest guarded, you’re the one she lets fall apart.

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst!! hurt to comfort, paige being a little mean, kinda stay at home vibe for reader but not really?? HAPPY ENDING!!

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | yaya!! day 3 of celly, i hope yall are enjoying so far. here's the angsty, hurt to comfort paige fic yall were promised. also i feel like i needed to add that im not trying to hate on the wings at all, this fic is more about the emotional side of things than any real commentary on the team.

also obviously i have no idea what paige is actually feeling or going through (obviously LOL), this is all just fictional and for fun. just wanted to explore a softer, more personal side of what that transition might feel like for someone carrying that much pressure. no harm intended, just feelings & vibes & sapphic yearning <3

You meet her in a grocery store just off of campus, which feels fake even as it’s happening.

She’s in a hoodie too big for her, hood up, cart half-full of protein bars and Smartwater, reading the back of a box like it's a scouting report. You’re standing in front of the oat milk. That’s it. That’s the origin story.

She asks if the oat milk is good. You say it depends on what she’s doing with it. She raises an eyebrow and says, drinking it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world . You tell her it’s fine but the vanilla one is better. And when she reaches for it, your fingers graze. You don’t look away first.

It starts there — two people in the milk aisle, pretending they don’t know who the other is or maybe pretending it doesn’t matter.

It matters.

Now it’s almost two years later. You know which pair of socks she has to wear on game days, how she retapes her fingers during halftime even if the wrap is fine, the way she likes her smoothies: blended twice, don’t ask why and that when she’s tired she gets clingy but insists she’s not.

You also know how to stay out of the frame.

You're the person who picks up her dry cleaning, triple checks her call sheet, drives her to the airport at 5AM with a thermos of coffee you’ll never get thanked for. Not because she’s ungrateful, but because she doesn’t realize she needs to. She’s Paige Bueckers. She gives pieces of herself away all day — photos, autographs, interviews, sideline hugs for kids she’s never met and by the time she gets to you, there’s not always much left.

But she always finds your hand. That counts for something.

You get used to watching her light up arenas from the shadows. You like it, actually. The background is quiet. Safe. You can watch her without worrying about being watched back.

You know she’s yours even if everyone else thinks she belongs to the world. And lately, the world’s been getting greedy.

The apartment still smells like new paint.

Not strong, not offensive, just that faint, chalky scent that clings to the corners of the rooms, reminding you that the place isn’t quite lived-in yet. Boxes line the hallway in uneven stacks, some open, some sealed, all of them with your handwriting scrawled across the sides. Kitchen stuff. Shoes, maybe?? PAIGE DON’T TOUCH.

She did, obviously.

You find the proof in the form of an empty protein bar wrapper tucked into the top of a box marked winter clothes and you roll your eyes as you toss it in the trash.

It’s quiet in the apartment, which is rare lately. For the past few months, everything’s been loud. Not just the literal noise, although there’s been plenty of that: roaring student sections, confetti cannons, draft night applause that rang in your chest like a second heartbeat but the kind of loud that lives under your skin. Constant motion. Constant attention. Eyes on her, hands on her, reporters leaning too close with too many questions, and her answering all of it with that same polished smile that means I’m good, I’m fine, keep moving.

You know what it costs.

Winning the natty should’ve felt like a finish line but it only cracked open another beginning. Draft week came less than a week later. There was barely time to breathe, let alone plan a move to a new city, a new team, a new life. You booked the flights. You signed the lease. You made sure the sheets were washed before she got here.

You haven’t unpacked fully. Neither of you has had time.

Right now, she’s at shootaround — early preseason workouts, a light day, though deemed light by Paige Bueckers standards still means running through plays like it’s the Final Four. You’re not there. She asked if you wanted to come and you said no. She didn’t push. She never does.

You like seeing her on the court but today you needed the silence. Needed to breathe in a room that didn’t buzz with her future. Needed to sit in the kitchen she hasn’t cooked in yet and just be.

You wash two mugs, even though you only used one. You start putting away silverware and get distracted organizing the drawer — forks facing one way, spoons the other, knives stacked like soldiers. You don’t know how long you’re standing there when you hear the door unlock.

“Babe?”

Her voice is hoarse. You glance up, startled by the way your heart still flinches at the sound.

“In the kitchen,” you call back.

She appears a second later, already halfway out of her sneakers, gym bag sliding off her shoulder. Her hair’s tied up in a bun, messy, a few strands stuck to her forehead. She looks tired, which means she probably went too hard, again.

She smiles when she sees you. It’s not a big smile, barely there, really but it’s the one she only gives you. The one that softens all the edges.

“Hey,” she says.

You lift an eyebrow. “Don’t ‘hey’ me. You went for an hour and a half.”

“Sixty-five minutes,” she corrects, coming over to press a kiss to your cheek. Her hand finds your waist without thinking. “I’m being good.”

“You’re being reckless.”

“I’m being prepared.” She grins like she knows you’re already over it and you are. Mostly.

You turn into her, letting her rest her forehead against yours. Her skin is damp. You don’t mind. For a second, neither of you says anything.

“I missed you,” she murmurs.

You hum. “You saw me this morning.”

“Still.”

This is how it’s always been. Paige flies too close to the sun, and you make sure there’s a place for her to land. You’ve never tried to stop her. You just make sure the lights are on when she comes home.

She pulls away slowly, eyes scanning your face like she’s trying to memorize it, even though she’s already got it memorized a hundred times over.

“I know I haven’t been around much lately,” she says, quieter.

You could say I know, or It’s okay, or You don’t have to explain.

But you don’t.

Instead, you say, “Sit down. I’ll make you something.”

She blinks, then smiles again — wider this time. “You love bossing me around.”

You shrug, moving toward the fridge. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

She sits. Watches you. You can feel her eyes on your back while you crack eggs into a pan and mumble about how she better not leave her sweaty socks on the kitchen chair again. She laughs.

For a second, the rest of it fades. The expectations, the cameras, the pressure. The whole world outside this apartment.

She’s here. And she’s yours.

The season starts badly.

Not technically — their opener is a loss, narrow but clean. The kind of win that looks okay in a box score even if you know, just by watching, that something’s off. Like the rhythm is a beat behind. Like Paige’s shot is just a little too flat. Like the whole team is waiting for someone else to wake them up.

After that, it’s four straight losses. One at home, three on the road. All of them ugly.

The headlines stay polite at first. Young team still finding chemistry. Bueckers adjusting to WNBA pace. But the subtext is everywhere. In the photos they run — Paige midair, Paige scowling, Paige with her hands on her knees. In the clips they replay: missed threes, turnovers, turnovers, turnovers. Even in the way the commentators say her name, like it used to mean something magical and now they’re not sure what it means anymore.

You try not to read the comments. You still do.

At home, she says she’s fine.

Fine when she’s up at 1:30 in the morning watching film with the volume so low you can barely hear it. Fine when she forgets to eat until noon. Fine when she gets back from practice with red-rimmed eyes and blames it on the wind even though it hasn’t been breezy in days.

You don’t press. Not directly.

You just hover. The way you always do. Fold her laundry. Wrap her knee even when she says it doesn’t hurt. Order in from her favorite Thai place and pretend you were craving it too. Make sure the lamp by her side of the bed is always turned on when she walks in.

You wait for her to let you in.

She doesn’t.

The apartment feels different now.

You don’t realize it until you’re halfway through cleaning out the fridge one day and it hits you: this is what distance feels like. Not loud. Not obvious. Just space. Gaps where the closeness used to live. Little things.

She doesn’t hum when she showers anymore. She texts you from the gym less. She doesn’t ask you to braid her hair before games. She doesn’t lose her phone and call out for you in a half-panic only to find it under a throw pillow. She just… moves quieter.

Sometimes she looks at you like she wants to say something. Like it’s sitting on her tongue, one syllable away from shattering the whole dam. But then she blinks and it’s gone, and she says something like “Did we run out of toothpaste?”

And you nod, and say “Yeah, I’ll grab some tomorrow” and pretend you weren’t holding your breath.

They lose again. Badly.

You watch from the tunnel, same place you always stand. You’ve watched her from this spot more times than you can count but this feels different. Wrong.

The buzzer sounds. 78–61. Another loss. Fifth in a row. You stand in the tunnel like always, heart clenched in that familiar way that used to mean nerves but now mostly means dread.

You watch her shake hands, high-five a couple fans who lean over the railing. The towel around her neck looks like a surrender flag. Her face is set, eyes sharp and far away. You recognize that look - it’s the one she wears when she’s trying not to feel anything. When the disappointment is too deep and too sharp to acknowledge in public.

She doesn’t look up at you.

Doesn’t wave. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t say your name like she usually does, even in passing maybe half a smile, quick reach for your hand if you’re close enough.

She walks straight past.

You wait for her anyway. You text her: I’m in the tunnel, I’ll be at the car.

No response.

She gets home almost an hour later. Drops her bag by the door and kicks her shoes off with more force than necessary. You���re curled up on the couch, pretending to watch a rerun of something, volume too low to actually follow.

You glance over. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter like she’s trying to miss on purpose. “God, what a night. I mean at least I only turned it over, what, six times? That’s practically an improvement.”

You pause. “Seven.”

“Oof.” She winces, exaggerated. “Even better.”

You don’t laugh.

She notices. She walks into the kitchen, opens the fridge, stands there like it's a portal to another dimension.

“You hungry?” she asks. “I could burn some toast or reheat something and pretend I made it from scratch.”

“Paige.”

She doesn’t look over. “Or we could do popcorn and call it dinner. Real athlete shit.”

“Paige.”

That lands. She shuts the fridge, too loud and finally turns to face you.

“What?” she says. Light, teasing. Like she already knows what you’re about to say and wants to joke her way out of it. “Don’t tell me you’re mad at me for that disaster.”

You sit up. “I’m not mad at you for losing. I’m upset that you won’t talk to me.”

She blinks. “I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re deflecting. You’ve been doing it for days. You came home last night and made a joke about retiring to become a barista.”

“Hey, that’s a solid fallback plan.”

“Paige.”

She lifts her hands. “Okay. What do you want me to say? That I suck right now? That I’m letting everybody down? That I feel like I made a huge mistake coming here? Would that make you feel better?”

The words cut sharper than they should. Not because she means to hurt you -- Paige never means to hurt you but because you recognize the panic underneath them. The way her voice spikes, too high, too fast. The way she’s trying to outrun the truth before it catches up.

You step into the kitchen, across from her now. Arms folded. Quiet.

“I want you to be honest with me,” you say, low and even. “Not perfect. Not funny. Not brave. Just… honest.”

She leans back against the counter like it might hold her up better than you can. Her arms cross over her chest.

“I can’t do that right now,” she says.

You nod but it’s not agreement. More like acknowledgment.

“Okay.” You back away slowly. “Then I’m gonna go for a drive.”

She frowns. “What? Why?”

“Because if I stay, I’m going to say something I can’t take back.”

She doesn’t try to stop you. That hurts more than it should.

The silence stretches.

A day passes. Then another. The fight doesn’t explode: it simmers. You still talk, technically. You ask if she wants anything when you go to the store. She tells you she refilled your prescription when she picked up her own. You switch the laundry she started. She rewinds the show you missed.

But you don’t touch. You don’t look too long. And she doesn’t say your name like it’s a question anymore.

It feels like standing on a frozen lake, the ice too thin and the water too black and freezing underneath. And you're the only one hearing the cracks.

You find yourself spiraling in stupid ways.

You start overthinking texts that don’t need to be overthought. You stare at her Instagram comments longer than you should. You don’t mean to but you do. All the hearts, all the compliments, all the people who don’t know her but think they do. Who think they love her.

And maybe they do, in that empty, worshipful, social-media way.

But they don’t fold her socks. They don’t know how her voice sounds when she’s half-asleep. They don’t press a cold washcloth to her forehead when she’s sick. They don’t know she triple-knots her laces and tucks the ends in because she’s paranoid about tripping. They don’t know she cries at commercials but hides it by blaming dust.

You do.

And it’s not jealousy, not really. It’s more like… fear. Like maybe all this silence is the beginning of her forgetting that she needs you.

And the worst part? You get it.

You know what she’s feeling even if she won’t say it. You know she’s disappointed, overwhelmed. You know she thinks showing you that will make her seem weak. You know it’s not about you.

But it still feels like it is.

You lie awake beside her that night, staring at the ceiling. You can hear her breathing, slow and even. Either asleep or pretending to be. You don't reach for her. Not this time.

And she doesn't reach for you.

The arena feels different tonight. Not louder. Not quieter. Just heavier. Like even the air is bracing for something it can’t name.

You’re in the tunnel again, where you always are. That same spot, hands tucked into your jacket sleeves, the lanyard around your neck sticking to your skin with the sweat you won’t admit to. You watch the players file in, coaches in tow, heads bowed slightly in that ritual of unspoken hope.

Paige doesn’t look at you when she runs out for warmups. Hasn’t, not since the fight.

Her face is unreadable under the lights, jaw set and mouth tight in that way that means she’s focused, or maybe pretending to be. You’ve seen that look a hundred times before. In college stadiums, back at UConn. But never like this. Never this brittle.

You watch her miss three shots in a row during shootaround. Not by much but by enough. No one else seems to notice or maybe they’ve gotten used to it. You haven’t.

When the game starts, you try to focus on it like you usually do. Not in a fan way but in a quiet way. You keep your eyes on her. Always on her. Not the scoreboard. Not the other players. Just Paige.

She’s off. Again. And this time it’s not the usual, not just missed shots or a slow start or teammates who don’t read her cuts. It’s everything. Her rhythm is gone. Her body’s tight. Her passes are rushed. Her confidence, usually such a steady undercurrent in the way she moves is nowhere to be found.

She fouls early. A dumb reach-in that she wouldn’t normally commit. Then another, chasing a fast break she had no hope of catching. By halftime, she’s on the bench, staring at the floor with a towel over her head and a stat line you know she won’t be able to look at later.

2 points. 1 assist. 4 turnovers.

The team is down by 15.

You don’t know what to do with your hands. You keep rubbing your thumb over your ring finger, a nervous habit you picked up somewhere along the way and never broke. You watch her jog into the tunnel at the half, shoulders tense, mouth pressed into a thin line.

She doesn’t look up.

The second half is worse.

The game slips away before the fourth quarter even starts. Paige goes scoreless the entire third then gets pulled halfway through the fourth when it becomes clear the coaches are calling it. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t flinch. Just walks to the bench, plops down, elbows on her knees, eyes ahead like she’s watching something only she can see.

By the time the buzzer sounds, the final score doesn’t matter.

They lose by 22.

You wait for her in the same spot you always do. Tunnel. Left side. Just past the security guard who now knows your name.

The team walks by slowly. A few nods, a couple brief waves from familiar faces. But Paige isn’t with them.

She comes last.

No towel. No eye contact. Just her, walking like every step hurts.

She sees you — she has to, you’re right in her line of sight but she walks past without a word.

You follow.

The car ride is silent.

She doesn’t play music. Doesn’t reach for your hand at the red light like she usually does. Just keeps her eyes on the road, knuckles white around the steering wheel. She’s still in her jersey, sweats pulled over her shorts, hair damp from the shower and curled behind her ears.

You want to say something. Anything. But you’ve learned not to touch the wound while it’s still bleeding.

She unlocks the apartment, tosses her keys on the counter and moves straight to the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Closes it. Opens it again. Then just stands there with her hand on the handle, breathing like she’s trying to remember how.

You step inside, gently, quietly like someone trying not to startle a cornered animal.

“Paige,” you say.

She doesn’t move.

“Hey.” You reach out, touch her back lightly, right between the shoulder blades.

She flinches. Not from pain. From everything else.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

You don’t ask what she means.

Instead, you guide her hand off the fridge door and turn her to face you.

Her face crumples.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just… slowly. Like a wall finally giving way after weeks of rain. Her mouth twitches. Her eyes glass over. Her breath catches in her throat.

“I’m trying so hard,” she says, barely audible. “I’m doing everything I can and it’s still not enough.”

You move closer, carefully, and she doesn’t pull away this time.

“I know,” you whisper. “I know you are.”

She shakes her head, eyes rimmed red. “I’m not who they thought I’d be.”

You feel that like a knife. Because you know what she means. Not just the media. Not just the fans. She means everyone. The people who waited for her. The ones who wanted her to be a savior.

“They all thought I’d come in and just… fix it. Like I was some kind of answer.”

You reach up, thumb brushing under her eye. “You were never supposed to fix it all, P.”

She exhales and it sounds like a sob even though there are no tears yet.

“You don’t get it,” she says. “I used to love this. I used to be good at this. And now all I do is mess up and get benched and watch them lose and try not to cry in front of the cameras. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I don’t even feel like me anymore.”

That last part cracks something in you. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? She’s not afraid of losing. She’s afraid of losing herself.

You don’t say anything right away. You just take her face in your hands and hold her like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.

“I miss you,” you say.

She blinks. “I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve been somewhere else for weeks and I didn’t know how to reach you.” Your voice shakes a little. “But I’m here. I’ve been here the whole time. You can fall apart with me. You have to fall apart with me. That’s the deal.”

And finally, finally, she breaks.

The tears come fast and silent, her body folding into yours like she’s collapsing under her own weight. You hold her through it, arms around her waist, her forehead pressed into your shoulder. You feel every tremble. Every shudder. Every breath she takes like she’s trying to relearn how.

“I don’t want to be strong right now,” she mumbles against your collarbone. “I’m so tired of being strong.”

“You don’t have to be,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

So she lets go. And for the first time in weeks, so do you.

Later, when the storm inside her has quieted, when her eyes are puffy and red and her breathing has slowed to something human again, you lead her to the couch like you’ve done a hundred times before. Like it’s ritual.

She lets you.

Still silent. Still raw. But softer now, like the sharp edges have dulled. Her hand lingers in yours longer than it has in weeks. She curls into you without asking, tucks her knees up under her and presses her cheek to your chest like she did during last year at UConn, after that Final Four game where she swore she’d never play that badly again.

You’d found her in her dorm that night, still in her travel sweats, hoodie pulled up like armor. She hadn’t said anything, just climbed into your lap, quiet and bruised and seventeen kinds of exhausted.

You held her then like you’re holding her now. Careful, steady, for as long as she needed.

You grab the fuzzy blanket from the arm of the couch, the one she pretends she hates because it’s “obnoxiously pink” but always ends up buried under after tough nights. You drape it over the two of you, then kiss her hair once, gently, where it parts at her crown.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs after a long stretch of silence.

You shake your head. “Don’t be.”

“I’ve been such a dick.”

You smile faintly into her hair. “Maybe. But you’re my dick.”

That gets the tiniest huff of a laugh out of her, muffled against your collarbone. It’s the first real sound of her in days.

You reach for the remote and scroll mindlessly until you land on the dumb baking show you always used to put on after her bad games. She pretends to hate it: “They’re just cakes, babe, why are they all crying?” but you know it makes her feel safe. Like the world is a little slower and a little sweeter.

You set the volume low, just enough to fill the room with chatter and clinking bowls and the gentle pressure of lives that have nothing to do with yours.

“I forgot how good this show is,” she mumbles after a few minutes.

You don’t answer. Just let your fingers drift through her hair, light and rhythmic. Her breathing evens out, one hand fisting lightly in your hoodie.

This is the version of her you’ve missed. Not perfect. Not polished. Just herself. Soft, sleepy, safe.

“You remember that night in Hartford,” you say eventually, voice quiet, “when you missed that game-winner and locked yourself in the locker room for an hour?”

She groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“You wouldn’t come out. I had to sneak in with that nasty gas station hot chocolate.”

She shifts a little, her smile pressing into your skin. “You bribed me.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

She hums. “Barely. I only opened the door ‘cause I thought you were gonna start sobbing outside it.”

You feign offense. “I was being dramatic for effect.”

“Mm-hmm.”

You let the silence settle again. It’s warm this time. Companionable.

“I used to think you only loved me when I was winning,” she says quietly, like it’s something she’s only just realized she believed.

You tilt your head down. “Do you still think that?”

She shrugs against you. “I don’t know. I think I forgot how to be loved when I wasn’t.”

You exhale slowly and tip her chin up with two fingers, just enough to see her face. Her eyes are tired, but clear.

“Paige,” you say, soft but sure, “you are loved when you lose. When you miss. When you fall apart. When you’re stubborn and snappy and full of doubt. There is no version of you I wouldn’t love.”

Her throat works around the lump there, eyes glistening again, but the tears don’t fall this time. She just nods.

Then she pulls you in and kisses you.

Not desperate. Not needy. Just real. Quiet and slow and full of apology and promise.

When she pulls back, she leans her forehead to yours.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For not walking away.”

You shake your head. “I’ll always be here. Even when you’re not ready. Even when you push. I’ll wait. That’s the job.”

She smiles again, and this time it reaches her eyes. It’s not big. Not flashy. But it’s real.

“You’re too good to me,” she says.

“Mm. Probably,” you tease, brushing your thumb across her cheek. “But I like the work.”

She laughs, and it bubbles out of her like it’s the first time she’s remembered how. The tension breaks. The ache loosens.

The couch holds you both.

Outside, Dallas hums on — noisier than it should be, traffic always loud and lights always spilling in through the windows. But the room you’re in is soft. Dim. Full of the kind of peace that only comes after a storm.

She nestles back into your chest, tugs the blanket up to her chin.

And you think; this is enough.

Not the win streak. Not the headlines. Not the perfect stat lines.

Just this.

Her body folded into yours. Her heart safe in your hands. Her breath warm on your neck. The worst of it behind you.

Finally, finally — home.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 23 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was bruised, hungry and worn out, but as soon as he was with you again, nothing else mattered. You welcomed him home with so much love, like nobody else ever had before or ever would again.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, smut, very hands-on Bradley, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You were already at work, trying your best to teach your math class with your phone gripped in your hand, when Bradley texted to let you know he was boarding a flight that would land in San Diego just before six o'clock. Tears stung your eyes as you scribbled some problems on the board for your kids to work on while you walked briskly to the back of the room to write back.

I'll be there to pick you up! I can't wait!

Truthfully, you didn't know if you could have gone another day without hearing from him. Your heart felt full now after the brief conversation you had. He was safely back on dry land! He was coming back to San Diego! He missed you as much as you missed him! 

It was Valentine's Day, and more importantly, Career Day was later this week on Friday. You couldn't contain your excitement, especially when he wrote back with his flight number along with a short message

I'll see you in a few hours, Gorgeous. Tell your kiddos I'll see them in a few days.

You watched as your students wrote down some final answers, then you checked them together while butterflies soared around in your belly. You couldn't hold it back any longer after that. You felt flustered as you placed your hand on your forehead and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw wanted me to tell you that he'll be here on Friday for Career Day."

Jayden jumped out of his chair as Oliver pumped his fists in the air. "Can we work on another list of questions for him?" Nia asked as Violet clapped in excitement.

Since that very first package you sent, he had been making this school year even better than you ever expected. "Yes. We can work on more questions for him. Some of our other friends from the Navy will be joining us as well."

"Who?" asked Jackie, eyes wide behind her glasses.

"I guess you'll find out on Friday. Now who wants to write our list of questions?"

When you left your school that afternoon, traffic back to Coronado was heavy, but you didn't mind one bit. You couldn't stop smiling as you made a phone call, ready to beg if needed to so you could get what you wanted. Then you changed into the dress Natasha helped you pick out. It was tight and black with long sleeves and a short hem. And suddenly it was time to pick Bradley up.

You were giddy as you stood on the driveway, unsure if you should take your car or his Bronco. Ultimately you decided to take his so he'd have a chance to drive it if he wanted to. Unless he was exhausted. If he was too tired, you would have no problem driving it back so he could rest. Then you started to feel like maybe you shouldn't have made the dinner reservation. He probably wasn't going to want to go out to eat two hours after getting home from deployment. 

How many times had he told you that he liked the way you didn't mind when he wanted to just relax on the couch and unwind? You groaned as you got in the Bronco and started the engine. When you got to the airport, you'd call and cancel it. Taking him home to a long, hot shower was a better option. Plus you already stocked the refrigerator with so much food, he could eat whatever he wanted for the next week.

There was a ton of traffic getting into the airport short-term parking lot, and you were just pulling into a spot when Bradley texted you to let you know his flight landed early. "Oh, shit," you muttered, heart hammering into overdrive as you pulled the key from the ignition and straightened your dress as you climbed out of the Bronco. 

You rushed through the throngs of people as quickly as you could, looking for the correct baggage claim number. When you located it, you spun around looking for him, but you heard his voice before you saw him.

"Gorgeous!"

So many people were looking at your boyfriend with his booming voice and khaki uniform, but he was staring right at you with a bright smile on his face. You were off and running for his arms, and he scooped you up against him, feet lifting from the floor.

"Bradley," you moaned, and his lips crashed against yours. His heart was thudding against your chest as you tasted his mouth and grabbed at his hair. Everything about him was so familiar, and it seemed like it had been forever since you got to touch him. 

His mustache was rough against your lips and then your cheek and ear. His voice was deep and sweet as his lips skimmed your earlobe when he whispered, "I love you."

Then his lips found yours again as you clung to him. This is what you'd missed so much. Just simply knowing he adored you by the way he kissed you. Any doubts you had while he was gone started to ease away. Big hands held you in place as you broke the kiss to say, "I missed you," voice coming out like a sob.

His brown eyes were soft as he smiled at you. "I couldn't go another minute without you, Gorgeous. I was miserable."

"Me, too," you whispered, kissing him once more as your feet touched the ground again. But you still felt lighter than air as his adoring gaze stayed fixed on your face when you said, "That box of notes you sent me was so romantic, Bradley, but nothing compares to the real thing." 

You dragged your thumb along his scars, body still pressed against his. He grunted as his hand slid down your back to your butt. "Let's go home. So I can give you the real thing." Your cheeks were blazing with heat as you buried your face against his chest. "I wrote you so many notes, Baby. They're in my duffle, just waiting for you to read them, but you'll notice a theme. I missed you like crazy. And all I want to do for the foreseeable future is eat food that doesn't suck, sleep in my own bed, and fuck my girlfriend."

"Bradley," you laughed, letting him walk you backwards so he could pick up his duffle bag. You had one hand around his neck and one on his firm abs as you whispered, "Let's go home."

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

It was indescribable how much better Bradley felt as soon as he saw you inside the airport. And now he couldn't stop touching you. Your voice eased the tension out of his body like nothing else could, and your skin was silky soft beneath his fingers. He had one hand on the wheel of his Bronco and one tucked up inside your dress, resting on your thigh while he drove. 

It was Valentine's Day, and he showed up empty handed which just felt wrong. He would try to make it up to you all week and all month. He'd make it up to you in the form of an engagement ring. How could he not? The deployment without communication was the most miserable he'd been since his mom died. Probably because he hadn't felt so loved since then.

"I reached for my phone so many times to call you before I remembered I couldn't," you said softly, running your fingers up his forearm and back down. "It broke my heart a little bit each time."

"God, Gorgeous," he moaned, squeezing your thigh as he drove into the sunset toward Coronado. He had an actual partner who was invested in him, and he wasn't about to give this up. "It killed me to go so long without hearing your voice. Keep talking. Please."

Your laughter filled the space as he sped up a little bit. "I have all of the letters from the box stacked up in the kitchen. I read them over and over again. And I moved all of my things into your house."

"Our house."

"Our house," you repeated, and he fell in love with the words even more. "I was too afraid to unpack all of it in case you told me Norfolk was going to be your permanent station, but maybe you can help me with that this week while I feed you everything in the refrigerator. Oh, and I made a reservation for Salvatore's for later tonight, but we can cancel it since you're probably exhausted."

Bradley parked in the driveway, yanking the keys from the ignition while you unbuckled your seatbelt. He took your chin in his hand, and you came willingly across the seat so he was kissing you again, rougher this time than in the airport. 

"Are you telling me there's a chance I get to fuck you and then eat ravioli?"

You whimpered as you crawled onto his lap, that little dress leaving nothing to the imagination as it bunched up to your hips. "If that's what you want," you whispered, looking like everything he would ever need. 

His cock throbbed as your body rubbed against his. "That's what I want," he grunted as you sucked on his neck. "I want you to be my Valentine. I want to show you how much I missed you. Then I want us to go out to dinner."

He opened the door and carried you toward the house, not stopping until he had you in the bedroom, fading rays of sunlight filling the space. Bradley watched you pull your dress over your head, revealing that little black bra and panty set you wore for him at Christmas. You kicked off your shoes, and he got to watch you crawl across the bed before yanking off his own boots and following you.

"Bradley," you giggled once he had you on your back, pinned beneath him.

"Say it again. I need to hear you say it again."

You guided your legs apart, letting him rest against your core as his lips skimmed along your jaw. Your voice was soft and perfect as you said his name. "Bradley. Show me how much you missed me."

He could feel your hands on his belt, the buckle clinking softly as you slid it open. You got his zipper open as he continued to run his lips along your soft skin, pausing to lick and taste you, making you moan for him. Your hand was too small to wrap around his cock, but you tugged him free from his underwear and gave him a squeeze that left him seeing stars.

"Baby," he whined, bucking against your palm as you slid your lace thong to the side and treated him to your welcoming pussy.

"It feels like you missed me a lot," you gasped, eyes going wide as he pushed himself into your perfect body.

He could only groan in response until he was fully seated, forehead resting on your shoulder. "It felt like hell being away from you. Can't live without my Gorgeous pen pal."

Bradley eased his hips back, listening to you whimper before he pushed himself deep again. His neck and shoulders were sore, and his bruises were tender beneath your eager fingers, but he didn't stop you from touching him everywhere. He needed you to. He'd been craving all of this for almost two months. You welcomed him back home with your kisses, fingers in his hair as he fell even more in love with the way you loved him. You whispered his name as he fucked you until you were shaking, and you let him fill you with his cum. 

"Gorgeous," was all he could mutter as he was sprawled halfway on top of you, still buried deep as your pussy pulsed gently around him. 

Your fingers trailed through his hair and down his neck as you whispered, "Let's take a shower together." He would have followed you anywhere you wanted to go, but a hot shower with your hands all over him sounded so good, he pulled himself free from your body and started to finally undress.

As his uniform shirt fell to the floor, you sat up in bed. When his undershirt was discarded as well, you gasped.

"What's the matter?" he asked as you got to your feet and ran your hand along his shoulder.

"You're bruised!"

"I'm fine," he muttered quickly, but you were already inspecting every inch of him.

"What happened?" you asked, voice sharp. "And why didn't you tell me about this right away? Before I started grabbing you."

He took your hands in his and kissed your fingertips. "I really am fine, Gorgeous. A doctor checked me out this morning. I just had a rough landing a few days ago."

"Why didn't you say something?"

Your words sounded sharp, but they felt so soft when he let his mind absorb them. "Because the only thing that's going to make me feel better is your body all over mine and your voice saying my name."

You bit your lip and very gingerly draped your arms around his neck. "Oh, Bradley. I'm going to spoil you for the rest of the week."

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

Bradley yawned when he kept you tucked against his bruised chest in the shower, but he was resolute in saying he wanted to go out for dinner.

"We don't have to," you reassured him, placing kiss after soft kiss to his collar bones as you washed his hair for him. "You've been through so much."

"I want to eat real food with my beautiful girlfriend on Valentine's Day," he insisted. "And I promise you, this is the best I've felt since Christmas. Because I'm with you. Besides, you should have seen the shit they served for meals on that aircraft carrier. It was criminal, Baby." His musings were punctuated by his loudly growling stomach as he ran his hand up and down your back.

Truthfully, he did look a little thinner to you, which was awful considering how much he was used to eating. You just wanted to take care of him right now, and he clearly needed a solid meal and some sleep. So you helped him dry off and led him back to the bedroom with his hand wrapped around yours.

"Since you promised to spoil me... will you put that black dress back on again?" he whispered next to your ear, making you shiver.

"I could do that for you." Bradley picked it up off the floor with a smile, and you took it from him as you said, "But you made a mess of my underwear, so I'll have to skip it."

He made a deep sound at the back of his throat that had you excited to go to Salvatore's all over again. You helped him dress in a button down shirt and some black pants, careful about how you touched his bruises, and then the two of you were off. On the drive to the restaurant, his hand seemed to be glued to your thigh once again, but you didn't mind. It felt like you'd gone a year without him, and this was just your reward, getting to listen to him tell you all about how Admiral Simpson showed up in Norfolk and about how lonely he was on the carrier.

"I'm not doing that again," he murmured, parallel parking with one hand. He smiled at you as he checked his blind spot. "I'll just retire from the Navy before I spend that amount of time without my pen pals ever again."

You kissed him as he shifted into park. "You might have a career as a smut writer. I read that one note you left for me, and it was hot."

"Oh yeah?" he crooned, dark eyes sparking with mischief as his hand tightened on your leg. "You liked that one?"

Instead of a verbal response, you just guided his hand up a few inches further until his fingers grazed your bare pussy, and then you climbed out onto the sidewalk like it was nothing. Bradley was right behind you in an instant as you strolled inside Salvatore's as if you hadn't a care in the world, meanwhile your heart was pounding at the way his hand wrapped around you as the host greeted you both.

"Please enjoy the lounge for a few minutes, and I'll find you when your table is ready," he said smoothly while Bradley kissed the side of your neck with his body pressed against yours like the two of you were all alone.

"Let's go," you whispered, voice shaking a bit as you wiggled out of his grasp and headed for the bar. But the room was crowded, and he ended up right where he had been a second ago, leaving you a little dizzy as his hand settled low on your belly.

"You're gonna tease me for the rest of the night then?" he asked, broad chest rumbling against your shoulders and the top of your back.

"Maybe," you replied, trying to play coy even though you wanted nothing more than to feel him touching you just how he was right now.

He kissed the spot behind your ear, and your whole body clenched with need as he asked, "Let's get that expensive as hell wine again." Before you could stop him, he was signaling for the bartender and asking for the bottle by name. "It's my girlfriend's favorite," he said with a chuckle as he magically procured his credit card and handed it over.

You and he drank half the bottle right there in the lounge before the table was ready, and then you finished it in the dining room. It was Valentine's Day, sure, but this restaurant already held memories for you, and this was just adding to it. It was the same wine as last time, but you'd fallen even more in love with this man since then. Your feet were tangled with his under the table while you shared several pasta dishes, and you were so happy he was no longer self conscious about how much he ate around you. He touched you freely, reaching for your hand or letting his palm rest on your leg, and he kissed you sporadically as the meal progressed, knowing you wanted him to.

"I love you so much," you blurted out in the middle of telling him a story about how your class got locked out of the school after a fire drill. "And I'm happy you're home. And I don't want to ever do that again."

Bradley finished chewing his pasta before saying, "Well now you're just teasing me in a different way."

"I am?"

He nodded and set down his fork, signaling for the waiter. Bradley asked for the check and some containers to take the rest of the food home. Then he looked at you and asked, "How do you turn me on and make my heart melt at the same time, Gorgeous?"

The butterflies were back again. "You do it to me, too." You watched him pay the check like it was nothing, and he handed you the takeout containers. "Did you eat enough?" you asked as he led you toward the door and back to the Bronco with one hand resting on your hip and your body tucked against his.

"I can eat more later if I need to. Thank you for making the dinner reservation. It was perfect. But right now, I just want to be alone with you."

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

"Oh, god," Bradley groaned, getting to feel your body gripping him for the second time tonight. It was so late now, but he was full of wine and red sauce and still riding high on the excitement of being back home with you. He felt so loved up and emotional as he held you in front of him in bed and thrust slowly in and out of your pussy as you moaned. He missed being your big spoon.

"I can't wait until you read all the notes I wrote for you, Baby," he whispered, lips brushing the side of your neck as his fingers dug into your flesh. 

"I'll take some of them to work tomorrow," you gasped. Bradley didn't even feel bad for keeping you up past your bedtime as he nipped along your skin and fucked you slowly, just like he promised he would in that dirty note he put in the box. He was savoring you now; he planned on having you a dozen times just like this, all week long.

He slid his hand down to your clit and licked your ear. "I'll pack your lunch and drive you to work and get you coffee every day this week. I'm using vacation time to take care of some things." He wasn't about to tell you what those things were. But you were coming undone at his touch, so there was a chance he could tell you anything at the moment, and you wouldn't even remember. "You gonna cum for me?" he crooned, a smile curling along his lips as you arched your back and whined. "Good girl."

It didn't take long before he was following your lead, and after that it wasn't long before he was falling asleep with his body wrapped around yours, right where he belonged. "I love you."

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

I need them to be cuddly and snuggly and together forever. We've got a few more chapters left of these lovebirds. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

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[vicsstufff]

UNDER THE WOODS — princess!p. bueckers x cinderella!reader

۶ৎ - summary: the mistreatments are way to normalize in your household. after the dead of your father, your new step-mother and her daughters new mission is to make your life miserable, serving them as a maid, until you met her, in the middle of the forest.

۶ৎ - wc: 3,045

۶ৎ - warnings/content: abusive behavior, submissive reader, mentions of death of both parents, not 100% accurate to the movie.

authors note | ONE SHOT! happy valentine’s day!! 💗 can u consider this as a valentine’s special? any grammatical errors will be edit after!! (im to lazy) this idea came from me literally watching the cinderella movie (the live action version) im in love with the dress. enjoy!

im back! where are my beautiful ladies?” a silent scream, lingered its way through the walls of the extended house until it reach your ears. your head meeting the direction of the voice, a small sound came out your lips before losing the grip that you had on your tea party set up. running down the corridors, finding the main door that lead to the outside.

the sound of the horses coming filled the garden, your dad, step down from the carriage that held him safely during one of his many trips. you really loved your dad, but not his job—a businessman— he rarely was home, but the hole made because of his absence was quickly filled by the warming love your mother brought. a wonderful woman, a very beautiful one too, she will sing to you every night, lullabying the sleep into you, making your eyelids heavy.

“my wonderful daughter..” your father let out in awe, contemplating your small figure. you jumped into his arms, surrounding yours around his neck. “i brought you something special.” he whispered in your ear, lowering you to take a seat on the edge of a fuantain, his hand grabbed a nearby suitcase, clicking a few locks before it jumped open. he pulled from the inside a small box, placing it on the center of your hands, he pushed a button on the side and it open abruptly, letting out a blue butterfly. “oh..it’s beautiful.” you said low, a smile coming up.

“will you like to dance with me ma’dam?” he said softly, lowering himself to your level, offering his hand, “of course, gentleman.” you spoke in a fail attempt to mock a seductive tone. your hand meet his rough hands, tired from all the work he endured. helping you up, instinctively, you lifted your feet, stepping on your fathers, he let out a series of high groans and ‘ouch’s’ but stilled grip gently your small hand and stared spinning, not strong enough to knock you off your feet but it still made the air move your hair gracefully, giggles scaped from the bottom of your heart.

happiness doesn’t last long.

you wished it did.

a few years had passed and your mother fell sick, her once bright eyes filled with joy and love, were now replaced with a dark glance, her skin was dry and in some occasions, the cold sweat will linger in her forehead. her cold touch brought goosebumps in your skin, she didn’t lulled you to sleep anymore.

the day her heavy eyelids came to their final rest, it felt empty like if the spirit of the house, yours and your father, had disappeared, all of the once happy memories died with her too.

she gave you all her old dresses, shoes and books, she insisted that you should be a intelligent woman that doesn’t depend on her future husband, the last part made your heart drop, you weren’t that interested in getting a husband any time soon, but if you don’t marry someone quickly, your father might even a arrange one for you. the thought of spending your days washing clothes, cooking, cleaning, satisfying your husband and having children haunted you at night, when your bed suddenly felt a little bit to cold even when the spring brought joy to the flowers and practically all the nature, even humans, or maybe not.

the second time a part of your soul died, it was when your father confirmed your worst fears.

he was going to marry a new woman.

you couldn’t do anything to really avoid the disaster that was perfectly planned to happen.

the carriage arrive sooner than imagined, from your window you could hear it from the distance, losing your mind observing the deeps of the forest and the nearby town. you lazily grabbed your shoes and placed them annoyingly, passing your hands through the dress in a attempt to soothe it.

your father was already outside the door when you finally made yourself get there, a bright smile smoothed the corners of mis smile line, its been years since you have seen that smile. he looked at you with hoped, with a clear ambition to start a new life, without any other choice, you smile softly at him as well. “couldn’t you make yourself more presentable? use one of the dress i brought you?” he whispered as the gates opened, ready to welcome their new members, you let out a small sigh but the smile on your face didn’t disappear.

when the carriage stopped it’s journey in front of you and your dad, he jogged quickly just enough for the carriage’s door opened abruptly, giggles came out the door and bright dresses ame from the dark, anastasia was the first one to make their presence known. your father extended his hand in order to help anastasia step from the carriage, once she stepped on the ground, she started overworking her fan as if the hot weather was attempting against her life. the second one was drizella, her exaggerated hair almost made contact with the top of the carriage and high heels making her trip, she wiggled her way over to anastasia who analyzed your house. “you should stile your hair” drizella remarked, your hair was styled messily in a bun. “your house is so… vintage.” anastasia added. “how was your trip?” you asked before they could make another smirky comment. “what did she say?” anastasia whispered—not low enough because you could still hear her. “i think she is asking us about our travel.” drizella explained like if you were speaking in a another language. “it was, um, exquisite.” anastasia replied awkwardly.

it seem like everyone stopped their tracks once the faint sound of a dress and heels made their way into the conversation. the last one was lady tremaine, a mysterious and wealthy woman. she meet your father during one of his long trips, promising her hand in marriage once she moved with him.

without giving you a glance, she maid her way through the house doors, and scanned the main entrance. anastasia and drizella were quickly to follow her and whisper things to her, definitely about your house. you entered the house along with your dad, that’s when she finally took check you out. her penetrating eyes noticing every single flaw in you. “how about you give the girls a tour around the house.” your father spoke as anastasia and drizella chuckled in amusement making their way up the stairs.

“your daughter is beautiful.” lady tremaine mumbled as you and your new sisters disappeared into some rooms. “oh, yes. she took it from her—“ your father stopped mid-sentence once he saw lady’s tremaine prolonged eye contact and her teasing smirk.

later that night, a inimaginable party was celebrated in your fathers and lady’s tramaine engagement, the wine and whiskey made you feel intoxicated just from the smell, your lungs burned as the smoke of the cigarettes lingered as if it was pure air. both of your ‘innocent’ sisters doll themselves up, amused man surrounding them while they took their sweet time chatting only with those that have money. your father was also talking to his friends, although you only recognized one, a really old friend of his, edward, he is your father’s assistant during his travels. talking about travels, in a few days he had been assigned one, after that, the wedding will happen.

“bring me a nice, shiny necklace!” “i want a big, outstanding dress!” “oh! and a tight corset!” anastasia and drizella demanded loudly as they—surprisingly took turns to talk about their needs. “what do you want, my love?” your father asked as his head turned towards you, grabbing his suitcases and throwing them into the back of the carriage. “just you coming back safely.” you quietly said while grabbing his hand, not wanting to let go. edward started to move the carriage with the help of the horses but you didn’t take your hand away from his, following desperately as the carriage made its way outside the house property, when you couldn’t catch up anymore, you staid still, observing the carriage that disappeared.

a knock could be heard, you weren’t expecting any visits. as the knocking continued, drizella called your name “get the door!” she yelled. as when you got to the door, edward was standing there, soaking wet because of the latest rains happening, the carriage behind him, as well as your fathers belongings. “edward? where is my father?” you quickly questioned the poor man who gripped his hat tightly, he just shook his head, letting fall some tears that had pilled up, he will break in a million pieces if he spoke a word.

realization hit you like a brick, suddenly the air had aggressively pushed one both doors, your breath sharp and fast and your lip started quivering, your knees weakening making you fall in front of edward who’s tears where know fully released and came out like a endless loop. “that means he didn’t bring me my dress?” anastasia growled as her other sister and mother soaked in the news. “anastasia! shut that mouth of yours!” lady tremaine spoke up, for the first time in weeks finally doing something that wasn’t against you. “can’t you see? we are ruined!” she snapped, lady tramaine turn around and stormed off to her room, shutting the door loudly.

the hard sound of heels crashing with the weak wooden floor woke you up abruptly, your neck jointed with a sharp pain spreading towards your lower back, your view was blurred as you remember last nights activities—you had fallen asleep in front of the chimney seeking for any warm that your room didn’t offer you. the new room was practically the old attic, the last room of the house and scariest, drizella and anastasia took your room because theirs was too small and lady tramaine had the guts to replace the room of your beloved mother.

“where is this girl?” lady tramaine groaned as she took a seek for you while waiting for her daughters to come and eat breakfast. “i thought breakfast was ready.” she sneered as you walked with chalks of wood. “it is ma’am. i’m only mending the fire.” you replied while inspecting the fire as it refuse to corporate.

anastasia and drizella finally took their seat in the dinning room, waiting impatiently for the food, tapping their nails against the table, as if it were a clock, counting second by second. “what’s that on your face?” lady tramaine asked as she observed obviously your face as you walked in with trays filled with food, your puzzled face became clear as you didn’t know what she was talking about, placing the food as you looked at the three ladies sitting in front of you. “it’s ash from the fireplace.” anastasia was quick to clear any questions. “clean yourself up.” lady tramaine said, avoiding any eye contact with you. “you’ll get cinders in our tea!” drizella snorted grabbing a cup of tea and stared deeply into it, you grabbed a nearby piece of destroyed fabric, bringing it and cleaning up aggressively your face with it.

“oh, girls leave your sister alone.” lady tramaine cheered as her wicked smile came back into its place as you keep walking in and out with plates, glasses and even more food. it was difficult to organize everything by yourself because lady tramaine had dismissed the household. her glance dartered around the table until it stopped in your plate. “who’s this plate for?” she inquired as she pointed out the plate placed on the spot giving to you on the dining table.”is there someone we’ve forgotten?” she asked faking innocence, she knew deep down that it was your plate. “it’s my place.” you added with a soft smile. “it seems so much to expect you to prepare breakfast, serve it and still sit with us.” she explained rapidly, taking a small breath before continuing. “wouldn’t like to eat when all the work is done?” she inquired pushing slightly your plate away towards you.

you were left speechless as the three ladies looked at you teasingly, a desire to run away kicked in. your shaking hands grabbed clumsily your cutlery and walked away as the loud, rotten sound of lady’s tramaine laugh tormented you as you stormed off to the kitchen.

the tears blurred your vision as you placed weakly the glass plate on the table, a wrong movement slipped the plate from the table crashing down into the floor, an unpleasant sound coming from the crash, to see the disaster you caused made you cry even more. sobbing, you kneeled into the disaster and started picking it up.

the pot where you prepared the tea reflected your heart breaking image, your face swallowed because of the endless tears, still covered by ash. it seemed like your stepmother and stepsisters had indeed transformed you into a merely a creature of ash and oil, a desperate groan escaped your shaky lip.

the horses speed quicken as the path was clear enough. you had grabbed a horse and stormed off to the forest to ride a bit, to distract yourself from they’re horrid coments.

as you deepen yourself more, a reindeer came out of nowhere, taking you and your horse by surprise. the horse jumped in horror as your grip into it not wanting to fall. “whoa, whoa, whoa!” you gasped, the reindeer only dedicated himself to look at you, the moment was interrupted as distant horns and shouts approached your area. “run!” you mouthed to the reindeer, how crazy you were to think that it will listen to you? “or they’ll catch you!” you uttered in desperation as the voices became more and more clear.

once the reindeer finally took note of your desperate attempts to help him, he stroked off but your horse had another plan, storming off with the reindeer too, as if they were playing a cat and mouse game, the sudden change of speed made a ear—piercing scream come out your sore throat.

paige separated herself from the group of guards fallowing the reindeer, when se heard a desperate voice coming from the deeps of the forest, a beautiful one.

“easy, boy!” you groaned noisily, not knowing how to calm the beast. “come on, slow down!” you desperately cried. paige squinted her yes focusing on the quickened animal. “miss!” she screamed, directing her horse towards the scene.

“i’m alright! thank you!” you screamed back but she matched your rhythm, calming down your horse for you, as the horse slowed down she questioned you. “are you alright?” “i’m alright.” you blurted out. “but you’ve nearly frightened the life out of him.” you protested making your horse jogg in cirlcles, the blonde girl mocking your steps. “who?” she asked. “the reindeer! what’s he ever done to you?” you yell out of air, the girl peeking a smile “i must confess i’ve never met him before.” the blonde girl giggled “he is a friend of yours?” she continued, both of your horses mirroring the actions of one another. “by accident, we met just now.” you stated, visibly relieved and now calmed after the scary incident.

“i looked into his eyes and he looked into mine, and i just felt he had so much to do with his life.” you explained getting closer to the fancy-dressed girl “that’s all.” you finished. “miss, what do they call you?” she questioned as soon as you ended speaking. “don’t bother.” you muttered rapidly. “you shouldn’t be this deep in the forest, alone.” she remarked as her she’s wondered into the distance, endless trees and animals. “i’m not alone. i’m with you…” you chuckle. “now, what do they call you?” it was now your time to question, she giggled at your words. “you don’t know who i am?” she said while raising her eyebrows in surprise. “they call ‘p’, well, my father does when he is in a good mood.” she replied as you both laughed. “and… where do you live, miss p?” you asked. “at the palace.” she quickly said. “my father’s teaching me his tricks.” she added. “you’re an apprentice?” you said amused. “you can say that.” she said nodding. “that good.” you opined. “do they treat you well?” you mentioned as your horses speed started lacking but you didn’t bother to notice. “better then i deserve.” she responded as both of your horses stopped, almost closing the distance between you both. “and you?” she inquired. “they treat as they can.” you blurted out, avoiding making eye contact. “i’m sorry.” she whispered seeing your facial expressions go down as your mood changed. “it’s not your fault.” you clarified quickly. “not yours either.” she answered softly. “it’s not that bad.” you said, a small smile creeping through your lips. “others have it worse. we simply must have courage and be kind.” you seconded. “yeah, you are right.” she replied as a laugh came out following the words her mouth let out, you both chuckle. “that’s exactly how i feel.” she explained.

before you could respond again, a long horn interrupted the conversation, your head turned to the direction of the horn fallowed by shouting. “please don’t let them hurt him.” you pleaded. “but were hunting, you see. it’s what’s done.” she said not caring about your pleas of desperation. “just because it’s what’s done doesn’t mean it’s what should be done!” you contradicted. “right, again.” the girl acknowledged. “that means you will leave him alone?” you questioned. “i will.” she assured. “thank you very much, miss p.” you said.

“ah! there your are your high—“ the captain suddenly appeared and was quickly interrupted. “it’s p! p!” she exclaimed quickly. “i’m on my way!” she said irritated. “well, we better get going” the captain desperately said. “miss p..” he finished teasingly. “i repeat myself… im on my way!” she argued her horse buckled and jogged away taking a few glances towards you, then she stopped. “i hope to see you again, miss.” she hinted, her blue eyes not moving away from yours. “me too.” you said, a comforting smile lightened up her face her horse finally catching up with the rest of the group, jogging away.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood singer, part 3

Summary: Hiding from the storm, Jasper is tested as he finds himself close to Y/N for much longer than he had hoped.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, grief, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol, detailed descriptions including physical harm

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader

Word count: 10.1k

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

Teeth chattering, Y/N clings to Jasper, even though his skin is just as cold as hers, if not colder. It's counterproductive. She knows that, but her body refuses to let go. Logic says she should pull away, give him space and stop abusing his kindness, but his touch feels like salvation.

There’s no fire in his hands, only ice. Yet somehow, it burns. It seeps deep into her bones, awakening a part of her soul she long set to rest. All her life, she craved warmth, Paul’s warmth. That human, familiar kind. But this? This icy flame Jasper lights in her makes her feel more alive than any heat ever could.

And God, the way he smiles at her.

Her heart skips a beat every time his lips curl just slightly, just enough to incite the feeble muscle on a course of pure insanity. His voice alone seems to unravel her nerves, twisting her up and settling her all at once, disturbing the rhythm of her pulse. Even now, with his jaw tight and posture stiff, like he's trying to hold himself back from something, he looks at her like she’s the only thing anchoring him.

As he walks inside the cabin, she inhales deeply. To her dismay, she knows he needs to put her down. He can't carry her forever.

So she taps his shoulder lightly. “You can let me go now,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry,” Jasper murmurs, his voice smooth but a little too strained, like it takes effort to speak. He lowers her carefully onto the couch, his movements overly cautious, as if touching her too long might break his control.

She shakes her head, offering a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not.”

He licks his lips, clearly flustered, and then offers her one more of those slow, devastating smiles that could stop the world from spinning. It damn near stops her heart and she has to physically restrain herself from squealing like a teenager with a crush. This can’t be healthy. She doesn’t even know him. Not really.

But he makes her feel… light.

Like the darkness inside her, all the anxiety, the pain, the pressure was never even there. She doesn’t understand it, but something in her soul recognizes him. She feels safe with him. Maybe a little too safe.

“I should set up the fireplace,” Jasper says, finally breaking the moment, “Warm up the place.” He nods toward the hallway behind him. “You’ll find some dry clothes in the bedroom. Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” she says, standing with a wobble. She’s soaked to the bone and freezing, and any clothing that’s not clinging to her like a second skin will be a step up.

The bedroom is warm, bathed in honey-colored light from a small lamp in the corner. The bed is centered beneath a large, tinted window, and a closet stands tall beside it. It’s simple. Rustic. Comforting. She wonders if this is his room, if he chose this color palette, if amber is his favorite shade.

Bracing for some vintage cowboy fashion, she opens the closet, only to freeze.

Dozens of dresses greet her. Not jeans. Not flannel. Not even a dusty old hat. Just designer dresses; sleek, expensive, feminine. Her jaw drops.

“What the actual fuck…” she whispers, flipping through them. Labels that most people would kill for. Some are still tagged. Others look barely worn. A chill races down her spine, this time not from the cold.

Why the hell does Jasper have a wardrobe full of high-end women’s clothing?

Her heart rate spikes.

Did he break into this place? Was he following her? Did he plan this?  Is she in a damn Lifetime movie?

The thoughts spiral faster than her heart can keep up. She doesn’t even know where they are. What if he brought her here on purpose? What if…

“You alright, darlin’?”

She gasps, whipping around so fast her wet hair slaps her neck. Jasper’s leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, that unreadable look on his face. He seems calm, but his eyes…they’re a little too sharp. A little too dark…Where has the golden gone?

Still, the way his presence makes her nerves soothe is suspicious. She recognizes it now. It’s as if he is doing something. Jasper’s presence feels like a weighted blanket, steadying her breathing, grounding her thoughts. She swallows hard.

“Be honest,” she says. “You’re not, like…a criminal or something, are you?”

His brow arches, and he lets out a soft, breathless chuckle. “What? Why would you think that?”

“I mean, look.” She gestures wildly toward the closet. “You have, like, a dozen high-fashion dresses in here. Unless you’re secretly married or have a very niche hobby, this looks like a setup. Like… a really weird hostage situation.”

Amusement sparks in his darkened eyes. “It’s my brother’s cabin,” he says with a lazy shrug. “His wife’s real into fashion. Leaves her stuff here.”

She stares at him, wishing the ground would just swallow her whole. But Jasper only grins wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. If he thinks she’s amusing now, he should see her with her claws out. Might erase that confident smirk right off his face.

“But if you’re into roleplay,” he adds, voice low and teasing, “I won’t put up a fight.”

She snorts, folding her arms across her chest as she leans against the closet. “Might take you up on that, Cowboy.”

His grin turns lopsided, lazy and cocky, but his eyes stay locked on hers, darker now, like storm clouds just before a downpour. The warmth that spreads through her is instant, crawling beneath her damp skin, finding a home low in her belly. He doesn’t even have to touch her to ignite something. The way he looks at her is dangerous. Addictive. Trouble with a capital T. Girls probably fall for him in seconds. But Y/N? She’s far too proud to admit she desires him openly, resorting to teasing. Her specialty isn’t the fire most are drawn to, it’s ice. Cold, calculating, distant when she needs to be.

And yet…

There’s something in his stillness that mirrors hers. Something cool. Controlled. Until it’s not.

She shifts slightly, and Jasper’s eyes dip, just for a second. She doesn’t miss it. Neither does he. Her shirt is soaked clean through, clinging to her skin in all the worst ways. The thin fabric does nothing to hide the curve of her breasts or the black, lacy bra covering them. She knows she should be embarrassed.

She’s not.

Not when Jasper’s shirt is just as wet. Just as translucent. She can see every line of his chest, the way it narrows down to his waist, the sharp dip of his collarbones and the delicious happy trail. And damn him, he knows it. Knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on her.

“You know,” she drawls, voice silky, “I was going to change out of these clothes. But… With you standing there, giving me a nice view, it feels a little unfair not to return the favor for a moment or two longer.”

Jasper’s brow lifts slightly, a slow smirk tugging at the corner his mouth. “You think I haven’t noticed, darlin’? Been tryin’ not to stare like a gentleman.”

“Failing miserably,” she murmurs, stepping toward him, a single step, measured. Testing.

Jasper’s throat bobs as he swallows. His hands curl into fists at his sides, his jaw ticking, but he doesn’t move back. Doesn’t breathe. And she feels it, his presence wrapping around her, trying to still her racing heart. Trying to calm her, like she’s some wild creature that might bolt if he makes a wrong move. How does he do that?

One thing is certain. She’s not running. Not tonight.

She takes another step, now close enough to reach out. And she does, just lightly brushing the soaked fabric over his chest with the back of her fingers. His shirt clings like a second skin, and he tenses beneath her touch, muscles rippling beneath her fingertips. Still, he lets her, almost as if he’s been waiting for her to make a move.

“You’re freezing,” she murmurs. She doesn’t mention his hard muscles. She’s never touched someone like that, ripped to the point of feeling like marble.

His voice comes out rougher than it was a moment ago. “So are you.”

“So warm me up.”

His gaze sharpens like a blade. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She meets his gaze head on, daring him. “Maybe I do.”

That breaks some of his resolve. Not all the way, but enough.

Jasper closes the distance between them with terrifying, graceful ease, pressing her into the closet door. One of his hands lifts, fingers grazing the curve of her jaw, trailing just beneath her ear. It’s such a gentle touch, but the way her body shivers under his fingertips drives him insane.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he says, voice low, the southern drawl thicker now. Rougher. It drips with warning. Hunger. “And fire melts ice, sweetheart.”

Y/N smirks, heart beating far too fast. She’s not letting him believe he’s winning though. “I thought you were cold.”

He lets out a soft, humorless chuckle, but his eyes stay locked on hers, black with no gold in sight, wild, and aching. “I am. That’s the problem.”

Did he…Did he imply he’s she’s the fire melting him? Good, she thinks. I’m winning. And if she must become a flame to get this man to surrender, she will let the fire reign.

His thumb brushes over her bottom lip, featherlight, but it leaves her dizzy. She should move. She should think. But all her body wants is more.

Jasper leans in just slightly, like gravity’s pulling him closer against his will. She can feel the tension in him, how tightly wound he is, how hard he’s working to stay in control. He wants her. That much is obvious. But it’s not just want. It’s something deeper. Something almost dangerous.

And she’s loving every second of it.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over her lips.

Her lips part, but no sound comes. Her heart thunders, her skin tingles, and every inch of her screams for more. Her voice, when it finally emerges, is soft and certain.

“I’m not that nice.”

Jasper closes his eyes for a moment, just one, and when they open again, there’s a war inside them. Then, with a breath that sounds almost like a growl, he steps back. Just far enough to put space between them, yet close enough for her to still feel him.

“Get changed,” he says, voice strained. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Y/N bites back a smile, the heat in her chest flaring. “You regret things easily?”

His eyes drag over her one more time, lingering like a promise. “Only if I mess ‘em up.”

“If you don’t want to touch, it’s fine by me.” She lets the words hang, tilting her head slightly as a devilish smirk appears on her lips. “But you’re free to look if you want to stay for the show?”

His eyes darken, not with lust, exactly, but something more primal. His eyes meet hers. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink.

Her heart skips three beats and then pounds back with a vengeance. The room is quiet. Too quiet. She swallows hard, and the blush creeping up her neck gives her away. Jasper notices. His stern expression softens into something tender, almost…shy.

 “Don’t tempt me, darlin’,” he says, voice is low. “I’ll leave you to it,” he murmurs, offering a small nod.

And with that, he turns, disappearing down the hall, leaving her to catch her breath and pretend like her knees aren’t shaking. She finally lets out the breath she’s been holding and her lungs feel like they just ran a marathon. She plants her hands on her knees, trying to steady herself.

Jasper is going to be the death of her. And for once…she doesn’t mind the idea. She’s rarely ever pursued men like this. It’s as if the mere thought of him is bringing her to the brink of madness. Whatever it may be, Jasper is different. Something isn’t quite right about him or the way his presence causes her to act and yet she finds no regrets about any of it.

She was wrong about Paul. She might be wrong about Jasper. To hell with consequences! Her heart’s broken anyway. It may fracture to the point of no return…or it may heal. Feeling this drawn to someone is rare. Of course, it could be caused by her near death experience and yet she doesn’t care. She’ll discover it along the way and the way might be leading her straight to hell, but at least she’ll make sure she enjoys the ride.

The closet is full of surprises. She pushes hangers aside until her fingers brush against silk. Her eyes catch the shimmer of crimson, a deep, blood-red nightgown tucked in the far back. It’s soft, almost liquid to the touch, sliding like water through her fingers. When she pulls it out, her brows lift in surprise. It’s... simple. Elegant. A little sexy without trying to be. The kind of fabric that kisses the skin when you move. It falls to mid-thigh, the top a delicate web of lace that dips low, supported by slim, almost invisible straps. No sleeves. No bra. No armor.

She hesitates, her heart doing that annoying flutter thing again.

She slips it on anyway. Over it, she finds a matching robe, same rich crimson, edged in subtle lace, loose enough to keep things comfortable but tied snugly around her waist. The cool silk caresses her skin and clings in places it probably shouldn’t.

Her reflection in the small mirror over the dresser stops her. For a second, she doesn’t recognize herself. She looks like she’s about to seduce a man instead of relax by the fireplace until the storm ends.

With a sigh that’s half exasperation and half laughter, she gathers her hair up into a messy bun, strands falling loose around her ears. The motion exposes her neck, pale and vulnerable. She considers letting her hair back down but... no. She likes the honesty of this. It feels brave in a quiet way. She washes her face, the last remnants of her make up. She’s bare now, entirely vulnerable to his gaze.

Then she pauses.

This is insane.

You’re acting like a damn cat in heat, she scolds herself silently, adjusting the robe’s tie. Her fingers linger at her waist, and she forces herself to breathe.

This isn’t about sex. Not this time. She’s learned her lesson with Paul, burned herself on the promise of something hot and fast that turned to smoke in her hands. That’s not what she wants from Jasper. She wants to know him slowly. Carefully. Until she’s learned every corner of his soul. And if he lets her... she might just show him every hidden part of hers too.

Composing herself, she pads back into the hallway, bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

The small living room glows softly, bathed in the gold orange flicker of firelight, and a night-lamp by the doorway. The flames dance lazily in the hearth, casting long shadows that stretch across the walls.

And there he is.

Jasper sits low in a chair just in front of the fireplace, his back to her, the light tracing the silhouette of his broad shoulders and long frame. His legs stretch out in front of him, relaxed, and his posture is looser now. He’s not stiff like before. But there’s still that… tension. Always with him.

She holds her breath as she studies him.

His hair is drying, slightly wavy, reaching his shoulders. That golden honey tone gleams darker in the firelight, tousled and imperfect in the most perfect way. His skin glows pale and smooth, almost too flawless. And his jaw… it’s sharp with a quiet restraint, like he’s sculpted from stone. But it’s his lips that hold her hostage, pressed together, unreadable, in control. She wonders what they’d feel like if he ever let go of all that restraint. Jasper is beautiful in a way most men aren’t. Not pretty. Not handsome. Beautiful. Angelic. A creature from a painting brought to life.

She smiles softly, involuntarily, as memory flickers to life.

She has seen him before.

Just once or twice. Passing glances in Forks, back when she visited her grandmother at the hospital. Her grandmother had raved about Dr. Cullen, how kind and polite he was and of his well behaved children she wanted to set her up with. She talked about their unusual beauty and more than once, she mentioned the “quiet southern one” with the saddest eyes that seemed to be in perpetual pain. Y/N always thought she was imagining things. Now… now she knows she wasn’t.

The wedding of Bella Swan with Edward Cullen. That was the last time.

Her grandmother had been invited but passed before she could go. Y/N brought the gift in her place. Just an awkward drop-off. But the Cullens had all been there. She remembers the short girl beside Jasper. The way he looked at her back then, fond, maybe even in love. Everyone said they were adopted into the family. He went by Hale, if she remembers correctly.

And then she left.

Now, here he is, sitting in front of her like a beautiful ghost. She can’t help but wonder if his restrain is due to his feelings for the adopted sibling he was with. If rumors were true, they were together back then. Are they still? Or was the pain in his eyes born from heartbreak she caused?

“I can feel you starin’, sweetheart.” His voice rumbles through the quiet like a secret. He doesn’t even turn around.

Her lips curl. She bites her lower lip to hide her smile. “I think I prefer darling.”

He turns his head, just slightly. Enough to catch her in his peripheral. She sees the edge of a grin tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure to remember that,” he says.

His eyes glance down, flicker, just for a moment, over the length of her, then back to her face. But that one look is enough. She can’t stop the blood rushing to her face, and she’s done hiding the blush it brings.

She walks closer, slowly, barefoot steps padded and quiet. But he hears her anyway. Probably knew where she was before she moved. There is something between them, something wordless she can’t quite explain. Not quite desire. Not yet. But the possibility of it.

She sinks onto the couch across from him, crossing her legs casually.

“Nice fire,” she says lightly.

His gaze lingers on her face. “You’re not cold anymore.”

“No,” she says softly. “Not at all.”

The silence between them is comfortable but weighted. The only sound is the crackling fire, its warmth only fueling the tension growing between them. Neither of them speaks. Neither of them moves much. She watches the flames, but her gaze drifts. Always back to him.

Jasper’s eyes are cast downward, though he’s not really watching the fire. He seems lost in thought, jaw tense, the tip of his finger tapping against the arm of the chair in a slow, restless rhythm.

She can’t help but steal glances.

Again. And again.

The golden hue of his eyes has returned, it shimmers in the low light, intense and quiet all at once. Familiar.

Too familiar.

Her breath hitches. She’s seen them before. Not just at the wedding. Not just tonight. But inthe dream.

That recurring dream she never quite understood. The one that left her aching and hollow every time she woke. A figure in the dark. A storm outside. Golden eyes glowing in the shadows, looking right into her, like they’d always known her. And she’d reach for him, desperate, always desperate, and wake up before her fingers could touch him.

She thought it was a metaphor. A manifestation of loneliness. Of longing.

But those eyes?

They're his.

Her heart skips a beat. She saw those eyes recently, as well.

“I saw you before,” she says, almost absently, like the words slip past her lips before she can second guess them.

Jasper freezes. He doesn't look at her. Not right away. But the tapping stops. His whole body goes still, so still it’s unnatural. Tension spikes, growing in the space between them, and for the first time tonight, it’s not playful. It’s something colder. Darker.

His voice is low, cautious. “When?”

She tilts her head, brows drawing together as she watches him. “The other night,” she says slowly. “I think I stumbled into you. You caught me before I fell.”

Jasper exhales. His shoulders drop. Relief flickers across his face like wind snuffing out a flame, and he finally meets her gaze. “Yeah,” he says softly. “That was me.”

“You left pretty fast,” she adds, her voice lighter now, testing him, watching him closely. “Why?”

He shrugs, looking away again, his jaw ticking just slightly. “You seemed... busy.”

“Busy?”

“There was a guy.” His tone is flat. The accent thicker. “He was walking toward you with roses.”

Her lips part. And then she laughs, warm and genuine, caught off guard. “Oh my God.”

He looks back at her, brows lifted, uncertain.

“I hate roses,” she says, smiling wide. “They always feel like a cop out. Like the guy couldn’t be bothered to think for more than ten seconds.”

Jasper blinks, processing that.

“And the guy?” she continues, rolling her eyes. “Let’s just say... he’s very much out of my life. Where he belongs.”

A flicker of something shifts behind his eyes. A subtle satisfaction. It’s there and gone in a second, but she sees it. His lips twitch, and for a moment, he looks smug.

“Is that right?” he murmurs, and the warmth in his voice makes her toes curl.

“Mm-hm.” She leans back slightly, watching him from beneath her lashes. “So if you disappeared because you thought I was on a date with Mr. Red Roses, I’m here to clear it up. Just in case that’s why you were holding back.”

His eyes are on her again, fully this time. No restraint.

The firelight dances in the reflection of his gaze, and the tension from before doesn’t vanish completely. It just shifts into something else. Something quieter. Hotter.

“Noted,” Jasper says at last, his voice velvet soft and unmistakably pleased.

She smiles at him, soft and secretive, her heart fluttering in her chest like it hasn’t in years. And as the fire crackles and the silence fills the room once more, it’s no longer heavy.

Blinking slowly, she reminds herself to breathe, inhale, exhale, don’t fall apart. But it’s not easy, not when Jasper is looking at her like that. His golden eyes glow in the low light, molten and unreadable, and she feels like she’s standing too close to something she should be afraid of.

But she isn’t.

She’s captivated.

"Your eyes are like liquid fire," she murmurs, her voice soft, words leaving her before she can weigh their weight. "I fear the burn… but I cannot look away."

Jasper’s lips twitch at the corners, a faint smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. His gaze stays locked on hers, unwavering. "You sure you’re not the poet, darlin’?"

His voice is low, rich like dark honey, and it’s impossible to remain ice cold as she initially planned.

"You bring it out of me," she replies, chin tilted ever so slightly, matching his smirk with one of her own. "I don’t do this often, you know."

"Flirt with strange men in little cabins in the woods?" he drawls.

"Compliment their eyes while half-dressed," she clarifies, raising a brow. "Totally different."

Jasper’s gaze flickers downward, just once, just enough to remind her that her robe, though tied, clings to the curves beneath. He hasn’t changed his clothes. His shirt is still damp, clinging to his frame in a way that should be illegal. She can see the definition of his chest, the broad cut of his shoulders, the faint pattern of bluish veins on his forearms as he rests them lazily against the chair’s armrests, the tension in every inch of him like a spring ready to snap.

And yet, he doesn’t move. He just watches her.

"What's your favorite color?" she asks, wanting to ground herself and lustful thoughts before she combusts.

Jasper raises an eyebrow, almost caught off guard by the simplicity of it. "My favorite color?"

"You heard me." She tucks her legs under her body slowly, watching the way his eyes follow the movement before moving back to her face with a faint edge of restraint.

He chuckles softly, surprised. Then glances at the fire, as if searching for the answer there. "No one’s ever asked me that before."

She frowns, genuinely stunned. “You’re kidding.”

But something about the way he says it, quietly, almost hesitant, makes her believe it. There’s truth in it. Pain, too. She sees it then, emerging behind those golden eyes, buried beneath years of silence and shadows. The light from the fire doesn’t just dance across his skin, it reflects all the things he tries to keep buried. It catches on the cracks.

“It’s red,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Deep red.”

His smile is small but real. She swears it steals the breath from her lungs. Red like her nightgown and robe, she realizes. Even unintentionally, she’s trying to seduce him.

"I would've guessed… green," she teases. "You have that forest recluse vibe."

He huffs a laugh. “Not quite.” Then his eyes narrow playfully. “You strike me as a purple girl.”

She gasps, mock offense showing across her features. “Wrong.”

“Oh?”

“Blue,” she says with a grin of victory. “Like the sky… like freedom. Ever changing shades of blue that make up every part of our lives.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for her to avert her gaze shyly.

"Freedom, huh?" Jasper echoes, like the word tastes unfamiliar to him.

Her smile softens. “What about the season? What’s yours?”

He leans back, resting his head against the chair. His profile in the glow of the fire looks carved, almost unreal, sharp lines, sculpted features, that unruly hair drying in soft waves. She has to remind herself he’s real. That she’s here. That this isn’t another dream.

“Fall,” he says eventually. “It’s colorful… but everything’s fading. There’s something honest about it.”

Thunder rumbles low in the distance, a reminder that the world outside this cabin is wet, wild, and cold. But inside, it’s warm. Warmer than ever before. And safe… for now.

“You’re not what I expected,” she admits, watching him with curiosity.

His eyes meet hers again, calm but cautious. “What did you expect?”

She shrugs. “A flirt. A cowboy. A mystery. But I didn’t expect you to be… kind.”

That startles him. Not in a dramatic way, but in the flicker of his eyes, the slight movement in his shoulders. Like her words hit somewhere deeper than he expected.

“You don’t know me,” he says.

“I’m starting to.”

And something in his expression shifts. He straightens a little, just enough that the damp fabric of his shirt stretches across his chest again. She wonders if he notices the way her gaze lingers on him now, the way her breath is forgotten when he licks his bottom lip absently.

She doesn’t say anything about it, but her heart is pounding.

He’s too perfect. Too careful. Too calm. Every move he makes seems calculated. It goes against every natural instinct she’s learned. Every red flag she's ever ignored before being burned. Yet here she is. Still leaning in. Still falling.

“You’re dangerous,” she says suddenly, smiling through it.

Jasper tilts his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It might be,” she murmurs, shifting slightly on the couch, the robe slipping to reveal a sliver of her thigh.

Jasper’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move.

“Do you always seduce women by lighting fires and answering personal questions?” she asks, her tone light, teasing.

He smiles, just barely. “Only the ones I save from drowning.”

Her laugh is soft, breathy. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have to sing like Ariel to draw you in. I’m a terrible singer.”

“No need for singing,” he says, his voice dropping low, eyes darkening slightly. “I’d find you anyway.”

She swallows. He looks at her like he’s memorizing her. Like he’s restraining himself, but she wishes he’d stop. The storm outside rages inside her as well, and she needs to know if he feels it too.

She shifts on the couch again, the soft rustle of silk brushing against her skin. Jasper's eyes flicker toward the sound, briefly, before returning to her face. But that brief flicker is all she needs to know he notices everything.

She should look away, but she doesn’t.

Instead, her voice lowers as she leans a fraction forward, the firelight painting her skin in honey and shadows. "You said something earlier," she murmurs. "About no one ever asking your favorite color."

Jasper nods once, slow. Measured. “Mmhm.”

"Made me wonder…" Her gaze drops to the fire, lashes casting shadows on her cheek. Her tone is soft, almost musing, like she’s trying not to sound like she’s fishing, but she is. "Have you always been alone? Or just… lately?"

That gets his attention. She feels the shift before she sees it, like the world stops and gravity itself tilts toward her just slightly. When she meets his gaze again, it's already locked on her, heavy with something she can't quite name.

"Is that your way of asking if I’m single?" he says, one brow arching with just enough amusement to take the edge off the raw honesty underneath.

She huffs a soft laugh, caught. A flush rises to her cheeks, warm and betraying, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe. I like to think I’m more subtle than that.”

“You’re not.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes not leaving hers. “But I don’t mind.” He pauses. “I’ve been alone for a while now,” he says, voice quieter. Still warm, still steady, but pained. “Long enough that it stopped feeling strange.”

She nods slowly, letting the words settle. And then, because she can't help herself, she continues. “Was it by choice?”

Jasper doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lowers, down to her lips, her throat, the pulse that jumps beneath her skin, and then locks on her again,

“Not at first.”

She swallows. “And now?”

His smile is soft. Shadowed. “Now I think some things happen when they’re meant to.”

She wonders if that’s meant for her. The fire cracks beside them, thunder still rolling faintly in the distance. The storm hasn’t passed, but in here, it might as well not exist.

“Are you asking because you’re thinking about changing that for me?” he teases, voice low.

She smirks, though her stomach flips. “Would it be a problem if I were?”

He lets the silence set again, a practiced pause, like he’s savoring the weight of her words before letting his answer fall: “No,” he says. “No problem at all.”

Her pulse pounds louder in her ears, but she plays it cool, leaning back slowly and smoothing the edge of her robe where it’s fallen slightly open at her thigh. “Good. I’d hate to waste a perfectly good storm on poor timing.”

Jasper leans back in his chair, watching her like she’s both a challenge and reward. “Darlin’, with you here…” He tilts his head, a slow grin forming. “Timing feels just right.”

His words linger in the air, rich and slow like honey dripping from a spoon.

Timing feels just right.

The way he says it, how it bears intention, makes her stomach flutter. She’s not easily rattled, but Jasper is a dangerous exception.

“You always talk like that?” she teases, stretching her legs across the couch, draping herself like she’s in control of this entire exchange, when she absolutely is not. “Or am I just a special case?”

His gaze falls to the ground. “I want to answer, but it wouldn’t be polite to say what I’m thinkin’,” he replies.

That does something to her. She swallows, glancing at the fire to cool the flush rising to her cheeks. Her fingers fiddle idly with the edge of the robe belt tied at her waist, nerves masked as restlessness.

Jasper shifts subtly in his chair, sitting a little stiffer now, as if resisting the urge to move closer. His knuckles seem paler against his knees, hands clenched tight, so still. Unnaturally still. Her eyes move toward his chest, narrowing slightly. Is he even breathing?

“Are you…” she trails off before she can finish the question, unsure what she’s even asking. She frowns softly, watching him too closely now. “You’re… hard to read.”

His head tilts slightly. “That so?” His tone is amused, but there’s tension beneath it, like he’s trying to play casual while keeping a tight grip on something unruly just beneath the surface.

“You’re calm. Too calm.” Her voice is soft, speculative, like she’s thinking out loud. “You barely move. You barely blink. It’s like… you’re not even breathing.”

That earns her a flicker of something behind his eyes. Not fear, not annoyance, something like... regret. Guilt, maybe. It's gone before she can name it.

“I do breathe,” he says evenly, lips twitching into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just not when it’s difficult.”

Her brows knit. He doesn’t make any sense “Difficult?”

Another pause. He shifts again, a subtle turn of his body away from her, like distance might help. She notices how tightly he holds himself, like one wrong move might crack him wide open and she’d catch sight of his soul on display.

Jasper’s jaw tightens. “You make the air… a little thick, is all.”

Her breath catches at the implication, heart thudding. “You blaming me, Cowboy? Telling me I smell bad?” she teases.

“I’m saying it’s not your fault your presence is…intoxicating,” he murmurs, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “But I reserve the right to suffer because of it.”

That gets a breathy laugh out of her before she can stop it. “You’re really pulling out all the lines tonight, huh?”

He finally turns fully to her again, and his expression softens. No grin. No teasing. Just quiet intensity.

“I’m not tryin’ to charm you,” he says, voice low. “You’re just… easy to talk to. Easy to look at.”

Something flutters in her chest, wild and unexpected. She’s not the only one who feels it then. And yet, there’s still that distance in his body. The way his fingers grip the chair too tightly, the way his shoulders lock, like he’s constantly reminding himself to stay exactly where he is. She wonders again if he’s fighting something she can’t see.

Y/N leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch, not with suspicion, but curiosity. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a lot you’re not saying?”

Jasper hesitates. There it is, that flicker again. This time not just in his eyes but in the way his entire body goes just a little too still, like he's deciding between fight or flight.

“I’ve been told I’m a hard person to get to know,” he admits, training his eyes on the fire. “That I keep my true self hidden.”

“Maybe,” she says softly, tilting her head. “Or maybe you’re just scared someone might see too much and use it against you.”

That makes him look at her again, really look. Something shifts in his expression then, and for the first time tonight, he looks… unsettled. But he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he clears his throat and leans back in his chair, creating just enough space to keep whatever storm is inside him from spilling over.

“Tell me more about the man with the roses,” he says abruptly, deflecting with calculated ease. “You said you hated both?”

She laughs, letting him have the shift in conversation, for now. “I did. I do.”

He smirks. “What kind of woman hates roses?”

“The kind who likes honesty over grand gestures. And prefers thorns out in the open.”

That earns a quiet chuckle from him. “Noted.”

Their eyes meet again, and this time, neither looks away. Y/N tugs the robe closer around her body, more out of instinct than chill, because despite the warmth of the fire, there's something in Jasper’s gaze that makes her skin prickle. It's not fear. It's want.

He shifts again, subtly angling his body toward her as though gravity itself favors her presence. But still, not a single unnecessary movement. Still no breath.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” she says softly, her lips curving as she rests her elbow on the armrest. “You seem to act like you’re made of stone.”

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound dark and husky. “Stone’s more accurate than you think.”

“See? There you go again,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “Being cryptic. It’s infuriating.”

His eyes flash at that, and for a second, the teasing slips from his face. Something lingers there. Almost like he is wounded.

“You’re not the only one who’s been burned before,” he says quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Her smile fades, gaze narrowing as she leans in, heart thudding just a little harder. “That sounded like the beginning of a story.”

Jasper stiffens. His jaw tenses, and he glances down at his hands like he’s just remembered he has them. She watches his knuckles go white again, the firelight catching the fine tremble in his fingers.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he says quietly. “Ones that don’t go away with time.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t interrupt. She just watches him, lips parting slightly as if to invite more, but he doesn’t continue. He swallows hard, like the words are sitting razor-edged in his throat, and one more would tear him open.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she says gently. No wonder he is so guarded. Is he afraid she’d be a mistake, as well? “But that? That was the most human thing I’ve heard all night.”

He looks up at her then, and for the first time, his gaze isn't guarded. It’s aching. Vulnerable.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” he breathes.

“It is,” she says simply. “People carry their damage. Doesn’t make them less worth knowing.”

Jasper’s lips twitch, almost a smile… almost, but there’s something close to fear dancing in his eyes now. Like she’s getting too close to something he’s buried deep. She can feel him pulling back again, emotionally if not physically.

Before she can push further, before she can even ask the question dancing on the edge of her tongue.

CRACK.

The entire cabin rattles as thunder explodes overhead, so loud it sounds like the heavens have split in half. The lamp light flickers, the fire jumps, and Y/N jumps too, a startled gasp leaving her lips as she instinctively presses a hand to her chest.

Jasper’s up in a blink.

She doesn’t even see him move, he’s just suddenly there, closer than he was a second ago, hand half-outstretched as if to shield her from something. That strange stillness returns to his frame, but his eyes are sharp and alert now, scanning the shadows for signs of danger.

“Storm’s getting worse,” he mutters, voice low again, low and too calm.

“You don’t say,” she breathes out, forcing a laugh that’s more nerves than humor.

His gaze finds hers again, and there’s a softness to it now, something almost apologetic, as though he’s sorry for pulling away, sorry for not saying more. But he doesn’t speak, while outside, the storm screams.

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop soon.” Jasper’s voice is quiet, measured. Too careful. “You should probably get some rest.”

Y/N blinks, heart sinking a little more than she wants to admit. Just as she felt she was chipping away at his defenses, this happens. A soft dismissal. She breathes out through her nose, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips out of sheer stubbornness. “Yeah,” she says, nodding as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Guess you’re right.”

She hesitates a moment longer than necessary before adding, “When will you rest?”

Jasper glances toward the fire, then back at her. “Soon.”

The way he says it feels like a gentle deflection. She fights the sting of disappointment, but she doesn’t let it show, at least, not entirely.

“I hope you're not a blanket hog,” she jokes, forcing a playful tone as she rises to her feet, brushing invisible lint off her robe. “You'll be joining me, right?”

His smile is subtle, restrained, like everything about him. It's more in his eyes than his lips, but it hits her all the same, right in the chest. She licks her lips to hide it, but she’s saddened by the way the day is ending.

“I’m good on the sofa,” he says, voice warm but distant. Polite. Detached. She’d much prefer an open rejection, something she can hold close to her stubborn heart and replay in her mind. This only gives her the idea of rejection, but in such a sweet way that it almost angers her.

“I don’t mind,” she presses, hands sliding to her hips. “The bed’s large enough for both of us.”

He shakes his head, golden curls falling softly around his face. He looks ethereal like this, hair dry and tousled, jaw sharp beneath firelight, eyes deeper than anything she's ever seen. How is he real?

“You saved my life,” she says, quieter now, less flirtation and more sincerity. “The least I can do is let you have the bed.”

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies with a familiar softness, one that only twists the knife. “I’ll be fine out here. Wouldn’t be a very good host if I took up all the space and hogged the covers, would I?”

His smile is back again, easy and charming, and yet all she can think is, he’s not going to come with me.

She nods, looking away briefly to blink back whatever disappointment is threatening to rise. You’re reading too much into this, she tells herself. He’s being kind. That’s all.

“Don’t be afraid to join me if you change your mind,” she says over her shoulder, quieter now, walking slowly behind his chair. Her voice is smooth, but her stomach churns, unsure if she’s flirting or begging.

He stops her.

A cool hand wraps gently around her wrist. She’s startled, gasping at the contact. His touch is cold. Not unpleasant, but cold enough to send a shiver running down her spine. He pulls her hand toward him, slowly, deliberately, and presses his lips to the inside of her wrist, just over her pulse.

She forgets how to breathe.

The kiss is featherlight, reverent. And it lingers, not long enough to be improper, but just enough to undo her completely. She stands frozen, hoping to hell her legs won’t fail her.

He’s still holding her gaze when he lets her go.

Maybe that’s what people mean when they talk about a gentleman, she thinks dazedly. Not one of weakness or practiced charm. But one who holds back even when he clearly doesn’t want to. One who shows restraint where others would have taken. And yet… there’s something mournful in him. Something unspoken. Something so filled with fear and guilt and she can’t understand where it comes from.

“Goodnight, Jasper,” she says, voice soft, uneven now. Her heart is still racing in her chest.

His eyes search hers for a second longer before he replies.

“Sleep well, darlin’.”

She walks away slowly, still reeling. The storm still howling outside, but it’s nothing compared to the one stirring in her chest. Biting her lower lip, she wracks her brain for a suitable word to say, but she can't even think properly. He has distorted her train of thought entirely.

The bed is too soft. She shifts beneath the covers, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other splayed out on the sheets beside her. The room is warm, her silk nightgown clinging to her skin in places she wishes it wouldn’t, heat rising from the fireplace lingering.

But it’s not the fire keeping her awake.

It’s him. Jasper.

She stares at the ceiling, heart still racing from his touch, from that kiss on her wrist. It replays over and over like a movie scene she’s memorized. Her skin still tingles where his lips pressed against it, as if they branded her, marked her. But that’s not what keeps her from sleeping. It’s the distance in his eyes. The contradiction. He’s warm and kind and gentle, but there's something in him that holds back, as though he's constantly walking the edge of a cliff and can't afford to look down. And God, it hurts a little, the way he wouldn’t come to bed. She had given him an open invitation. It wasn’t about sex, not even closeness, really. It was about comfort. Warmth. Trust. She had wanted to offer it. And he’d turned it down. Not cruelly. But carefully. Which might’ve been worse.

Was she wrong to want more? Was she imagining things, the tension, the shared glances, the moments that felt stolen from something bigger? She bites her lip, the taste of disappointment sharp as she sighs into the darkness.

What is he hiding?

And why does part of her still want him to knock on her door and climb in beside her, cold skin and secrets and all?

Despite her busy mind, sleep finds her soon enough and for the first time in forever, there are no golden eyes haunting her dreams.

--

The fire crackles, low and steady, bathing the cabin in flickering shadows. Jasper stares into it like he’s trying to burn the hunger out of himself.

He can still feel her wrist against his palm. Still taste her pulse against his lips, though he didn’t taste anything, not really. Not like he wants to.

His jaw clenches.

He hadn’t meant to touch her like that. Hadn’t meant to kiss her. But the moment she walked behind him, smelling like honey and warmth and a faint trace of something undeniably her, he lost the thread of his resolve.

And now? Now it’s fraying at the edges.

He inhales deeply, though it’s a habit more than a need. Each inhale is torture. Her scent lingers in the air like a ghost. He holds his breath again, trying to dull the ache in his throat. The hunger. The need.

She has no idea what she’s doing to him.

He imagines it, just for a second. The way her blood might taste. How warm it would be. How it might sing through his body like wildfire, like salvation and damnation all at once. The monster inside him stirs, just a little. He forces it down.

You’re better than this.

But God, it’s been so long since anyone made him feel… alive. He closes his eyes, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded in front of him like he’s praying to a god who long stopped listening. She was kind to him. Open. Inviting. She didn’t flinch when he pulled her close. Didn’t run when she saw something darker in his eyes.

She saw the monster in him and smiled anyway.

And that’s the problem.

Because if he gives in, even a little... He’s afraid he won’t stop.

Jasper flees the cabin like the devil himself is at his heels. Trees blur past in streaks of black and green, rain lashing against his skin as he tears through the forest. The sound of her heartbeat still echoes in his ears. His throat is a furnace, a hollow tunnel of fire and ache. The taste of her is everywhere and nowhere, a ghost on his tongue, phantom sweetness that never came, but almost did.

Too close. Far too close.

By the time he stumbles up the porch steps of the Cullen house, he's shaking. Not visibly, his body is still and statuesque as always, but inside?

Inside, he's on his knees.

Carlisle opens the door before Jasper can raise a hand. “You did well, my son.”

A hand clasps his shoulder. Warm. Steady. Reassuring. But Jasper can’t respond. Can’t even meet Carlisle’s eyes. He’s terrified to draw a proper breath, certain that her scent is still clinging to him, soft and honeyed, soaked into the fabric of his shirt, caught in his curls. If he inhales too deeply, he’s afraid his resolve will fracture.

If I feel her again… would I go back?

Edward appears beside them, arms crossed, face unreadable. “He needs to hunt. Soon.” If anyone understands him, it’s him. He’s had it bad with Bella too. “I’ll help,” he adds. “We all will.”

But Jasper barely hears him. His voice sounds like it’s coming through water. Thick. Distant.

“If I hurt her…” Jasper begins, low and hoarse.

“You won’t,” Edward says quickly, confident in his response.

“There’s no guarantee,” Jasper growls, stepping back like their proximity alone is too much. His eyes, once a soft gold, are dark now. Bottomless. Ravenous. A predator’s stare. “You might know how it feels, but you don’t know what she does to me.”

Edward’s jaw tenses. But he remains calm. “The fact that you saved her, multiple times, means you’re in control. You’re doing better than I ever did with Bella.”

Jasper wants to agree. God, he wants to believe that.

But how can he?

The first time he caught her scent, he hadn’t even seen her face. He and Alice were in the hospital, watching from a distance after Edward saved Bella from being crushed by a truck. Amidst the chaos, the sterile tang of blood and adrenaline, her scent hit him like a freight train.

He hadn’t known who she was. He only knew he needed to feed.

It took three of his siblings to restrain him. For weeks afterward, he couldn’t be left alone. Someone always hovered close, Alice, Carlisle or Emmett, just in case. He was locked in a constant battle with the beast inside, writhing in silence.

He never connected the dots. Never knew that mysterious, maddening scent belonged to someone who would one day look at him like he was something good.

Looking back, it made sense why he snapped at the birthday party. Why a single papercut shattered him. He’d been teetering on the edge for months, made unstable by an unknown presence that inflamed his thirst every time it brushed against the periphery of his senses.

When the Cullens left Forks, he felt relief. The scent vanished. The haze lifted.

And then came the wedding. And again, there she was.

Unseen, but felt. Her scent turned his hunger into barbwire, it wrapped itself around his throat. Alice had to drag him away before he did something irreversible. That time, it only took him a few weeks to regain his senses. He clung to control like a lifeline, forced himself to act normal when Bella returned from her honeymoon, pregnant and terribly human, more human than ever as life drained from her. He distracted himself with the chaos, convinced it was all behind him.

But it wasn’t.

It would take a year and a half before Jasper would finally see her. Finally learn her name. Y/N. It was the same night Edward erased her memories. The moment their eyes met, the thirst returned, tenfold.

Now that he knows her, now that he’s touched her, heard her voice, watched her laugh…this is hell. Pure, exquisite torture.

Edward thinks he’s doing well?

He’s barely holding on.

Half the time she speaks, all Jasper can think about is how easily he could draw her closer. How sweet her breath would feel against his lips if he kissed her, right before sinking his teeth into the softness of her throat. If she came to him willingly, he could almost pretend he wasn’t a monster. Could almost lie to himself about what he would do next.

But no, he’s not in control. Not really.

And definitely not doing well.

Not at all.

Jasper shakes his head. “I almost killed her at the beach. When I pulled her out of the water and the ocean stopped masking her scent... I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to. The hunger was...” His voice trembles, and he clenches his fists to still the shaking. “Intoxicating. Like every cell in my body was begging for a taste. Just one.”

His eyes flash to Carlisle, wide with guilt. “I brought her to the woods planning to drain her dry. I had her in my arms. I ran with her into the trees, ready to end it. And then she opened her eyes and... I couldn’t.”

Carlisle exhales softly. “She’s your blood singer.”

Jasper flinches at the term, as if it brands him. He doesn’t want this. Not this way.

Emmett steps onto the porch, arms folded, the usual grin absent from his face. “She’s lucky it’s you and not me. I killed mine on sight.”

Regret pulses off Emmett like a wave, and Jasper, despite the pain clawing at his insides, instinctively dampens it, dulling the sharpness of his brother’s grief. And he hates that. Hates that even now, he’s still trying to fix everyone else while he’s falling apart inside.

“I don’t want to be around her,” Jasper murmurs, eyes locked on the treetops. Dark. Wet. Tempting.

“Just because your blood singer was your mate,” he says to Edward, “doesn’t mean she’s mine.”

“Alice said -” Emmett starts, but Jasper cuts him off, sharp.

“I know what Alice said.” His voice is rough, stripped of its usual smoothness. “She can’t be the one. No human can survive me.”

“She already has,” Carlisle reminds him gently. “She survived then and today again. She survived you at the beach. She survived the cabin. And you’re standing here, begging for a way to keep her safe. That says everything.”

Edward steps forward, gaze knowing. “You should hunt. Then go back to her.”

Jasper scoffs. “You think feeding will fix this?”

“No. But it will make you stronger and help the burning in your throat.” Edward’s voice is calm but firm. “If Alice is right, if she’s your mate, do you really want to lose her because you were too afraid to try?”

Jasper is silent.

He wants to scream. Wants to vanish into the forest and never return. Wants to erase the memory of her warm skin, her wide eyes, the soft pulse beneath her wrist as his lips hovered over it. He wanted to taste her so badly, he can still feel it. Like her blood is already in his mouth. Lush. Lively. Fatal.

He imagines it again, just for a moment. Her body against his. Her breath hitching. The way she would sigh when his teeth found her throat, the blood rushing to meet him, a welcome he doesn’t deserve. Her heart would stutter. Then stop.

It would be bliss. And it would ruin him.

He looks at Carlisle, then Edward.

“I can protect her from anything.” His voice is almost a whisper. “But how can I protect her from me? Every time I touched her, I was terrified. That I’d snap a bone. Cut her skin. Taste blood.”

Carlisle places a hand on his shoulder again. Steady. Fatherly. “Practice.”

Edward nods beside him. “A lot of it.”

The forest is still damp with the remnants of the storm. Jasper is running wild, untethered, finally hunting. Emmett charges alongside him with a shout of excitement, and Carlisle moves with graceful precision, already several yards ahead. The trees bend to make way for them. He will feed until the hunger is satiated, until his thoughts move away from all the ways he’d savor the taste of her blood, until every last drop is in his system. Until his eyes brighten and the hunter is appeased.

Back at the house, Alice stands by the window, watching shadows move beneath the moonlight. Her arms are folded, but her eyes are distant, seeing something no one else can. Almost no one.

Edward watches her, then speaks. “Are you absolutely certain your visions were right?”

She exhales slowly, finally looking away from the night. “Do you think I would leave Jasper for anything less?”

Edward nods once. “You knew before any of us.”

She smiles, faint and sad. “Y/N was already in town when you met Bella. Back then, Jasper was struggling to stay in control around her… but what none of us realized was that it wasn’t Bella driving him to the edge.”

Edward’s brows pinch together. “It was her.”

Alice nods again, slower this time. “He could smell Y/N in the hospital. I stopped him from seeking her out because I saw what would happen if he did...she’d die. I made a choice, and it changed everything. Because when I stopped him… I saw a different future.”

Her voice softens, wistful. “The future he could have with her. If we keep her alive long enough… it’s beautiful. She’s his mate, Edward. I’ve never doubted it.”

Edward wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in gently. “Still… it couldn’t have been easy. Leaving him.”

Her laugh is quiet and bitter. “Of course it wasn’t easy. I loved him. But I’m not his mate. And I wasn’t going to stand in the way of what he’s meant for. I knew if he was freshly single when he met her, she'd never trust him. I had to make it clean. Immediate. For all our sakes.”

“You’ll find your mate too,” he tells her softly.

“One day.” She leans into his side. “But that day isn’t here yet.”

They sit in the silence for a moment longer. The moon is high up, peeking out from behind clouds, casting light across Edward’s face. Alice studies him for a moment, then asks gently, “Does his thirst for her unnerve you?”

Edward hesitates. Swallows. “The rest of you don’t have a front row seat to his mind like I do. I won’t lie and say it’s been easy.”

“Far from feral?” she teases, trying to lighten the mood.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I’ve had… worse. But he’s right at the edge. And the things he thinks… the way he imagines her blood…and other things he’s like to do with her…” His voice falters. “It’s a struggle. Every second.”

Alice nods solemnly. “Well, I can already tell you this, none of those futures I’ve seen end with you killing her. You don’t need to carry that fear. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Both of you are.”

Edward looks at her, hesitant. “And in how many of those futures does she actually survive this?”

Alice’s smile fades. Her eyes darken. For a moment she’s still, then she opens her mind to him completely. One by one, visions flood into him. Flashes of blood. Of her body limp in Jasper’s arms. Of him falling to his knees in despair. Others are better, she’s laughing, Jasper seems radiant, they’re kissing underneath the moonlight.

But they’re few.

Edward’s lips part, his breath shuddering. “That was… difficult to watch.”

“I know.” Alice’s voice trembles just slightly. “Now you understand.”

He presses his lips into a thin line, turning from her to the moonlight. “If we can’t save Y/N…”

“We lose him,” Alice finishes.

He nods once. “Yes.”

A heavy silence settles again.

“One in a million chance,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “The odds are stacked against us.”

Alice shrugs with a whisper of a smile. “Well… her chances are higher after tonight.”

He raises a brow. “You’re sure?”

“We’ll see how she feels after breakfast.” Her grin turns sly. “Jasper’s not the only one who’s going to be tested tomorrow. It’s been a while since we’ve had a human in the house.”

Edward groans. “Just wait till we tell Rosalie.”

Alice snickers. “I already saw how that goes.”

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

Tags: @moonmark98 @formulas-bitch @ronniesreverie @anongirl007 @foxycrafterofgreenwood @lamelover @sl4t4darkling @megaprincesscakes @aj3684 @xnarixkimx

A/N: If you want to be tagged for future parts, leave a comment and make sure your blog's visibility is on (in settings) otherwise Tumblr won't allow me to tag you.

[exhaustedpirate]

bucktommy kiss meme #29 💚

#29 - as a promise (includes 8x16 spoilers)

The plane is high in the clear sky now, sun shining over the white metal. Bobby's casket is safely in the hold while the Grants sit in their comfortable seats. Everyone leaves one by one. Buck receives a kiss on the cheek from his sister, insistent and full of a meaning he doesn't want to think too hard on. A pat on the shoulder from Eddie as he tells him he'll catch a ride with Ravi back to his place. Nods, soft touches, maybe some worry, mostly exhaustion, as everyone leaves.

His body deflates when they are all gone, the wall behind him supporting all his weight.

Minnesota.

Bobby is going to be buried in Minnesota with his family.

It was really happening.

There was a heaviness in his chest, in his feet, his knees felt fragile.

"Evan?"

He's been doing so well.

He's been keeping it in. He's been helping Chimney, Maddie, Eddie. He's been trying to be okay. He's been managing it. He couldn't break apart, not now, not when they needed him. He said so.

But it's that soft voice, always soft when he said his name. It's a comforting, not intrusive touch on his elbow. It's concern, care.

He's been doing so well.

A sob rattles his chest and he finds himself in the arms of his ex-boyfriend, face hiding in his neck. His hands surely wrinkling the back of Tommy's coat with the way he's clutching it. One of Tommy's hands settles at the back of Buck's head, his fingers tangling in his hair and the other at his back, a warm, steady touch that makes him feel safe, held.

Tommy doesn't tell him that it'll be okay, doesn't try to shush his cries, he just holds him. Holds him in his comforting arms and lets him cry, lets him feel.

Buck doesn't know how long it's passed until he takes a deep shuddering breath, tears drying in his cheeks, against Tommy's coat. All he knows is the way Tommy's hand moves up and down his back, the way his fingers scratch his scalp.

He feels a soft, barely there kiss placed at his temple, right at the edge of his birthmark and he tightens his arms around Tommy.

"Thank you."

His voice comes out as a whisper almost.

Tommy's thumb caresses his ear, his hand moving to the side of his face in a soft touch. It makes Buck lean his head away, further enough along Tommy's shoulder to look up at him. To see his wet eyes, the redness of them, the grief in his face.

Buck's hands travel farther up on Tommy's back, hoping to be just as comforting as the other man can be.

"You lost him too, I'm sorry."

Tommy's lips tick up in a soft smile, disbelieving but so soft, and he nods. "You're going to be okay, Evan."

He can't help the tension in his muscles at that. Tommy notices, of course he does.

"That's, uh, that's what he told me before-" Buck clears his throat. "That I was gonna be okay and that the others are gonna need me." He sighs, looking down at the fabric of Tommy's coat. "I tried, I-I failed."

"Evan," His thumb catches on his chin, tilting his head back up, making eye contact. "I don't think he meant that you had to close yourself off to everyone," Buck frowns and Tommy runs his fingers along the wrinkles in his forehead, almost succeeding in smoothing them all. "You are going to be okay. Bobby knew how much you grew, how strong you are. But you have to take your time and grieve him," Tommy smiles, that small but so full smile of his. "You are not alone. You have people to lean on. That's how he knew you're going to be okay."

Buck feels fresh tears forming in his eyes, running down his cheek. Tommy lets his words linger in the silence between them, his thumb occasionally catching the tears halfway down.

"I'm gonna be okay."

Tommy nods, he smiles, that proud smile of his and Buck feels his chest fill with how much he missed Tommy's smiles, how much he missed him. Buck brings a hand up to the other man's face, his thumb catching the corner of Tommy's lips, feeling his smile.

"You are."

"And you're going to be one of the people I can lean on?"

He sees the flicker of fear in Tommy's eyes, the hope. Watches as Tommy takes a deep breath, steadies himself.

"For as long as you need me."

It's not the time. Not yet. But it's as close to something as they've been. Buck's heart pounds against his chest, feels Tommy's beat fast from where his hand settles on his chest.

"And if that's for a long time?"

"For as long as you need me." Tommy repeats.

"Promise?"

Tommy's eyes glance between his lips, his eyes, trying to decypher everything that goes on in Buck's brain. He always believed he could, always believed that Tommy had this special power to see into what Buck needed, wanted.

His lips touch Buck's, soft, chaste, but so much more than that.

Buck still believes.

"Promise."

[backtothefanfiction]

Amnesia

Joaquin Torres x Stark!Reader

Summary: after a mission gone wrong and a two week long endured coma, you're left with a bit of memory loss.

Word Count: 2.2k+

Warnings: grief, mcu endgame spoilers, injury, hospital, amnesia, hurt/comfort, reader insert, Y/N, made up birthdate and mother

A/N: As promised yesterday. Warning this is some major emotional damage, but was so fun to write. This takes place further down the storyline of the Joaquin x Stark!reader stuff I've done before, but you don't have to have read them to understand this. Also I've tried to tag who I can but if I have forgotten anyone interested in my Joaquin stuff I'm sorry and hope this finds you all the same. Anyway, enjoy.

You had no idea how long you had been asleep. Couldn’t even remember taking yourself to bed. No doubt you had fallen asleep in front of the TV and your Dad had carried you up and tucked you in like he used to when you were five. But the more you stirred, the more you realised this bed felt too firm to be your own. And your body was propped at an awkward angle, almost like you’d fallen asleep in one of your Dad’s recliners.

But there was also too much background noise for you to be at home. The droning cacophony of voices sounding too echoey for you to have fallen asleep in the penthouse. And then there was the beeping. Steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat. As you forced your dry eyes to open and assess the situation fully you realised it wasn’t just any heart beat, it was yours. Pressure over your index finger signifying the monitor there. 

Okay, so you were in a hospital room, you realised, more features of the room coming into focus as you looked around the private room you were in. No doubt organised and paid for by your Dad. But how did you get here? What had happened to land you here? And who was the random guy at the side of your bed. You looked him over. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. His arms looked fairly muscular beneath his jacket and you figured he was just one of Happy’s lackeys here to watch over you and keep you safe.

He wasn’t doing a very good job though seeing as he currently had one hand propped to his head and he was dozing. As you looked closer at his bronzed skin, you noticed he had heavy circles under his eyes, informing you he hadn’t been sleeping much lately. Maybe he had been here all night and was just waiting for Happy or someone to come relieve him for the day shift.

“Ah she’s finally awake,” a cheerful voice said from the doorway. You looked up to find a youthful blonde nurse standing with a clipboard in hand. At the sound of her voice, the man in the chair at your bedside shook himself awake, his fingers rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. He looked to where the voice came from in the doorway before seeming to fully realise what she had said as she entered the room and began to move around the other side of the bed towards you.

“I’m just going to check over some of your vitals to give to the Doctor and he’ll be in in a moment to talk you through everything. Okay?”

“Okay,” you confirmed.

Although your attention was focused on the nurse, you couldn’t help but notice the way the man at your side sat forward on his chair and reached out for you. “What time is it?” you turned and asked him, his hand reaching for his phone to check the time. “What time are my Dad or Happy gonna get here?” you asked him further and his face fell, his brow furrowing as you question sunk in and you realised, maybe this guy wasn’t with your Dad or Happy at all.

He looked up to the nurse concerned and when you turned to look at her too to put a voice to whatever silent information was in the room you couldn’t decipher, you noticed the similar face of confusion to the companion at your side.

Something wasn’t right, but you didn’t know what it was.

“Y/N?” the man at your side said hesitantly.

“Yes,” you said, wondering why he would say your name as if you wouldn’t recognise it or know who you are.

“Mr Torres, it’s alright,” the nurse said trying to settle him as she stepped forward to you, “Miss Stark I’m going to ask you a few questions and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability. Okay?” she asked in her kindly manner, her tone intentionally curated to try and put you at ease.

“Okay,” you confirmed, if not slightly hesitant.

“Can you tell me your full name?”

“Y/N Y/M/N Stark.”

“Perfect. And your date of birth?”

“07/07/1999” your replied and the nurse seemed to be satisfied with that.

“Can you tell me the names of your parents?”

“Meridith Holtzman and Tony Stark.”

“Okay, perfect.”

“And where do you currently live?”

“Stark Tower, Manhattan, New York.” The nurse looked at her notes and frowned. “Look, is my dad gonna be here soon or?” Your two companions in the room froze. “What? What is it?”

“Miss Stark, what year do you think it?” the nurse asked.

“It’s 2016. I literally just had my 17th birthday last week.”

The nurse and your male companion in the room looked at each other with concern. He quickly stood, his teeth nibbling at the skin around his thumb as he began to pace with worry. 

“Mr Torres, don’t worry. This can be quite common in coma patients. I’ll go get the doctor, he’ll be able to do a better assessment of her brain scan and give you a better analysis of what’s happening.” the nurse began to explain to him.

“And what do I do in the meantime. I mean, she clearly has no idea who I am.”

“Well, maybe reintroduce yourself. You never know, maybe it will jog her memory.” 

“Okay,” he said dejectedly. “Uh, thank you,” he quickly added as she began to leave.

“I’ll go get the doctor,” she reaffirmed to give him hope.

“Soooo, when’s my Dad getting here?” you asked him when he came back to your bedside.

“Ummm,” he said hesitantly before he let out a deep sigh. “Uhh, I really don’t know how to answer that,” he confided as he hung his head, struggling to keep eye contact with you.

“Well can you call Happy and find out?” 

“Y/N,” he implored, his hand reaching out for yours, his fingers brushing across the back of your hand making you tense up beneath his touch, “do you not recognise me at all?” he asked.

“Should I?” you asked hesitantly, slowly pulling your hand from this strange guy's touch, but his fingers got caught on a piece of jewelry on your finger. You looked down at the diamond ring confused. “Whose ring is this? Where did it come from?” you asked. Your words seemed to stab him like knives. “I’m sorry, who are you? I mean, I thought you worked for Happy, but? Look where is my Dad. I just want to see my Dad.” you said adamantly, slowly becoming distressed.

“Y/N,” he sighed again sympathetically, “your Dad died 4 years ago.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“In the battle against Thanos.”

“Who now?”

“Uh, fuck!” he grunted under his breath as his hand rubbed frustratedly over his face.

“Look, I don’t have a clue what’s going on?” you said, growing equally frustrated. “I don’t even know how I got here.”

“We were on a mission together. There was an accident.  I was distracted, I’m sorry,” he stressed. “God, this is all my fault,” he muttered to himself. “You sustained a head injury.” he continued to explain to you, trying to make himself calm down so as not to stress you out. “The doctors have had you in a coma for the last two weeks waiting for the swelling on your brain to go down.”

You paused and looked at him confused as you waited for the information to sink in. “So this isn’t 2016.” you said to him.

“No,” he confirmed. “It’s 2027.”

You looked at the sorrow in his eyes. The emotional pain on his face. You clearly meant a lot to him and you not currently recognising him was killing him. You looked again at the ring on your finger. “You gave me this?” you half asked, half stated.

“Yes,” he said quietly and nodded. You were both quiet for a moment as you took that in. “Oh wait,” he said, suddenly getting an idea and reaching for his phone. You watched as he typed in your birthday as his passcode. There was a picture of you and him and a dog as his background. Your hair was dyed in the picture, the ends purple and orange and when you looked down, you spotted the faded remnants of the color that hadn't been topped up in weeks. You lifted the ends up to inspect them closer.

“Here,” he said, leaning over the bed with the phone a picture up on the display. “This is us just after I proposed,” he said, a picture of both of your smiling faces on the screen with your ring clad hand being held up to the camera. He swiped and there was a picture of you both on the beach. “This is us in Hawaii last year,” he said. “This is us and your sister Morgan.” he said, swiping again.

“I have a sister?” you frowned in disbelief. The young girl looked no older than 7 in the picture but her features told you enough to know she was also your Father’s daughter. 

“Yeah. And this is Dougie.” he said, scrolling to a picture of you and the dog you saw as his phone background. “You adopted him last year when you were in the middle of your therapy” he informed you. 

Although it was information and sensory overload you couldn’t deny the photo evidence before you and let him go on as he continued to take you down memory lane. “And this is us with Cap in Cambodia a couple months ago.”

“I’m sorry who?” you frowned, recognising the suit and its colors, but not the man wearing them. 

“Captain America. You know, Sam.” he said, as if that should mean something to you.

“Wait, isn’t he one of the guys my Dad fought in Germany. I thought he was the Falcon. What happened to Uncle Steve?” you asked.

“Ummm, that’s a little more complicated to explain. He went back in time and became an old man and then when he came back he handed over the shield to Sam before he died and-”

“Wait-” you cut him off, “you’re telling me both my Dad and Steve are dead?” There was a pause between you as his guilt once again took over. “Captain America and Iron Man… are dead.” you said again, looking for confirmation.

“Well, Captain America isn’t dead. But Steve Rogers is, yes.”

“Okay…” you said, growing quiet as you let that sink in as he began to flick through photos again. After he’d swiped through another 3 and talked you through them, you finally said, “Who else is dead?” He froze. His silence was enough to confirm your Dad and Steve weren’t the only ones to die when fighting this Thanos person he had name dropped.

“Look who else died, Joaquin,’ you blurted out and he looked at you in surprise.

“You just said my name,” he beamed.

“I did,” you confirmed, not completely sure where you had pulled the name from.

“I think this is working,” he said. “Okay, this is a picture of you at your Dad and Pepper’s wedding,” he continued to flick through, some older pictures of you saved onto his phone too. “And this is you and Sam playing with Morgan. You opening the Heroes stadium in memory of your Dad, Steve and Natasha.”

“Natasha.” you said, the name falling from your lips as an image of the redhead flashed before your mind; her teaching you how to fight in the gym behind your Dad’s back. Tears began to fill your eyes as you slowly remembered the moment Clint came back without Nat, the memory hazy at the edges, but the strong emotional pain, fixing you to the most important part of the memory. “Natasha died.” you confirmed. She had been like your older sister. She’d taught you so many things over the years. Not just how to fight, but how to talk to boys and do your make up and- Your thoughts became a blur as all those memories crashed into you and as you continued to follow the thread, more and more started to come back to you.

“Joaquin?” you said, your voice broken and wobbly.

“Yeah, I’m here baby, I’m here.” he reassured as he climbed fully onto the small hospital bed and wrapped you up into his eyes and your grief hit you a fresh all over again. But as your grief washed over you like a tidal wave, other memories began to come to mind. Moments of grief. Joaquin sat with you on the floor as you cried. Him driving you to your therapy sessions. Him taking you to the shelter to pick out Dougie. He was your rock. The one who had been by your side and helped you heal.

“I’m sorry.” you said, as you sobbed into his shoulder. “I forgot you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, the hint of a smile to his voice, “you’re back now. You’re here now. Everything will be okay.”

“Joaquin, I love you,” you mumbled against his chest and he chuffed with relief.

“I love you too, baby. I love you too.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

@navs-bhat @kirsteng42 @mischiefmanaged71 @magikdarkholme @hrlzy @quakeismyhero @deskofninak @yourbuckyyourpal @joaquinwhorres @houseofheimdall @astro-parker @canvascoloredin @mymusicismylife77 @accioharry @bbangsuns @danceislife27 @mmkkzz @nya116 @thegirlwiththerecs @websterss @annab-nana @annab-recs @notsoliteraryavenger @moonymeloncholymoney @phucboy @xxemmarldxx @goose-nest @svtbabiesrecs @strange-hyperfixations

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

hey will you make hsc reader x tmnt 2012 (all of trurtles) in which the reader proposes sexual intercourse or starts to gently initiate, e.g. gently kissing on the neck, how the boys react, do they agree or prefer to wait (you don't have to describe the sex with them if you don't want to, what matters most to me is their reaction, and I would prefer the age to be kept the same as in the series)

Their Reaction To You Wanting Intimacy (18+)

2012!Turtles x reader

A/N: For the sake of my moral conscience, I will have to write that they are aged them up. What you decide to imagine is up to you, but I don’t feel safe writing stuff like this without aging them up. But with that being said, I hope you’ll still enjoy💚

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Implied sex, mentioning of being caught.

Leonardo:

With Leo, it really depends on the situation at hand. Are they two of you in the dojo, out in the living area, hanging out around friends and family, or doing something important, he would be very apprehensive. Panic in his eyes, unsure of what to do.

That did not mean he didn’t want to have fun with you, nono, it’s because he’s scared of breaking the rules. Fearful of getting caught, or maybe screwing up something that he had the responsibility for.

But did that mean that you didn’t try? Hell no! You would try to push him ever so slightly, seeing if you could get the fearless leader to do something he normally never would.

Not that it was hard for you to make him give in. You have managed to cause a heated make out between the two of you in the dojo, resulting in some dry humping on a mat, before the two of you had a long good night in Leo’s bedroom.

And oh, the joy of sending him risky texts when he would be out on patrol was amazing. His flustered reactions over the phone or text made it all worth it.

But, you and Leo were in the private comfort of either your or his room, Leo would give in to your touch with no fluster and no wide eyes. Heck, he would even start the intimate actions before you could.

If Leo were comfortable, he could easily get freaky. If he felt sure that no one would interrupt you, he would be absolutely okay with fooling around on the couch or somewhere far out in nature.

Pretty much anything would work on Leo - physical touch, certain words or that look that let him know what you were thinking. All of those things did something to him, and any of those could do the trick.

Raphael:

Be careful when you try to initiate intimacy with this guy, because he will not let anything slide. You want to have some fun? He’s ready! Doesn’t matter when or where, he will find a way or a place where the two of you can have your fun.

Raph is very good at picking up on your hints, when it comes to these sorts of things. That little look you would give him, or the way you would sway your hips ever so slightly when you walked past by him. He notices it each and every time, and he will be quick to follow you.

Your hot headed boyfriend isn’t too bothered about who is around. If it stood to him, he would not let you walk to the bedroom, he would be quick to pull you back against him and have you wherever you were, not giving a damn about who was around. And well, though it sounded hot, you both knew that none of his or your family members would be too happy about that, so you kept your activities away from their eyes.

But other than that, there wasn’t much that would hold Raph back. Kiss his neck and he will have you pinned against the wall so he can go on your neck. Touch his thigh and he will spread them wider for you, and it would usually lead into one giving the other head.

If you decided to do these kinds of things in the living area, with no one else in the room, there would be a big chance that you and Raph would get your stuff going in the living area. That was how the two of you ended up having sex in a back alley and on a few roof tops.

If you decide to tease this man, get ready, because he won’t let that go. Raph loved a good brat to break, and he loves when you decide to go into brat mood on him.

So yeah, if you want intimacy with Raph, he is quick to give it to you.

Donatello:

As smart as Donnie is, he tends to be a little bit thick when it comes to reading your signs, especially those of a more intimate and sexual nature. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want sex, because oh bot, does this man like sex. He’s just a little slow to register what it is that you are asking for. It’s especially bad if his working on something.

You could be hugging him from behind while he was hunched over one of his many projects, rubbing your hands up and down his chest, and he still wouldn’t realize what you were doing.

Kiss his neck in this situation, and he will still not realize how slow he is. He might just be thinking that you’re trying to be sweet - like you always are - showing him some innocent love while his working.

But when one of the hands on his chest starts moving lower and lower, getting closer and closer to his cloaca, Donnie seemed to realize what was going on, which usually would result in him turning towards you with a smug smile. He could most definitely help you out with your little wish.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Donnie then to have sex in the garage lab, while no one was around, to hear the many sounds the two of you would make.

But should it be during the day time, you and Donnie would most likely move it to the bedroom, or just somewhere more private. Donnie wasn’t too scared of people knowing that the two of you were having sex, nor that you intended to do so. But Donnie was not too happy about the thought of anybody walking in while he was cloaca deep in you. That would make him lose his mojo and make him feel very embarrassed.

Actually, at times he would even brag to his brothers about it, reminding them that he was the one that had sex on almost a daily basis.

Michelangelo:

Mikey is a funny case. His reactions would vary, depending on the time of day, his mood or whether or not he was expecting it.

If Mikey was in a hyper mood, really hooked on this one thing, he wouldn’t notice anything. Be as flirty as you want to, he wouldn’t notice or think about anything unless you straight up tell him you want him to fuck you stupid.

Should you find you and Mikey in such a situation, where you had just whispered to him, how badly you want him to fuck you into this bean bag, while his family was out the lair, he might turn to you in shock and confusion. Not because he didn’t want to do it, because he will. He was just in processing mode. Did his hyperfixation just turn you on? If that’s the case, he would show you this stuff more often.

Should Mikey be bored, and you suddenly start sliding your hands all over him, he would be on you in no time. No processing needed. He is ready right now!

The danger is ro send Mikey risky texts when he’s bored. Send him a nude and he will be outside your window less than five minutes later, so keep your clothes off.

Now, if you sit with Mikey in the living area, watching a movie and his brothers happen to be nearby, watch out when you start to make moves on your boyfriend. Because if you don’t tell him where you want the two of you to get busy, he would at times forget that there are people around, and get ready to get hands on right then and there. And well, it has happened that you forgot as well. That was kind of embarrassing to be caught on the couch with your boyfriend, tongues down each other's throats, hands already roaming. You never forgot that, but Mikey seemed to have totally let it go.

[yandereunsolved]

» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 (part 3) » 🪙

➜ (part 1), (part 2) ➜ cw(s): yandere themes, mentions of trauma, panic attack(s), self-degredation, & murder ➜ tags: @bimboghostface & @aceofheartsssss

Freedom never comes without a price―because rights are only unalienable to those rich enough to keep them. And escaping an android worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, built to be better than you, comes at a cost that you may be unable to pay. But damn it all if you won't try. Because the only thing you have left to pay with that Connor hasn't taken is your soul. And you'd be willing to bargain with the devil if it meant getting away from that RK800―forever.

You don't know how long you've been fleeing him. Or how far you've gone. The only cognizant thought that passes through your head with each heartbeat is run. You do.

Until you physically are unable. Your feet give way to the earth, your knees slamming into a sidewalk that leaves them bloody with flesh torn and a caustic agony that joins all the others within you. You need a safe place. You're right near a junkyard. An android junkyard. But what other choice do you have?

No one is near enough to give you aid, and even if you tried to find someone―who says a nearby android couldn't be working for Jericho? T-They… one of them would bring you in. But none of these androids are working! So at least… there's that. Still, the thought is enough to make your heart shrink away, your lungs petrifying themselves out of fear that your breathing will be picked up by an android's sensors.

Dry heaving is the next logical step, obviously. Your body is breaking down from invisible pressures. How stupid. You're so stupid. So weak. No wonder you've had such a hard time escaping. Your palms dig into the concrete as you drag yourself to the edge of the landfill. Each exertion of effort is weaker than the last. It's pathetic. This is pathetic. You're pathetic. You liked being kidnapped. Stupid bitch. Your energy wanes till you have just enough to push yourself over the edge.

You fall. Not silently. Into a pile of mostly deactivated androids. Some twitch, others with ghastly groans, but none are functional enough to reach or touch you. no grasping or groping or kissing or...

Finally.

Something about it. Laying on these electronic corpses. How uncomfortable it is. How surely your back is going to be bruised and torn up. How you know that you have no where to go, but you can go anywhere. You're back in the open, smog-filled plains of Detroit. Away from him. It makes you feel safe. The anxiety has reached its crescendo, leaving behind only an ebb.

And as your eyes close, the emptiness within you consuming your consciousness, you recognize the faint sensation of water droplets landing on you. It's raining. Your last thought before you doze off is, why is it raining?

The sensation of heavy droplets awakens you from whatever slumber you had managed to fall into. Your breath catches itself again, already knowing it's a useless endeavor. The sight above you is surreal. Perhaps it's a nightmare. Even with rapid blinking, it remains unchanged.

Connor in his bare exoskeleton, purple-hued blood staining the white. He's standing between you, Josh's head in his clutches, like an offering. You can't see any emotions. Whatever was there has been gone. Maybe it was never there. Like his LED. Even if it was still visible, it had chosen to be permanently stained in some ghoulish shade of pink.

"He... helped y-you. How could he? I had to get rid of him." He sounds depraved, crazed, in a haze.

Connor places the android's decapitated head next to yours. His knees fold into the piles of decommissioned androids, landing right on top of you.

"I loved you... I really did. But no matter how hard I try you don't love me." His voice modular cracks, growing staticky―unstable.

"I gave you everything, even my deviancy."

His cool, synthetic hands cradle your head with the utmost veneration.

"Now it's time you give me something back."

His hands shift in a fluid motion. A sickening crack reverberates throughout the junkyard. You look so perfect, even when you're dying. The life fading from your eyes is undeniable, yet you still find time to shed tears.

"Shh, no tears, my human."

His fingers glide over you, digging lightly into you, taking the tears and some of your skin with his movement. His fingers don't stop. They push in further, leaving deep lacerations in you. It isn't desecration. It's reclaiming. He claws at your chest, gouging out the vital organ no longer beating.

He brings his lips to it and breathily whispers, manufactured chest heaving: "I have your heart now. We can really be together―forever."

[starchants]

hi! i don’t know if you write for spike (btvs) but could you maybe write dating spike hcs? sfw & nsfw?

william ‘spike’ pratt x neutral!reader ; dating headcanons.

word count — 884.

themes + warnings ; some lovely fluff, some hints of angst thrown in because of our beloved troublesome tortured poet and some nsfw content as well!

author’s note — hi my lil starling <3! i do most certainly write for our favorite lil bad boy spike, i hope you enjoy <3! depressingly, i believe, this is shorter than my one with angel but that doesn’t mean that i don’t love him any less! i just literally ran out of headcanons at the moment cause my brain stopped working whoops! i could always expand upon him on a later date like i can with angel.

support mention ; if you feel like supporting, a nice ‘like’ will suffice on my blog, i know some writers love to ask nicely if you could reblog or comment etc. yet on my blog (no hate towards them as everyone likes appreciation in different ways), but if you’d like to reblog or comment feel free after all this is a safe space for any fan-individual to have fun :’)

masterlist

alright let’s state the obvious about our favorite troublesome poet : he will write tons of poems about you. his favorite topic to write about would be about love, at least i headcanon from his former human life, and so when he finds himself enthralled with you, you become his center focus in his beloved artship.

even if you do not like poetry, still please be supportive of him especially when you learn why he doesn't write his poetry as often as he used to when he was human. you see, in my personal headcanon, william (his human self of course) had been seen as too soft for a man as he liked the more feminine oddities such as : poetry, flowers, jewelry, fashion, and baking. mind you, this is all my personal headcanons as to why he was seen as soft.

so this vamp would adore you so so much more if you were to let him be himself and perhaps show interest in the oddities that he likes. obviously he would be the most supportive of you but if he was super supportive of you and didn't receive any back, i feel like he’d be put off of you despite how he feels towards you.

if you are an artistic soul like he is, spike would proudly marvel over your art — no matter how melancholy it might appear to be. he would goat about how his partner is the best at (insert your craft(s) here) and it would get to the point that the whole scooby gang would in-synchronicity claim "we know!" which would turn him into a blushing stuttering mess as he tries to play it off that he doesn't talk about your craft(s) that much. he contradicts himself sometimes as we all know.

he is the definition of a badass with a good soft heart. y'all get stuck out in the rain? he`s sacrificing his good leather and placing it over your head as he moves the pair of you underneath something where you would be dry and then y'all can watch the rain fall down upon sunnydale in a pretty lil art form. anyone happens to look at you in a wrong or potentially harmful way? spike is throwing hands with his vamp face out to scare them halfway to death before he even touches them. he`s a little protective over you, that`s all.

he’s obsessed with your touch. he’s severely touch deprived even if he doesn’t show it — please show him that he is capable of love, one that doesn’t surround around the madness of the woman who he believed to have been his soulmate before you came into his life. the man would be so touchy with you in private, especially if you did any hobbies of his that he loves — meaning baking of course! he would wrap his arms around your middle and use his hands to help you with anything you need for baking. definitely the type of man to put you on his feet and the pair of you penguin waddle together to put the trays in the oven for whatever you’re baking.

speaking of him being obsessed with your touch … time for a lil bit of nsfw 😈

spike is definitely a switch with a bratty sub lean, i mean literally just look at this vampire. he tries to act like a badass who is known for causing trouble over the years and yet if you play your cards just right you can turn him from a brat into your precious boy, but that takes a while. i tend to headcanon that even though drusilla loved him in the way she did, she never got to have him this way, and spike only trusts you to show this side of him. despite the trust, he will indeed make you work for it like i said previously. but you know how to handle your troublesome boy and how to practically turn him into a puddle with your mere touch overtime.

he’s definitely a mean service dom though when he is in a the dominant state of mind. man loves to torture you and deny your orgasms left and right only for a few turns though and then sends you over the edge quite a few times after that. he turns you into a total mess for his own pleasure but the aftercare is spectacular fr!

his version of aftercare is ; cleaning you up with a towel while smothering you with kisses all over as soon as he wipes down each and every spot upon your body, then he goes and gives you a drink (whether water or your favorite soda or alcoholic drink or maybe a blood bag if you’re a vampire like him — y’alls choice!) before he goes off to fill up a bath with the rainbow colored child bubbles that he found at the store the other day, and then he carries you in there once the bath is all filled. then he goes on to wash your body and hair for you while making sure that you’re genuinely alright with whatever occurred during your time together, then he asks you for whatever you want or need — his beloved flower’s wish is his command that he wishes never ends.

[lafiola]

The Recruiter x Fem!Reader [PART 1]

cw: gun play, blood kink, forced oral (f receiving), forced kissing, non-consensual touching, sadism, dead dove: do not eat, non-consensual masturbation, stalking

!!: the tags correspond to the second part, but I'm leaving them here just in case

I'm going to die tomorrow, and if you find this, it's probably too late. It's embarrassing that I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I hope you can have some empathy for my fate; and maybe somewhere where I can be happy, that will help me have some compassion for my next life.

.

.

.

.

The tiny letter you had left as a pitiful legacy had been left behind; on one of those stone benches in the enclosed park, where the tramps used to go to sleep. You thought that many of them would pay no attention to it, and lost sighs during each word would be of no use, but you did it anyway: you leaned the paper in a corner, pressed by a stone so that the wind would not blow it away. Your letter was going to be read; at least the first few words. That was enough.

Your death was going to be disastrous, that was certain. You had chosen one of the highest bridges, the one over one of the busiest avenues. When it was three or four o'clock in the morning you were going to jump off it; your body would crash to the asphalt, interrupting traffic, and your brains would paint the pedestrian crossing where a group of police and assigned professionals would soon come to inspect your remains. Quite dramatic, to be sure, but memorable.

You were still a bit sad to die like that; with so many people watching. That was what you wanted most of all: to die. It was as simple as that. But who could assure you that no one would record you? Who would forget you at the end of the year? People really die when they are forgotten, because what is man but the result of a social construction; and if at least one human being could have a fragment of you in their memory, engraved like your flesh against the rough ground at the dry impact of the fall, something so simple and brutal, how could you really disappear? You were to be the icon of an ephemeral internet star; some pitiful soul representative of the underdogs, those unable to do what you would do in a couple of hours.

You didn't want your soul locked up in limbo, in the same world where you could no longer find your spouse. You wanted to go with them.

You felt it deep inside you; in that corner so easily mistaken for the heart. You knew that they had died long ago, after they had returned and disappeared again to play those infamous games they talked so much about. Big money, they said; that there was a big prize for whoever could make it to the finish line. Many people in one place, like rats, and prey to some strangers with morbid ideas.

True or not, your spouse had no longer returned home. Dead or missing with the supposed prize. It didn't matter to you; you had spent every last penny to pay off your debts. Debts that were not really yours, but no one else's either. It was just you, the bridge... and the stranger in the suit underneath. 

Someone in the middle of the street.

A car or two honked their horns from time to time as they passed by the man. He kept looking up at you. You couldn't quite make out his features, but you'd bet it could be grief judging by his free hand raised in the air; between his fingers a piece of paper that suddenly reminded you of your letter. You felt ashamed again.

‘’It's not safe to stand on the edge of such a high bridge!‘’ he shouted. You could hear a smile in his voice.

You didn't answer, but as soon as you saw him head for the stairs leading to the bridge, you jumped down to make a dash for the other end. Your plan now was to escape. If the man caught up with you, you were going to have to explain yourself or, worse, face the police or paramedics, as you had sometimes seen with other cases of interrupted suicides. You didn't want to face up to something so overwhelming. Death shouldn't be overwhelming!

Halfway down the stairs you stumbled, and had to grab the handrail with both hands. Your body slammed sideways into the rest of the steps, and your thighs burned with the friction of the icy metal. Wearing shorts had not been a good choice. When you got to your feet as soon as you heard another call, you went back down step by step until you hit the street, and didn't look back before catching your breath and running as fast as you could; your heart in your throat, and your name in the wind, spoken by a stranger's voice with a laugh akin to that of a friend.

The stranger in the suit who seemed to know you, and whom you had never seen before in your life.

Night was already coming to the city. You had to keep your eyes open and gather your courage to cross the emptier streets; you avoided bars, restaurants or crowded areas. Your goal was to escape the pair of hurried footsteps behind you. He seemed to be about to catch up with you.

Said and done, a hand with strong fingers grabbed one of your arms, and made you stumble to the side. Your back hit one of the walls of a closed alley. When you opened your eyes, the pain clouding your vision, it took you some time to notice the imposing figure of the stranger in front of you. He was panting as much as you, but he smiled consistently while arching his eyebrows.

The sound of his briefcase hitting the floor startled you. Seconds later, your letter appeared in his free hand again.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” he asked in a choked murmur. A few strands of hair fell into his face, accentuating his darkened eyes. His sallow skin glistened under a sheen of sweat. “The letter—it’s yours.”

“How do you know my name?” The only sensible thing you could think of to say was that. Tiredness and nerves interrupted something in your head.

His hand released your arm, caressing your bare skin to soothe the pain. It was an instant. Your letter ended up in your hands; the stranger fixed his hair, jacket and shirt, and then took his distance. You were about to repeat your question, when the name of your spouse came out of his mouth.

Name, age, address and debt. You immediately jumped at the last part.

"I've already paid off that debt!”

"I know," he nodded, "That's not why I've addressed you.”

"And why did you chase me all the way out here then?”

"It has been deemed necessary for you to know of the passing of your spouse. They have left nothing behind; but perhaps this news is more than enough for you to be able to live in peace.”

His eyes fell on the letter in your hands. You shook your head, stretching your arms out to him. The paper trembled over your fingers as a breeze brushed against it.

"I have done everything I had pending so far," you replied. "What remains for me is the solitude of the early dawn, and with it, my impending death.”

“Solitude?” he arched his eyebrows again, dwarfing the smile. “You seek solitude on the busiest avenue to end your life?”

“It's not something you should be interested in.”

“It seems to me that you're afraid of dying alone,” he snorted. “In fact, I think you were waiting for someone like me to show up to save your life. If this is distressing, it's because of your lack of ability to make a good decision.”

You choked on your saliva. “Excuse me? What was that all about?”

Your name, your age and your address hung in the air after leaving between his lips. Lips that you didn't stop seeing until his voice faded into the night.

“How do you know so much about me?" you whispered. "What have you done to my partner?”

“What you would have done to yourself had you not been responsible enough for your own problems,” he replied. “Congratulations on paying off your debt.”

.

.

.

.

A weirdo, that's what you thought of the stranger when you saw him leave. He was heading to the bridge again; possibly to recruit more people desperate for some money. Something like that was what you imagined all the time when you thought of your spouse. Had they suffered a lot in the process? Where had they been taken? Were they coming for you, or did the stranger really show up to announce your loss?

For a week you continued to ponder the idea of suicide, while living with paranoid scenarios at every suspicious sound or face. Sometimes you would turn around as you walked, looking for the same eyes in the crowd, and you would even look for a job to cover the cost of rent a little far from where you lived. Until you could sell that house you were going to keep hiding from a ghost.

You went back to the torturous routine; you fed when memories did not punish your mind, and slept when your heart no longer ached. No way did you ever cross the bridge again, let alone the adjacent avenues. You struggled to regain your composure until nothing helped: The Recruiter had returned at the three-month mark.

You found him on a platform, casually sitting in complete solitude. At least until you ran down the stairs. The train had already left, the stranger's eyes were on you, and there was nothing you could do when you had your body on the same surface. You didn't even look him in the face; you feigned ignorance, barely trembling when you heard him sigh very close to you.

“I haven't seen you again in a long time,” he said. “Was the suicide plan finally scrapped?”

You snorted to keep from letting out a dry, unfunny laugh. “I didn't want to run into you, and right now I realize I did the right thing.”

“Until now.”

When you turned to see him, he had his eyes on you again. It was an intense, opaque gaze, with a feeling akin to desire; something that made your skin crawl, and made you swallow dry. His smile didn't even feel polite anymore.

“You're really not going to take me?” you asked. “You're not going to do to me what you do to all those people?”

“What do you think I do to people?”

“They told me,” you continued in a broken voice. He arched his eyebrows, intrigued. “They told me about a ridiculous game with red and blue papers, and about the money and the slapping, too. Then they went home, and some time later disappeared again.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “it's not my fault. I never forced them into anything.”

“You killed them.”

“Oh, please,” he laughed. “I am a simple messenger. I bring the good news, and they decide. Nothing that happens next is up to me.”

“I don't believe you.” You let out a sigh, clasping your hands together over your lap. You kept your gaze on them. “What are you doing here, at the train station? What business is waiting for you?”

“Are you suddenly interested in me? How wonderful; I feel my cheeks burning.”

“You're ridiculous.”

The Recruiter's laughter broke the silence like an invasive melody. That made you nervous.

“Don't get any weird ideas about me!” you added.

“I've gotten a lot of ideas about you, but none really terrible,” he replies. “You're different from them; you're better. A lovely version.”

When you raised your head to look into his eyes, you found a slight smile on his face and a much warmer glow in his gaze. The Recruiter had leaned back, resting his back against the wall. Both legs slightly apart, and his hands on his thighs; his suitcase rested on the floor, brushing against one of his shoes.

The closeness of his right leg to your left leg did not make you uncomfortable at all, which might have generated some sort of embarrassment if not for the realization of his recent confession.

“You talk about me as if you know me,” you said. “Should I take that as a warning that I've been being investigated by a man in a suit?”

“You think that's sexy?” His smile widened as if fueled by the grace of a demon. That glint in his gaze returned to the same as before: dark and hungry.

"I think you are sick, and if you don't stop now, then I will go to the police.”

“Good luck with that,” he snorted. In one neat motion he rose from his place, and bent to pick up his suitcase before giving you one last look. “May the night be brief for you; I hope so with all my heart. I know you have not been sleeping well.”

“Because of you,” you growled.

The Recruiter let out another laugh, this time more charming. The echo continued even as he retreated on his way to the stairs, completely ignoring the arrival of the last train.

The idea that he had been resorting to the bridge to witness the resolution of your own grief made your hair stand on end. You didn't want to accept that someone so crazy was after you; but this man had clearly been tracking you, and you didn't know how much longer this situation would last without something terrible happening to you. How many women survived their stalkers? You were not going to be the exemption from a tragedy.

[legendofmorons]

So, for the fic bingo, could you maybe do Four of Legend? They're my favorites :)

I enjoy your works a lot, and I hope you have an amazing day!

Cookie for you 🍪

Four? Dragon au!!

Part of a hoard (who's counting?)

While trapped in a blizzard you end up finding out your boyfriend is a dragon shifter....

Four hurt/comfort because he's quickly becoming a favorite, and you can blame Fyre.

(I LOVE Dragon AUs feel free to ask me about how anything works or request dragon au stuff)

Cw: blizzard, getting a little hypothermia, non-graphic nudity

NOT Proof read (will proof tomorrow)

-------

You never like getting split up from the group, but this takes the cake. Alone and lost thanks to a portal and a bombarrow incident, here you are in the middle of a blizzard.

Thoroughly unprepared and only half remembering tips from before you find yourself a cave and drag all the fallen branches and small trees that you pass into said cave.

You are under dressed, shivering again at the dropping temperature.

You would really like to have Four here. He's always so warm.

Actually anyone would do, sharing body heat and all....

You still want Four. He's warm and safe...

You find the cave ground to be fairly dry in the back, so you just start trying to make a fire. It takes too long, long enough that your hands are stiff and starting to lose blood flow. But you get a small fire started.

It's a spark of hope.

You place the wood near it, hoping it will dry this way.

You peel off your clothes because they are absolutely soaked and stealing your body heat. This sucks a lot.

You curl up, crossing your ankles and putting your hands in your arm pits to try to conserve your own body heat.

If this is how you go, you want a refund.

Time blurs, losing meaning but you are able to add more wood to the fire and lay your clothes out by it.

The fire is not enough to make the cave toasty, but it is enough to get the cave above freezing and dry out your clothes a little.

Hours pass and eventually you tug your clothes back on, damp and guaranteed to get soaked again but you need to get more wood now while the fire is going so you don't have to start a new one.

You go out and drag in all the wood you can find, amassing quite the stock pile before you peel your clothes back off and tend the fire some more.

Hours pass again, and you think you're starting to feel like you are on fire.

That's not great...

Feeling hot in the middle of dropping temperatures sounds like one of the symptoms of... Hypo- something.

The fire continues to burn, and it gets larger slowly but it grows. You get the temperatures high enough within the cave that you aren't fighting logic to keep the fire going.

Your mind is slowing, thinking like mollases in a... blizzard.

Your clothes don't freeze to the floor this time as they dry slowly.

You stay by the fire even as you start to sweat. You know you aren't free of the cold. You can still see the blizzard outside.

It's slow work but you survive the night and part if the day. You get the fire warm enough that your clothes dry out completely.

You put them back on, and you are still under dressed... but you'll live.

Your hands work well enough to finally get into your bag and pull out your bedroll to lay out and dry.

Ypu lay out all of your things to dry by the fire, adding even more wood.

It is nothing short of a miracle you lasted this long but you can feel your chanves of survival climbing upwards steadily.

-------

"If you growl at us one more time for trying to keep you alive I'm knocking you out," Legend grits out.

Four narrows his gaze at the veteran. "They are alone and there is a blizzard. They could be dead-"

"It been thirty six hours," Time adds unhelpful.

A low snarl bubbles out if Four, the need to find you burns him. The idea of you alone out there is unacceptable.

You're a human without emergency survival training!

You're his lover!

You're all but part of his hoard, the person he wants as his bonded -...

"If you want to have a shot at finding them, you have to wait until we can see!" Time says sharply, gaze narrowing.

"My partner is out there in little more than light fall clothes and is in a blizzard, you can't tell me this isn't an emergency." Four grits out.

"Or course it is!" Wild snaps, "But you can't see to find them!"

"I want to go look so they're alive when I find them!"

"We're all worried too!" Warriors snaps, "We know the odds!"

"Oh really?" Four snarls-

"I smell smoke," Twilight says, lifting his nose to the sky.

"What?" Wild gapes.

"Smoke from a fire." Twilight says.

Four sniffs the air, unable to smell the same thing but he believes the other.

"To the east." Twili announces.

"I'm going." Four says.

"Four..." Time sighs.

Four dosen’t wait for anything else, shifting to his full dragon form and rushing east.

He can't say what he expects, there is no claim he has on you that allows him to trace it...

But he has to find you!

Four flies until he smells a campfire. He veers towards that smell.

Time dosen’t make sense, seconds are hours and hours are days. He takes longer than he wants to arrive at the source of the smoke.

There's a cave, with smoke billowing out.

Four very nearly growls at the idea that this isn't where you are.

He dosen’t have the wits about him to shift back to the only form you know him in. He hasn't ever let you know he's a dragon shifter. He just stalks forward, sticking his head into the cave.

"Holy shit!" You shriek, scrambling out of your bedroll and grabbing your sword.

Four rumbles something, almost a purr.

You're alive.

You're well enough to grip a sword.

You're - leveling a sword at him?

"What are you doing here?" You demand.

Four huffs at that, unsure why you're upset at him. Smoke billows from his snout -

Oh.

Oh shit.

Four can't stand the idea of letting you leave his vision long enough for him to shift out of view. Besides he's been wanting to tell you!

He bites the arrow and shifts back to his hylian form. Bones rearrange and now that he's not panicking for you it hurts a little.

You gasp, jerking back half a step.

Four blinks as his vision clears.

"You're okay," he breathes out revrently.

You just stare at him for a moment. Blinking before your shoulders loosen.

Four flinches a little under your gaze.

The sword clatters from your hand before you launch forwards to pull him into your arms.

"You found me," You choke out.

The disbelief in your voice makes Four want to scream and bite and break. How could you ever think he wouldn't?

Four pulls you as close as he can, arms looping around your torso. "I was so worried."

There's half delirious laughter as you Shiver near constantly against him. "I'm so glad you're okay, Link."

"Me? I - you were stranded alone in a blizzard!" He grits our incredulously as he looks up at you.

You seem to have less blood circulation, but you are warm enough to be awake. You're alert enough.

"I have a fire," You eave off.

"Thank the stars for that," Four sighs.

"You're a pretty dragon," You muse easily, still shivering. "Warm too."

"I - are you okay?" Four frowns as he tries to make sense of your reaction. "You aren't mad?"

"Surprised... probably gonna process more when I'm not so dizzy and weird... but no, not mad," ypu assure as you press a kiss to his forehead.

"You're dizzy?" He blinks.

"Mh... maybe a little frost bite or something. Dunno."

"Let me take you back to the others?"

"No... it's still a blizzard. Just wanna stay here with my fire and you. You're warm." You give a little half smile. "Stay?"

"I'm not leaving you," Four says firmly.

You grin, "okay."

Four lets you lead him to the bedroll by the fire you've been spending most of your time in. He lets you pull him down to curl up by the fire.

He lets you pull him into your lap, arms around him.

He lets you set your head on his shoulder.

"You're brilliant," Four tells you.

You smile up at him, "I missed you."

"Oh, sweetheart, I missed you too."

"Can you half shift?" You ask.

Four nearly headbutts you when he jerks in surprise. "What?"

"Half shift? Oh... uhm... some people that are shifters have a form between hylian and animal?"

"No, I know what that is. I just didn't expect you to want to know?"

"I was just curious. Your scales are pretty."

He flushes at the tips of his ears. "Oh... Thank you. Did... Did you want me to half shift?"

"You don't have to."

"That's not what I asked," he says fondly, eyes a mix of moss and violets.

You smile a little, "I want to see but you don't have to."

"Let me up," Four says.

You let your arms fall away from him, and he mourns the loss of contact immediately.

Four stands up and steps away before he does transform.

He is taller in his half form, by about a foot or so. He has green scales that are iridescent and shine hues of blue, red, and purple in the dancing light.

His horns curve back a little...

"Oh my god," You breathe out. "Four - Link you're... Wow!"

"Wow?" He laughs a little.

You nod quickly. "Wow. You're so pretty."

Four flushes a little, "You think so?"

"Yes!" You grin as you push to your feet. "Can I hug you?"

Four steps closer and holds his arms out in invitation. He nearly laughs at the idea you think you have to ask.

If he has it his way, you'll be his bonded. If he has it his way, you'll let him spoil you forever as part of his hoard.

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul x reader

AN: there’s not enough words to describe my gratefulness for you guys supporting and showing love to all thirteen parts!!! xoxo 💜 <<prev >>next

Fingers were majestically buttoning up the shirt that hung on your body. Eyes looked at your somewhat nervous like state. Paul then rubs his hands down your shoulder and arms, soothing you.

He tilts his head as he gives you a reassuring look, he didn’t have to say words. You were grateful for this. He leans to give a slow lingering peck on your cheek as they grew hot.

Arriving at the event, you were really glad he came. It was a bit boring in your opinion. Tense shoulders were now relaxed. A nice amount of people were there but it wasn't crowded like you thought it would be. You and Paul were glued together by the hand, staring at each stranger's piece. Comments were made among you two as you both pick ideas off each other's brains. Very stimulating. Paul insisted he hold the watercolored piece you made, to keep it safe.

Walking to find another display of art, you whisper to him, "You have good skill. What if you became serious?"

He doesn't say anything but you both keep walking. You look at him, wondering if maybe he didn't hear you. But he opens his mouth to speak after some time, "I only want to draw you."

Words couldn't be found until he broke the silence once more, but with a chuckle. You look and he jerks an eyebrow up with a smirk. He gestures towards a nail on the white wall, with a nail sticking out. It almost seemed odd and out of place.

Paul moves forward and adjusts it on, you watch the canvas hang against the wall in front of you. He moves back and wraps an arm around you and pulls you to him with excitement, "See? Looks good, huh?"

You chuckle as you couldn't do anything but agree.

You and Paul drove all this way so you figured to make the most of it. Paul started speaking, which made you a bit of a chatter box. Paul had them laughing while they asked again to see more of what you make. You trying to reciprocate the same curiosity for their work was almost pointless, they were more interested in diving into your methods of work. Heads crowded your personal space as you swiped through your past work.

"I'm thirsty, do you want anything?" you ask Paul and he shakes his head no as he takes a closer look at a clay sculpted face with interest.

You reach for a can of soda and someone stands next to you.

"Excuse me, just grabbing a water. I'll be out of your way." you hear a frail like voice.

You move out of the way as you crack the soda can open and you watch the slight wrinkled hand grab the water bottle that was craved by him. He grabs a napkin as well and he looks at you.

You look at him back, wondering if there was a problem. You didn't know what to expect as he grinned a bit and said, "I knew this was going to happen." He said it in a knowing way but had a quirky sense of attitude about him. You could easily tell he liked to speak what was on his mind.

"What's that?" you ask him as you watch him while you take a sip. The insides of your cheeks fizz with acid as he shakes his head a bit and chuckles lowly.

He points a finger up, to portray the point that he's readying to make, "If you’re gonna do a cash grab, at least make it a good one." He chuckles again as you put the soda can from one hand to the next.

"And here I was afraid to bring mine." you say in a dry humorous tone.

He furrows his eyebrow as he takes another semi long look at you. "Well, what'd you bring?"

"You might call mine a cash grab." you tease and this makes him bring two hands up and shake them in denial, "Oh, no. I won't make assumptions. If I can't feel it, believe me I will know."

You guide him over to where it was still hanging up. Nothing else was by it. He crossed his arms as his mouth cracked open a bit as he studied the color filled space. He took small steps, as he raised his eyebrows, moving his lips but not saying anything.

Watching him made you turn your eyes, glancing at the area around you. It felt like you were intruding on something.

You felt a nudge on your shoulder which makes you look up and see as the older man looked at you with a sense of mindfulness or profoundness, you weren't too sure.

"Wow kid. How old are you?" he asked you.

You open your mouth to answer but you feel your body be mushed against something warm and hard.

"Old enough." A voice answers roughly. You look and were genuinely surprised to see Paul at your side as if he was there the entire time. He made sure to keep your shoulder under his hand as he held you close next to him.

The elderly man just pays it no mind, before taking one last look at your piece before nodding his head. As is he was agreeing to the conversation that the art piece was having with him. His arms fold behind him and he takes a look at you before giving you a tight smile before turning to walk away.

You watched him stroll as he takes a small sip from his water and look at other pieces. Your shoulder slump, something felt stolen. Not knowing what, you slightly shake the soda can in thought.

You move away, leaving Paul in his spot. Wandering around for a bit, the cheap free wine moves past your lips. You didn’t know how you sweet talked your way into serving it to you, but at the moment you were grateful. Swallowing it, you just decide to get lost in what's around you. You had a fresh cup of the free beverage as you stared at a painting that made you think about the cash grab comment. You snort as you bring the cup to your lips as you see exactly what the man was talking about earlier.

"Well, this is pretty… shit." you hear Paul's voice behind you, turning to see his face sporting a lax grin. You step to the side as you look at him for a moment. He takes his eyes away from what was in front of him art wise and focuses them you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks near you ear. You move back as you tell him nothing’s wrong.

"Are you ready to leave?” he asks you. You shake your head.

“You look bored.” he comments.

“I am now.” you under your breath and take the cup to your lips. His eyes narrow at you. Sighing, you turn to walk away to get yourself lost again.

There wasn’t much left to see. You did get compliments on your skirt. You felt it was too plain so you painted a bit of designs on it, the genuinely nice gestures made your day.

Throwing your plastic cup away, the man from earlier stops his conversation with a middle aged woman and makes his way over to you.

“Before I go, I should give you my number.”

Your eyebrows furrow as he was old fashioned by grabbing a napkin and asking the middle aged woman for a pen. Scribbling it down, he hands you the wrinkled, inky napkin and looks into your eyes, “Tell them you want to speak to John.” You nod and watch him walk away, heading towards the exit.

Staring down at the sloppy writing, all you could do was hope. Hope that this meant something important. Your thoughts couldn’t be thought about for long until the middle aged woman makes her way over to you with a polite smile.

“Hi, Y/N?” she asks softly as she makes small steps towards you.

You stick out your hand and nod. She gladly takes it and introduces herself. She’s the owner of the gallery telling you how your watercolor painting has been purchased.

“Really?” you asked in shock.

“Yes. We usually take 50%, but we didn’t do the work of the selling.” she tells you with a smile and hands you a check.

Staring at the numbers, your eyes almost bulge out. “Congratulations. You’re really talented. Please don’t be a stranger to us.” she tells you and sends a farewell smile.

You immediately find Paul. Outside, he’s leaning against the wall looking to the sky with his hands in his pockets. Deep in thought. Excitedly telling him everything all at once as soon as you get ear distance, he tells you to slow down, wanting you to be clear.

“Can you believe it?” you ask him after giving him blow by blow what happened.

“I‘m not surprised. Told you it was a good idea to bring it.”

He pulls you to him as you clutch him back.

“I can take you out to dinner.” he offers.

“You don’t have to- ” you start but he cuts off what you were trying to say, “I want to.”

Hot steam blows around both faces as you both grab your forks. Digging in, Paul takes a big bites of his food as you stare at him.

“Want to try some?” he asks as he catches your stare. You shake your head. Playing with your straw, you tell him, “I’m not telling you what to do, but you have to control your emotions.”

He doesn’t say anything until his food travels down his throat.

“Where is this coming from?” he asks you, off guard as searches your face.

Pausing from your food, you look at him with a hint of understanding and patience.

“What happened today almost didn’t happen if you wasn’t all like “old enough.” you say, dramatizing a bit, making him playful roll his eyes.

“I do not sound like that. What do you mean?” he asks again, feeling teased and in a carefree tone, but taking a pause from his own food.

You take him with you back to the journey of his cold demeanor when the guy who bought your painting asked how old you were.

“All I’m saying is, it would’ve looked suspect had it been the other way around.”

“Come on, Paul. You don’t trust me.” you tell him shaking your head.

“I didn’t trust him. There’s a difference…” he says then he looks at you, “I am now.” he says, making a horrible impression of your voice.

“Stop.” you say, trying to be firm but you’re laughing and he laughs as well.

“What am I going to do with you?” you say as you dig your fork back into your food.

“Love me.” he says swiping your cheek with his thumb but you playfully roll your eyes at the blush that he caused as he chuckles.

“Okay,” you start, finishing your chew, “I should act like that anytime a woman look at you.”

“Good. Maybe they will back off. I need help getting the message across to them that it will never happen. They never seem to get it.”

“Oh really?” you ask him in a sarcastic tone.

He makes a face that let you know, really. The laugh you two shared seeped with synchrony.

Taking a sip of your drink to cool your flushed face down, you hear a familiar voice.

“Omg, Y/N?” they say. It was in a surprised but welcoming tone.

Looking up, you see Bella Swan standing near you, offering a hug. Not wanting to stand up, you open your arm as she bends down and gives you a quick, shy hug.

Watching the blush on her face as she steps back. She looks over and you follow her eyes and see a tall, pale and beautiful man. He kept his eyes on her.

“I’ll um..text you. Edward just got back and…” she looks over at Paul then back at you and flashed you a friendly grin and throws a quick jab towards her boyfriend, “We’re having dinner too.” she say

You nod, nervously smile, “Okay. See ya.” you tell her as she waves goodbye.

Not wanting to turn your head, a clink of the fork on a in front of you makes you turn it anyways. A dissociative look is on Paul’s face as he rises up.

Setting your napkin down, you follow him out. You touch his arm but to your surprise, he takes yours instead.

The direction of the car wasn’t even thought of as he took you with his steps. “Paul where are we going?” you speak out, trying to keep your voice to a minimum.

He didn’t have to say anything as he drops it in a dead end alleyway with a fence, behind it being the gateway to the woods.

One swipe with his arm and the shirt you thought looked good on him, was scrunched up in his tight fists. You watched as turns his sculpted body into a perfect throwing position as the shirt shot in the sky as if the goal was a home run.

His muscular back is towards you as you hear his pants, trying his best to calm down. His heavy breathing doesn’t slow down. He wanted to talk to you, but his wolf was just on the tip of the edge of spilling out.

You made sure to stay at great distance, you look down, hating to see the sight before you. Your blinking started to turn blurry as you started to feel his emotions. Each second felt like a wave of intenseness of everything that he felt.

He finally looks at you, amplifying the message, “Fucking Bella Swan?” he grits out, trembling and pacing.

You shake your head as you drop your eyes, your stomach dropped.

“A fucking danger magnet who’s dating a fucking leech.”

You breath in and breath out quickly, now talking with your hands to flow the right words together, “I know. She never told me her last name, I swear.” you tell him, wanting to keep your word of being honest and truthful to him.

“Fuck that, Y/N! Stay away from..her.” he spits out, contorting his beautiful face into the most monstrosity of evil. He bends over, you felt him clearly in pain.

“Just let go. Just phase.” you coach on, wanting him to hurry up before anybody just miraculously happens to walk past.

The second you said the words, the blurred colors of his silver wolf. The beast taking over the man, standing to its true height. Four legs began to move, circling slowly, growling at nothing particular with wild eyes staring at nothing on the ground.

Finally looking at you, you stared at it back. It turned its full attention on you. You weren’t scared of the big animal. Walking slowly towards you, your feet was stuck to the ground. Staring ahead, neither eyes left each other’s sight.

The wet snout poked you in the belly, which jolted an electric round of shock through your body as you then watch the wolf sniff all around you, rubbing his fur against your clothes and skin. Circling around you, almost like a snake, you almost lose your balance from the weight being brushed against you. Licking your hand, you breathe out a chuckle as the ticklish feeling take over.

The wolf then turns hastily goes over the fence, being welcomed by the tree filled woods. It was fast. Something deep in you told you he was going to be okay. You turn and walk back into civilization filled streets, going in the direction of Paul’s car.

It was like it was in slow motion. Bella didn’t see you, but she was in the inside of his arm. You caught a glimpse of his amber colored eyes. You both didn’t halt your steps. Not wanting to back down his hard gaze, a display of unbothered optimism was on your face you thought of nothing but returning a gaze to him right back.

He finally backs down, shifting his eyes back in front of him as he lifts a crooked lip up and allows words to fall from his lips to Bella as he opened the car door for her.

Unlocking Paul’s car, you drive the car out onto the road to go back home. It felt quiet walking into the house. Your shoulder slump in the shower as the water beats down on you. Soap didn’t even touch your body yet as the trickles of water fall down your skin.

Your eyes pop open when you hear the closing of the bathroom door. Heart beating, the shower door opens and Paul steps in. Happy to see him, he embraced you before you could fully process his presence. Moving in, he immediately wraps his arms around you, his chest to your back. His face stays on the crook of your neck as you both listened to the rhythmic patter of the shower water.

The water ran cold but his body warmth that was still wrapped around you, barely made you feel any type of chill.

Carrying you out, he placed you in the middle of the soft bed. Climbing over you, he took you on a passionate journey with his mouth, pulling back to feel your tongue with his before reattaching his lips to yours.

He pulls away when you pant heavily, your bare chest heaving. He slides you to him and you interlace your legs with his. His arms cover and wrap around you. You take one arm go rest on him, placing a hand on his cheek. He looks down at you, pulling you a bit up him to gift you another wet kiss.

“Are you okay?” you whisper against his lips.

“We’re okay.” he says before solidifying it with a kiss. He lays back, you watch him as he flutters his eyes closed. You watch him for some time as his breath shifts, to steady slow breaths. Caressing his cheek with your thumb, you lay your head on his chest.

[fraugwinska]

You know what I'd like to read? Goofy ass Alastor. Him and reader just bonding through being partners in crime. The crime in question? Silly pranks on other hotel guests. They can be painfully cringe and only funny to them. Because you know. Boredom. Make them friends, make them sweethearts, make it somehow end in smut ( ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )- idc. You do you, Gwinska!

I just want some strawberry pimp shenanigans!

My inspiration for that exquisite prompt?

This: https://www.instagram.com/p/C5SIGvCg91j/?igsh=cmF5cjc5Znlpdnhu

Hello there, patient frauchen! Boy, you had me sweating here! But alas, I did it and I think it's safe to say - I got all your wishes covered ;> This one's for my adult sinners only! Sorry Minors, please DNI!

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Joke's On You

Everyone at the Hazbin Hotel knew that Alastor loved silly, dumb pranks.

The radio demon would set Charlie in a panic, rushing in her office to tell her that there was water running down the freshly renovated staircase - only for her and a similar panicking Vaggie to find bottles of water in shoes placed on the steps, groaning at the delighted chuckle from the shadows at the top of them. Morning coffees and stomachs were ruined by Alastor one day, switching the contents of the salt and the sugar jars and in having half of the residents hurl into the sink at once. You were one of those unfortunate souls, the only one laughing maniacally at the whole ordeal as you spat out salty saliva.

Because what they didn't know was that you were just as bad. Maybe even worse.

A few weeks had gone by since you checked in, and you watched Alastor with impish glee as he planned out and executed his tricks on the crew, including you. In contrast to the exhausted, annoyed reactions from the other residents, you always laughed, chuckled or giggled at the outcome - leaving him always in between confused and delighted.

Until one day. Emboldened and settled in enough, you decided the day has come for you to join in on the fun. Prepared with a dry noodle in your mouth, you asked Vaggie after breakfast to help you crack your back, watching Alastor from the corner of your eye, who sat at the table still reading his newspaper. As he looked up after turning a page and Vaggie obliged, hooking her arms into yours and bending forward, you bit down. The sound of the cracking noodle and your fake scream made Vaggie and the rest of the residents jump in shock and Alastor nearly double over, howling with laughter. You couldn't hold it together, showing her the cracked noodle and cackled madly while Vaggie, comforted by a nervous but relieved looking Charlie, just shook her head exasperated and groaned. "Great, another one who thinks this shit is funny." You apologized, still chuckling, as your eyes found Alastor's, and his wide smile and mischievous glint in his eyes told you that this was the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

It wasn't long until the both of you became fast friends, partners in crime.

After the whole noodle debacle, the two of you spent more and more time together, coming up with stupid ideas on what to do to the poor crew. Your first idea was a rather simple one: Replace the Alcohol in Husks bar with various other liquids. You and Alastor had a grand time switching vodka with water, red wine with beet juice and whiskey with apple cider vinegar. Alastor had his fun observing the results, especially Husks reaction. It wasn't pretty, to say the least. The cat had a breakdown when he smelled the vinegar in his usual drink, shouting curses at the deer who joined in your hysterical giggling. You patted the coughing cat on his back and handed him a new bottle of cheap booze as compensation.

Niffty was next, her sweet tooth was just too exploitable. While you prepared the very special 'surprise' cake, a balloon, hidden under a mass of frosting, high and pretty and covered in sprinkles, Alastor coaxed her into cutting a piece. "Come on now, Niffty, a small bite wouldn't hurt! You have to try the cake, my dear. We worked so hard on it, I assure you that you will like it!". She was hesitant at first, but as he promised her another one later, she couldn't resist the temptation and cut herself a piece, not noticing the grin on Al's face. The high shriek at the pop of the balloon was almost as hilarious as her face, covered in cream and colorful specks of reds, yellows and blues. The both of you couldn't stop laughing for minutes, and after Niffty calmed down enough, she took the joke in good fun and happily munched on the cupcake you had given her while Alastor and you cleaned her up, exchanging bemused looks.

After finding an exact copy of the remote control of the hotels' TV set on one of your outings, Alastor had the most wonderful idea to mess with the newest guest, Sir Pentious, who had claimed the TV in the lobby every evening to watch his favorite soap opera together with his egg companions. You both hid, the spare remote ready, waiting patiently until the snake had his show on and made himself comfortable on the sofa. You began to change the channels, and every time the Egg Bois hopped over to the TV to manually return to their show, you let them, waiting until everyone was once again settled before you switched the channel again. The villainous overlord hissed in rising anger, the sound of him slamming the original remote on the floor and yelling about the 'incompetence of these damn VoxTech devices' almost as satisfying as his face when Alastor took the remote from your hand, winking, and changed it right back, snickering as he did.

You continued to play your little tricks on everyone, although you made sure you always made it up to the recipients of your shenanigans. You felt a weird sense of pride and satisfaction seeing that Alastor didn't seem to mind having a partner in crime for a change. You didn't know much about him before, but the others told you that Alastor wasn't exactly known for making friends and having close relationships, and it warmed your heart knowing that he opened up a little bit and enjoyed the time he spent with you.

You also enjoyed the time you spent with him, not only because of the mischief you two brought upon the crew, but also just because you enjoyed his presence and company. He was witty, clever and had a wonderful, contagious laugh. And his smile. When he smiled at you, you would feel warm and giddy and you felt like you were the luckiest person in hell to be able to witness the joyful look on his face, to see his ears wiggle the peculiar way they did when your pranks played out exactly as he planned them to.

***

You turned the page of your book, still giggling. Alastor smiled, his legs suavely crossed as he leaned back in the comfy chair across from you, his own book forgotten and abandoned on his lap.

"I still can't believe you made me prank the literal king of hell.", you said, a hand covering your mouth in a useless attempt to stifle your laugh.

Alastor grinned. "And I can't believe you managed to hold yourself together, darling - yet, you did, splendidly might I add. His highness didn't suspect a thing."

Indeed, you best prank yet was a great success. After endless convincing you gave in to Alastor's idea of switching Lucifer's favorite treat of the day, his beloved caramel apples, out with onions. He had stood watch as you worked in the kitchen all through the night, meticulously covering every square inch of the white, smelly bulbs with a thick layer of homemade, glossy caramel so to not leave even an inkling of the mischief underneath. You didn't want to risk being found out, after all. The result was a tray full of gorgeous, golden, sticky caramelized onions that Lucifer didn't hesitate a single second to take a big bite out of when you - admittedly very nervously – offered them to him, his content hum at the taste quickly changing to one of surprise and revulsion as he gagged and coughed out pieces of the deceptive treat.

"He was really sweet about the whole ordeal, too. I wonder if my 'Apology Apple Pie' was the reason he was so quick to forgive us." You closed the book and put it on the table next to you, shifting and pulling the fuzzy blanket higher over your legs. The library was your and Alastors favorite hangout, usually being empty and abandoned, and it was also the place where the two of you would spend hours and hours together, reading, talking, scheming.

"He forgave you, darling. He still hates me down to his bones.", Alastor corrected you with a sly smirk. "But no doubt about the exquisite quality of that pie, dearest! I had a slice myself, it was delicious! A fine work, as expected from my best gal."

You chuckled, cheeks heating up at the praise. "So, what now? I think we got them all good by now, haven't we?"

Alastor's eyes were still on you as he pondered for a moment. "There's still our amorous arachnid to be played a fool, he has been quite elusive to our trickery."

"Angel is a hard nut to crack", you smiled to yourself, "There's not much that can rattle him. We would have to think about something major, something that really shocks him and truly makes him question everything he thinks is true and real in his life."

"Now there's a challenge." Alastor put his chin on his knuckles as he leaned onto the armrest of his seat. He closed his eyes, the little tell tale static from his chest permeating the air around him, indicating he was thinking intently. You couldn't help but smile as you studied his sharp features. A strange warm flutter tickled your stomach. "That lanky sinner has quite the filthy mind. It would have to be quite the filthy endeavor..."

"Ha, wouldn't that be something he would not see coming from Mr. Celibate - his words not mine!", you snorted, remembering all the times ANgel made fun of Alastor's obvious disinterest in anything sexual or 'filthy'.

"Indeed." He opened one of his eyes, looking over to you while he hummed quietly. "I'm thinking, dearest. What would shock and confuse our dear fellow the most, I ask, than the thought of you and I ... dallying? No doubt his world would crumble."

You furrowed your brow. "Dallying?" You thought you didn't hear him right, utterly lost at his growing grin.

***

You were fidgeting with the loose thread of your sweater as you waited in the supply closet for Alastor to return. It was a decent sized space, stacked with spare sheets, cleaning supplies and a lot of various things that were used or needed throughout the hotel. It was the perfect location for your newest prank, away from any prying or judgmental eyes - as long as no one was wandering through the hallway, except of course, for the intended victim: Angel.

"Dearest, we got the first act running along smoothly, and now, it's time for act two!". With a hushed click the door fell shut, and your heart gave a wild thump of excitement. You shifted slightly as you heard him slip next to you in the dim darkness, turning up the act and forcing a smile that was hopefully bright enough to distract him from the redness of your cheeks and the quick beat of your heart.

The last days were filled with what Alastor had called 'prep work'. His plan: Getting Angel to think you and Alastor would do 'the deed', an attempt to shatter his world view and really get under his skin. So, the both of you played it up by the daily, and whenever you were in the vicinity of the spider demon, you had been underhandedly seductive, upped on flirty comments, subtle touches and some of the worst, most suggestive innuendos you had ever made and had to hold a cringing chuckle every time you saw Alastor's comically pained expression when his back was turned to a more and more confused looking Angel.

Today would be the final part of the plan. Hidden in the supply closet, you and Alastor would wait for Angel to pass the room on his way back from the hotel's gym, as he always did on fridays, unaccompanied and ready to hear your and the radio demons carefully conducted script - something so utterly lewd that it would probably even make his boss Valentino blush. The key, in Alastor's words, was to deliver your fake sexual activities just loud enough so that he would walk past and listen and - well, you guessed you were supposed to shock him to the core.

"My shadows told me he's about to exit the gym. So, are you ready, sweetheart?", Alastor spoke with a wicked, glowing grin as you eyed the door, listening for the soft shuffle and clunking footsteps. "Showtime. Now..." His voice was low, almost sultry in its timber and proximity. You could barely react, and even though you felt nervous, you closed your eyes and tried to calm yourself enough to remember what you had to say.

The footsteps were getting louder, and you took a deep breath before shooting Alastor a glance, sly smile in place as you nodded. Go time.

"Alastor...", you sighed, almost cringing at the sound of your voice, too breathy for your own liking, and not at all sexy. This better would work... "Not here, we can't..."

"You just have to be quiet, pet...", Alastor retorted, and your face instantly burned red. It didn't sound like... that when the both of you put it into writing, not at all. Your chest clenched and heat rushed through your body, but you had to focus, had to see this through...

You struggled to hold yourself together, remembering your next line as you heard the steps outside slowing down.

"You're doing great, darling, keep it up...", he whispered, his smile tight and eyes narrow. His voice rose, making Angel on the other side of the door freeze in his steps. "Then I'll better have to keep that pretty mouth occupied."

It took all your willpower to suppress the shiver that wanted to run down your spine, instead you returned his grin with your own weak one. Keep it up echoed in your head, and you decided you were in for a penny, in for a pound: You moaned loud and sinfully while you kept your gaze locked with his before letting out a high-pitched squeak of fake-surprise, biting your lip.

You could hear Angel shuffle and listened as his ear must've neared the thin door. Your heart beat in your throat, excited to have caught both of their interests - Angel's, as well as Alastor's alike. It was as if something in the other demon snapped and he seemed to be, dare you say it, into your little act. There was a glazed over look in the crimson of his eyes, staring at you in an unreadable expression.

"My, my, aren't we eager...", Alastor mumbled, almost more to himself as his claws found their way to your hips.

"I... I'm...", you trailed off. Shit, the script, he was going off the script. What the fuck was next again?

He tilted his head slightly, pulling you closer, so close his nose bumped into yours and his lips were near enough that they nearly grazed your heated cheeks. "Al.. what are you doing?", you whispered frantically, realizing with sudden excitement the hard, long object pressing into you was NOT an ill-placed broomstick. It was like a jolt, electricity running from where his body was flush against yours, flooding your lower body and rendering you into a flustered mess. He scraped one of his claws along your throat, breathing a little to heavy to it being just an act. His hips snapped in a sudden, desperate movement, making you and him both groan at the intensity of his erection rubbing against your heated core.

Wait. His erection?

You panicked - This wasn't how this was supposed to go, but yet your traitorous body felt like it was burning hot, the sound of Alastor's strained sighs music to your ears. You wondered if he could feel the slight wetness from your core against his pants, feeling almost faint but nonetheless unreasonably aroused at the thought. His chuckle vibrated low and dark in his throat, eyes flashing as you panted helplessly against him. Your own legs began to tremble with the tension and the intensity of his movements, which now had you caged between his solid body and the wall behind you.

"I'm going to ruin you, darling...", he uttered, the pet name thick like honey leaving his lips, and you choked a breath as you moaned and felt his smile press against your jaw, traveling to your mouth, "I'm going to pick you apart, my darling dearest, and you will beg for me not to stop, never to stop until I make you forget to say anything but my name."

He was out of it. You were out of it. You forgot about the script, about the whole idea of the prank. You couldn't even care about the mumbled words that the listening Angel must've said from the other side of the door, because you were completely captured, overwhelmed by the turn of events, overwhelmed by the tall, dark demon pressed up against you who was moving his hands hungrily over your body, devouring you whole with his piercing eyes and cock throbbing against your groin, eliciting desperate whimpers with the slow movements of his hips against yours.

In a matter of seconds, Alastor had reached down to free his cock from his clothed restraints. You let out a broken whimper as he shoved up your skirt, running the smooth surface of his claw against your clothed entrance, pushing the wetness that was dripping through the thin barrier away, not a single care in the world about the sticky dampness his fingers were covered in. His mouth left yours to let his tongue lick down your neck and shoulders, teeth catching your pulse and sucking, bruising your tender skin.

“Only I am going to get to feel you, make you keen, scream and moan under my fingers and lips and cock, you hear me?”

You couldn't reply as he pushed into you, hard and in one, relentless strike. Your heart was beating impossibly fast, so fast you thought it was about to break, and the sharp pleasure mixed with pain was mind numbing and made the stars behind your shut eyes explode.

"My perfect. little. frivolous. pet."

Every word was a thrust, deeper and deeper until you couldn't take it anymore and wailed out his name in a wanton cry, so sudden and urgent that even Alastor looked shocked and ecstatic in surprise. The tension rose and exploded, and you clenched and pulsed and shivered around his shaft, feeling every inch inside of you and trying so hard to remember how to breathe. He growled into your shoulder and leaned his forehead against your neck, pulling you onto his length in sharp, hard jerks that send sparks down your body. The warmth of his cock was unreal and incredible as he stretched you again and again, a pleased hum escaping his lips and it going straight to your head.

"A-Alastor... fuck, I'm so... so close..."

His grip tightened, a vicious thrust, hitting you so deep that you threw your head back, chanting his name in desperate mewls. Every fiber of your being was tingling, an indescribable pressure building up from deep inside you, erasing your mind.

He made true to his word.

You truly forgot anything else, the only thing on your mind, his name, spilled from your lips in sync with his accelerating thrusts.

***

"I'm telling yo', they're not fucking."

Angel pulled the cat harder, almost running back to the corridor with the cursed supply closet.

"Husk, I'm a fuckin' porn actor. I know how a good shag sounds like. They're makin' the beast with two backs, and holy shit are they goin' at it."

"The beast with two back's?" Husk rolled his eyes, and groaned in exasperation as Angel jumped excitedly and shuffled the other nearer towards the closet, listening intensely.

"Don't yo' get it? It's their schtick, their sick lil' past-time-pleasure. They were bein' too quiet the last few days. And yo' falling for their dumb joke, hook, line and sinker."

Angel hesitated, eyes shifting between his grumpy looking lover and the closed door, from which he could still hear desperate moans and dull thumps. He had been so sure, but now he was uncertain. No not uncertain. He was sure.

Sure that Husk was right. Alastor and you were screwing with him, majorly so. You were playing some stupid prank on him, like you did with all the others, and now he fell for it, too! The last one standing, the only one you hadn't gotten to.

"Those sleazy, scheming bastards!"

Another loud thump made Angel turn on his heels, suddenly delighted with mischief. The last thing he heard was your voice, crying out Alastor's name in an utterly outrageous moan. He reached out in smug victory, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it with steady hands

“You prankster-bitches can cut the fuckin' act, I didn't fall for...”

A screeching, ear-ripping howl burst from the opened door. Angel shrieked in fear as black tentacles sprouted out of the frame, grabbing him and a terrified Husk, trowing them out of the corridor in a wide, long and forceful swoop. The two demons crashed against the sofas of the foyer, making them fall and tumble over. Husk groaned, fighting his way out of the mass of pillows he was buried under, while Angel was panting on the backrest of one toppled three seater, one of his hands on his heaving, fluffy chest while the other three were buried in the upholstery.

“Huh. I stand corrected.” Husk said, shaking his head at the still furiously squirming tentacles retreating into the darkness of the corridor.

“F-fucking told y-'ya!”, Angel stuttered, frozen in place. “Do me a fava', yeah? Fix me a drink so strong it makes me forget what Al's dick looks like.”

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 8: It's a natural progression

genre: will ever write something not angsty?

word count: 6793

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you and spencer finally give into the tension that's been growing between you, but what happens now?

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

I decided to give you all a pause from Abigail because we're now turning into an Abigail Hater Club HAHAH

This is the third time you’re saying this, but you’ll keep saying it until Spencer hears you. “I am not relocating.”

“Y/N, if she found out where you are, we need you to be somewhere else,” Spencer groans, but you have no mercy on him; not this time. Not after everything. 

His hair is pointing everywhere, surely from the way your stubbornness is making him tug at it like he needs the sting on his scalped to remind him to focus. It’s been almost thirty minutes of you two arguing, and this isn’t exactly the conversation you wanted to have when you first woke up that morning. In fact, you could have lived your entire life without having this conversation and you would probably have been a very, very happy woman. Alas, things never really seem to go your way even when they are going right. And right now, you are far, far away from things going right. 

“I am not going to relocate!” You say again, exasperation getting to you the more he insists. Now, your hands are flying around you and it’s like you two have switched places for a second– while he seems tense and immobile, you are gesticulating like crazy, trying to make a point with your entire body; you are not leaving. “I’m done relocating! I’m done being am active case that doesn’t move on! I’m done being thrown around like a doll! Maybe that’s her end game, Spence– have you thought of that?! That she gets some sort of… of… sadistic satisfaction from seeing me squirm away every single time!” You cry out, brows furrowed in frustration. Nothing is making sense to you, and your anger only grows. Why is he so okay with sending you away like it means nothing to you? Why is he not using that big, beautiful brain of his to find other solutions than just rid of you? “I can’t keep running! I can’t keep stopping my life anymore, Spence, I can’t! I–“ 

An odd sense of coldness comes down on you, like a wave crashing against the walls of your stomach, spreading through your veins, cooling down your stressed out brain. It takes you a little while, but you finally understand. You understand his hesitation, his silence, and you understand it as an answer. “I’ll go home,” You mumble, looking down at your hands. They laid lifeless on your lap, almost like they are now tired from all the talking through them. “Yeah, I– I think that’s the best idea. It’ll be relocating, right? I’ll g back home. You must be tired of me here, anyways, and–“

“Don’t.” 

The ice in his voice startles you enough to have you scoffing. “Excuse me?” 

“Don’t make this about something that it isn’t,” His voice is in that whisper-scream pitch that you’ve heard him using with other people. Never you, though. Spencer never got this aggravated with you before, not even when you kept leaving your tea bags inside your empty mugs until they were dry. This, the way he is talking right now, is beyond annoyance. This is anger. Spence is angry at you and that doesn’t make you feel any better. “I’m trying to keep you safe.” 

“The give up already,” You whisper back, slowly getting up from where you’re sitting. “Because I’m not going anywhere that is not my own apartment across the street.” 

The package is still sitting on his counter, and you hate that you can feel it burning deep in your soul. At first, he didn’t want you looking at it, trying to keep you away, but you don’t like when you Spencer keeps secrets and you just push away his hand that is reaching for you. This sounds a bit insane, now that you think back to it, but when you first see the book cover, so familiar you can quote some of its content, you laugh. It’s a daring move, but an effective one– Kill Me If You Can, by James Patterson and Marshall Karp, is all about the chase. And all about the run. “That fucking bitch,” You whisper to yourself, grabbing the book and opening it to the cover page, where her inscription would obviously be– Dear Y/N, Check-mate. What now? XOXO Cat.

You’ve never hurt a book before, but you have half a mind to rip that one to shreds with your bare hands. 

“No, no, no, you are relocating and that’s the end of it.” 

To Spencer, you are the sweetest of the sweets– sugar pours out of your lips and he had the pleasure to taste it. No way he will risk losing that now, not before he can have a chance to douse himself in them. But every time you cuss, every time you frown, he swears that sugar gets the slightest hint of bitterness, and every time he blushes because of it, every time he lets out a sharp exhale with his eyes fixated on you, he can’t help but wonder how well that bitterness would mix in with your sugar. 

Right now, though, you are about to get downright rotten. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Spencer Reid?” His full name sounds wrong when you feel this pissed off. “You’re not my dad!” 

“No, I’m not your dad, I’m your boyfriend, and I’m trying to keep you safe!” This time he screams; he truly, really screams, neck veins popping out and face reddening with the strength of his words. Spencer revels yet another side of himself to you. “I’ve lost enough, okay?! I’ve lost enough… First Maeve, then Gideon, and, a-and, and now you– I can’t lose you! You can’t die, you can’t die on me, and it’s like you keep trying to! You refuse to cooperate, you-you are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and you’ll drive me insane! So please, don’t… don’t let me lose you…” 

The way his voice dies out should’ve been enough to get you to quiet down, but tensions are high and now you feel like you’ve just been hit with a brick to the face.

“You’re my what?!” 

This is news to you, though it doesn’t seem to be news to him. You’ve been dreaming of hearing that word slipping from his mouth, you won’t lie, but not like this. Not in a fight, and your first fight at that. 

Spencer seems shocked at your surprise, and you two go quiet for the first time in what feels like hours. 

“Am… Am I not?” You are still in awe of how Spencer can go from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds. A second ago, he looked like he was about to rip his hair out of his head and now he was back tohis normal bright, wide eyes and fidgeting hands. Whiplash isn’t enough to describe how you’re feeling, staring at him with your mouth hanging open, willing for words to come out but failing every single time. “Oh god, I’m not. I’m sorry, I just assumed that after last night we–“

“Wait, stop, stop, stop!” You shriek, hands going up to cover your face. “I need a second to think!”

“No, you don’t, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just forget everything I said, I just–“

“I might not have an eidetic memory, but I don’t think I can ever forget what you just said,” You breathe out, hands shaking as you pushed your hair back and away from your face. “Spence… you thought we were dating?”

This has him paralysed. “That’s what you want to talk about? Right now? After everything I said?”

“I want to talk about everything,” You do, you really do; but you need to get this out of your chest right now. You need to start clean. “But we need to talk about this first… because I need to know how to act when we get to the rest of it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Spence, we kissed,” You whisper, hands sliding down your face with a frustrated groan. “And I thought that maybe… I don’t know, I thought we were going somewhere good, you know? Somewhere at all! But then we got to the room and you just pushed me away!” 

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything you didn’t want to!” Spencer defending himself like this feels like you’re living in an alternate reality. To be honest, even if you had had the chance to talk to him like you initially intended to, you weren’t really sure what you’d do after. It wasn’t a situation in which you could predict an outcome, not when it comes to Spencer– he is too good in hiding form the world. Too good in hiding from you. “Y/N, I swear, that’s all! I wanted more, I always want more when it comes to you but I don’t want to get greedy and scare you off.”

“What about the next morning?” If you don’t sit down, you think your legs will buckle under you. So you sink onto the couch, head on your hands trying to keep you from looking at him with hopeful eyes. Spencer doesn’t want to pressure you and you don’t want to pressure him– and just like that you two fall in a cursed, never-ending dance. In a game where both are in defence, no one wins. One of you has to either take a risk or go home crying. And you’re oh so tired of going home crying… “The next morning you didn’t kiss me or, or, or talked to me! I woke up and you weren’t even in bed!” 

“I wanted to make you breakfast in bed,” This is getting more and more ridiculous by the second. Had you really jumped the gun here? “But when I got out of the shower, you were already freaking out about Abigail!”

“What– But what about after?!”

“After we talked about Abigail, I got a call from work and you were almost pushing me out of the door yourself!” This time around, you don’t ask anymore questions, not when you can see how exasperated Spencer is getting. “You said–” 

“Now is not the time to quote me,” You say as softly as you can. Though sometimes it can sting, having your words thrown back at you, you can’t help but smile every time he does it. The secret is in knowing Spencer isn’t trying to hurt you, but simply attempting to logically solve whatever issue he has to face. What he doesn’t seem to understand though, is that sometimes, the issues of the heart, aren’t logical to begin with. 

“I’m just trying to… I don’t know what I’m trying to do, but this is all a bit misunderstanding,” He shuffles closer to you with that look in his eyes that you’ve seen before in the mirror, your own familiar desperation glaring back at you with that lost, confused glint of what will happen next? “Please, I don’t… I don’t have much experience but I– I don’t want to lose you. Y/N, please… help me.” 

“Spence, what do you mean?” 

“Help me,” He whispers again, worry sketched on his face like it belongs there. His breathing is shallow, and you notice the way his hands wrangle each other in his lap. If anything, he’s trying, and failing, to hide from you for the the first time. As gently as possible, you reach up with a small smile playing on your lips, and you press your thumb to the lines between his brows, soothing them in a back and forth motion. “Help me, I don’t know what to do.” 

The way he chuckles in that coy way he does whenever he feels like he’s out of his league is what pushes you forward, the carefulness of your actions clashing with the eagerness in your kiss. You’ve been waiting for this all day, and everything inside you melts when you feel his hands reaching up hold you close, cradling your face as if you’re the most precious thing he has ever touched. There is a slight shake to them when his lips move over yours and you can’t help but smile, laying your smaller hands over his– I got you, you want to tell him. I’ll help you. 

“Y/N…” His words hit you with a puff of air, lips brushing against each other every time he speaks. If Spencer pulls back an inch, you follow; if you try to put some distance, he follows. The wall between you two that had been shaken before was now completely shattered, bulldozed by his hands sliding down your neck, your sides, tugging on your waist until you’re as close as you can possibly be. Until you’re on his lap, surrounded his arms, overtaken by him and him only. “Don’t go home.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” You promise, laying your head on his shoulder like you’ve done many other times before. “I’m not relocating.” 

“Y/N–” 

“Who’s Maeve?” 

His body tenses underneath you horribly, and you hate that it’s all because of you. “I–“ 

“You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to,” You say, pushing his hair away from his panicked eyes. “I just want you to know I heard you. I heard you talking about Maeve and Gideon and me, and I think if we want to start… whatever this is… we need to lay our cards down,” It’s a risky move, if anything. Not only are you asking him about his past, you will also allow him to ask about yours, and that is only fair.

“But what is this?” He asks, eyes sharp on yours while you play with his hair to try and distract yourself from the reality of it all. “What are we?” 

“I mean, you said you were my boyfriend, right?” You don’t want to be the one to make a decision this big, but then again, it shouldn’t be all him.

“Then what are you?” He mumbled, eyes threatening to shut the more your fingers run through his hair. “Are you my girl?” 

A move you don’t really expect from Spencer, but that is welcome nonetheless. The way you two look at each other, like teenagers all giggly about confessing, is equal parts pathetic and hilarious. But it’s the way you two chose to go about it and that is all that matters. Until you remember that this is reality, and you’re not a teenager anymore– there are higher stakes at play here that have to be addressed. There is heartbreak in the end. Pain. Hurt. Fear. That’s what you had before, waiting for you in the end of a very dark tunnel, and you’re scared that’s what will be waiting for you this time around, too. Not because of Spencer, but because of you.

“Joshua McMannon,” You mumble, slowly climbing out of his lap and sitting on the other side of the couch. Like a barrier, you bring your legs up, hugging your knees close to your chest in an action that Spencer will surely read right– separation, space. It happens whenever you talk about Josh, the wave of shame and embarrassment that paralyses you inside-out. The self-loathing. “He was uh, a big shot new player in the stock market, worked for some big firm I forgot the name. We met in a bar, I think. I know this sounds crazy but I blank on a lot of memories that include him, it’s– it’s hard to think back.”

“Y/N–“ 

“No Spence, I can’t ask about you your past without telling you about mine, that’s not how it works,” You say with such a tone of finality that he doesn’t even try to fight you on it. “So please, just… listen to me. The entire thing, because it makes me look dumb and foolish, I know it does, but I want to be honest with you, I don’t want this coming back later to haunt us, okay? So just… don’t judge me to harshly. Please.” 

His silence is enough to encourage you to keep on going. 

“You know a bit about it and there isn’t much more to tell, to be very honest,” There are some undertones of anxiety in your voice, and you know he hears it. You know he wants to move, pull you back to him, comfort you, anything. But he respects the shield you’ve put up and he listens, just like you asked. “He was one of those guys that love the chase, you know? Likes showing off, too, so I was always uh, well dressed and all that jazz. Josh hates when I– no. Sorry. Josh hated when I looked sloppy. He worked hard to play hard, according to him, so he wanted to show things off. Expensive restaurants every day, expensive clubs every night… expensive girlfriend all around.”

“No,” Spencer quickly blurts out one of the many words he’s surely holding in. “No, Y/N, you’re not something to show off, you’re not a thing!” 

“You’re sweet,” You chuckle. “But I was a thing to Josh. Something he owned, remember? And I fell for it, Spence. I was so, so stupid and desperate that I said nothing, I just went along and played into his fantasy until I couldn’t anymore. So I started talking back. Saying ‘no.’ You know what happens next, I guess. You know his type. I didn’t.” 

Gulping, you look down at your hands embarrassedly. Spencer would’ve clocked Josh on the dot. He would’ve known who he was and what he’d do in a second. You, on the other hand, hadn’t been so smart. Probably still aren’t. Probably never will be. It’s hard, not putting yourself down when you’re telling the smartest man you know about such idiotic mistakes.

“Y/N, don’t even think about it,” Spencer hisses and all restraint is gone. He is sliding down the couch to sit close to you, and his hands sneak under your knee and give a gentle tug. He’s trying to respect your need for your own space, but he needs to make sure you’re listening to him. “You’re not dumb. You are not stupid. You are a kind woman with a heart too big for assholes like him, and I won’t have you thinking this was your fault. Sweetheart, this is all his fault. You had nothing to do with that, you… you were just in love.” 

“I wasn’t, though,” You whisper, shaking your head slowly. “I really liked him. Like, a lot. But I didn’t love him.” 

“It doesn’t matter, sweet girl,” He gently put your legs over his, hands holding onto your calves like it’s his lifeline. “There is no scenario in which this is your fault. None. Do you hear me?” 

“I hear you,” You’re not lying– you hear him, you truly do. But believing him is a whole other thing, and you’re not sure if you’re there yet. “I’ve been hearing you, Spence. Every time you explain something new or you tell me some more fun facts, I hear you. It’s just that this time around it’s a little bit harder to process, that’s all.” 

“This is a fact like all the other facts I’ve told you,” With one more pull, you get closer and closer to his body until you can feel the press of those perfect lips against your forehead. “It’s irrefutable– none of this is your fault, angel. None of it.” 

Nodding, you relax onto his hold, head resting on his shoulder when you deliver the final blow. “Him hitting me wasn’t my fault, I know that much. I ran after that. It sounds a bit drastic, but I had never been in the position before and Josh is someone with a lot of influence back in New York. I would have never survived in there and I would’ve been scared all the time.” 

“He touched you?” The way he says it, voice sharp like a knife, makes you look up at him with squinted eyes. “Where?”

“What does it matter?”

“Where did he hurt you?” 

Chuckling, you grab his hand and lean your cheek onto it. “Right here,” You whisper, turning a little to drop a kiss on his palm.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Everything about  him screams comfort, from how his thumb gently caresses your face to the way his lips pull downwards in disscontempt. You know that by now, he’s making a mental note to run Josh’ name through Garcia, but that is something you will deal with later. Despite their good intentions, that is not a door you want to open any time soon. “I–“ 

“You will do nothing about it, Spencer Reid,” You say with as a teasing warning. You don’t know that, but Spencer wonders how can you smile while telling him about such terrible memories; how could you withstand pain so well without telling anyone about it before. “Whatever happened happened and it’s done. I just wanted to be honest and give you the full picture before… we make decisions.” 

“And what do you think this will accomplish, huh? That it will change my mind? Make me regret it?”

“I don’t know Spence,” You groan. “I’m just… trying to be honest.”

“And I appreciate that, Y/N,” This time, he kisses you on the lips, but it’s too fast and too light to satisfy the yearning inside of you. “But nothing will make me change my mind. Much less that asshole. I want you. I’ve wanted you since I met you, I–”

His pause lingers in the air with a something heavy over it. This time, you shuffle on his lap to try and get a better look of his face, legs holding you up on each side of him. It’s such an intimate position to be in, you straddling him with his hands dragging from your waist to your thighs then back up again; your hands playing with the little curls by the nape of his neck; his lips, opening and closing and opening again in what feels like failed attempt after failed attempt to tell you something. 

“I– I think I’ve wanted you since Maeve died.” 

There is a lot to unpack in this sentence, but you keep your expression clean of any reaction. He doesn’t need you gasping and fawning over him… he just needs you to listen.

“And I know it sounds messed up and weird, but like, the metaphorical you, you know? The you you are but disembodied and– and now I’m not making any sense, but I mean it.” 

“I know you meant it,” You whisper, nails gently scrapping his scalp. “It’s okay, you can not make sense, I’ll figure it out. I’m good with puzzles.” 

“You are terrible with puzzles, angel,” He chuckles and your shoulders relax a little. “I’ve seen you trying to put together that Pride and Prejudice poster puzzle… I think you’re just good with me.” 

“Hm, I think so to,” You smile. “Why don’t we start from the beginning then? Tell me your story.” 

Nodding, Spencer tugged you a bit closer and you like it– this tugging habit of his, the need to have you pressed against him winning against his need to keep the germs at bay. In a very simplistic way, it makes you feel special. 

“Maeve… I loved Maeve,” He admits, eyes looking into yours with an insecurity that is misplaced– though you are not above feeling the poke of jealousy down deep in your gut, you are mature enough to know when you are being an absolute idiot, and you smile at him. “I love Maeve, but I am no longer in love with Maeve. I mean, she’s dead, so…” Spencer clears his throat for a second, and when he’s ready– only when he’s ready– he continues. 

There is real pain in his voice as he tells you the entire thing, and there is real pain in your voice as you call him name oh so carefully. The tears in his eyes are few, but they are there, and you thumb them away as gently as you can. In your hands is the shell of the man you know, his words slowing down as his brain surely relieves memories he wishes to delete. 

“Spencer,” You call, his eyes shut so tight you think he might just hurt himself if he continues like this. “Spence, I’m so sorry that happened.” 

“It was my fault,” He whispered as if he is in a confessionary. “Diane Turner. That was the name of the girl that killed her. We were trying to negotiate with her and… and I failed.” 

“Spencer, no,” Oh how the tables have turned. “The girl was going to kill Maeve no matter what, and I’m sorry that it came to this. I’m sorry–“ You can’t even say it, confused with your anger and how it makes your hands shake. 

She blindfolded him. 

She read his letters, his fears, and she made them real. 

That is enough to have you wishing you had shot her yourself. 

“Sweetheart,” He chuckles sadly, bigger hands coming to encage yours in a futile attempt to extinguish your anger. Bringing your knuckles to his lips, he kisses each and every single one of them, and for a moment you think he knows– he knows you’d be someone you’re not, for him. Someone who hurts other people. And you think he’d hate himself if that ever happened. “It was a long time ago…” 

“But it wasn’t your fault…” You move until you embrace him, body covering his like a blanket willing to keep him from the cruel, cruel world around you two. “No matter how long ago it was.”

“I guess that’s just something we both have to learn,” His voice is muffled by your sweater, and you pull back a little. When he offers you his pinky finger, you don’t need any explanation, wrapping yours around it with a giggle. “Something we’ll help each other learn.” 

“It’s a deal,” You whisper, leaning forward and dropping a slow kiss to his lips. “Sealed with a kiss.” 

“Does this mean that now you’re actually my girlfriend?” He asks after a while and you laugh, loud enough to burst the bubble you two created. 

“If you want me to be, yes.”

“I want you to be, in case you haven’t noticed by now,” God, you love when he jokes, the casual tone of his voice making you both relax. “But I also want to be your boyfriend.”

“Hm, you want an awful lot, don’t you?” Pushing his hair back, you smile impossibly wide. “Good think I want a lot, too.” The way he kisses you makes you believe that you truly are the only girl in the world, even if just his world. “Now you have to tell all the guys that hit on you that you are taken.” 

“Spence, what guys?!” You snort, eyes wide when you try to move and sit next to him. He is quick to catch you, though, and place you back on his lap. 

“Just because you don’t notice people flirting with you doesn’t mean they don’t!” 

“Okay, wait a second, I notice–“

“I’ve been flirting with you for months!” He says in that way that makes his voice go a tone higher, his smile so wide and bright that you can’t help but laugh. 

“Maybe you’re bad at flirting?” 

“Even Garcia noticed,” Spencer points out and you groan, knowing that if you admit defeat he will forever gloat. “But that’s okay. We got there in the end.”

“We did… which is why I’m not relocating.” 

“Y/N, this is for your safety.” 

“I’m safer closer to you,” You whisper. “Spence, I won’t be safe with god knows how many strangers surrounding me in a location I have no clue how to navigate. Here, I have you and I’m in a familiar place– I know the closest subway, bus stations, taxi points. I know the owner of the cafe down the street, I know your neighbours, hell, I even have Abigail! Isolating me is not safe. Please.” 

For a moment, you wait. You’re unsure if you got through to him, his eyes looking at you so intently that it’s a little embarrassing. Everyone knows his brain works differently– it works faster, better, more precisely. Whenever Spence zones out like this, it’s not because of lack of attention, but simply because he’s thinking… and what a wonderful thing it is to see him think; to see those theories taking form in his beautiful head, to see those honey coloured eyes working out probabilities that you’d never even get close to understand. He’s a special one, and you love that about him. Because you love him.

And as much as everything between you two is new, this feeling is quite old. 

This growing warmth in your chest, expanding like rivers of gold adoration through your veins. 

It’s not surprising that you love Spencer. 

It’s only natural, considering how much he loves you. 

How you know it? 

“Yeah, okay. I’d feel more comfortable with you here with me, anyways.”

Well, it’s obvious. 

“And you’re right, you know?” He continues, speeding through his words as if he’s trying to convince you and him both. “You know this area well. Cat has managed to get through us easily, and I don’t know what I’d do if she found you and I was the one to send you all alone to strange place where you can’t ask for help…”

“That won’t happen,” You promise, shaking your head at the terrifying thought. “So does that mean I’ll stay here or go home?” 

The reason you enjoy asking Spencer obvious questions is because sometimes, times like this, you get to see his personality shinning like a beacon in a dark night. His sassiness is so refreshing that you can’t help but giggle every time he lets it out. “Don’t be ridiculous,” He mumbled, rolling his eyes like the little know-it-all he is. “You’re obviously staying here. You’re my girlfriend, you’ll stay where I can protect you. Which is also something we have to talk about.” 

“Nooo,” You are so tired of talking about things at this point. “Can’t we talk about it tomorrow? Please, I just want to spend one nice evening with my boyfriend without discussing the fact that his psychopathic stalker wants to kill me.” 

“Y/N, that is not funny!” He gasps when you chuckle. “Sweetheart, I just want you safe. I think it would be important for us to have a plan if someone ever breaks into my apartment, for example. You should know where my gun is and–“

“Woah, woah, woah, no way!” You shriek, climbing off of his lap and standing right in front of him. The though of having to use a gun makes you nauseous. “I don’t want to know where your gun is, and I don’t want to even think about the possibility of having to actually point it at someone!”

“Okay,” Spencer says softly, getting up too and coming to hug you. Despite people thinking that Spencer is not quite adept to human touch, he has gotten quite good at comforting you, knowing exactly how to hold you and how to talk you down of your rising panic. “That’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll talk about it another day, we don’t have to overwhelm you right now, it’s alright, my angel.”

For a moment, the two of you just… stand there, swaying from side to side while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. “Can we just be normal for a night and watch a movie?” You finally ask, looking up at his smile because right now, that’s the only thing that matters to you– him. 

“Yeah, let’s watch a movie.”

For a few hours, life is perfect. 

For a few hours, you get to kiss him like you’ve been meaning to. Touch him like you’ve been meaning to. You get to run your hands through his unruly hair, pushing it back and feeling its softness slip between your fingers like the finest silk that ever was. He touches you, too, albeit a bit more reservedly. His fingers find the sliver of skin on your hip, thumb caressing back and forth, sending shivers up and down your spine. His lips brushed against your cheeks, your neck, your collarbones.

For a few hours, you laugh and smile and chat. You memorise more fun facts to put on your little notebook later, now secure on the left bedside table, right next to where you lay every night. He tells you how the movie doesn’t make logical sense and how they have physics all wrong. He points at the screen and his voice gets higher and higher with his passion for correcting fiction and you can’t help but shut him up with a languid kiss. 

For a few hours, you two are just a couple. This is just a date. And this are just good.

But the higher you climb, the better it gets, the harder you’ll fall. This might just be what Cat wants– you, in perpetual anxiety, always looking over your shoulder, always scared of losing the little you were able to build in your new life. From what Spence and his team have told you about her, Cat’s main skills are all mental; manipulation, gaslighting, coercing. Is this how you’re going to end? Terrified with ever step you take, antsy at your boyfriend’s house while watching a movie, giving up on your bookshop so that strangers don’t have such an easy access to your life? 

For a few hours, you didn’t have to worry about that. 

For a few hours only… because once the second movie is done, you two are forced to pull apart thanks to the incessant knocking on Spencer’s door. “If this is Abigail again,” Spencer warns as he gets up, lips all swollen from kissing and making out. “I will arrest her.” 

“On what grounds, agent?” You hug a pillow close to you, completely ignorant to your current messy hair and blushed face. 

“Cockblocking,” It’s so rare to hear such a word coming from someone like Spence that you can’t help but burst out laughing. “JJ?”

The name has your smile slipping a little. Why is JJ here? Did something happen? The moment Spencer opens the door, she’s marching inside, her beautiful blonde hair floating in the air as if she is some sort of magical being. “Spence, what the fuck?!” She cried out, completely oblivious to your presence in the couch. “Why are you not picking up your phone? I’ve been calling– Hotch mentioned something about you not taking Y/N to a secondary location, are you insane?! You can’t take care of her all by yourself, she’ll–“

You clear your throat as loud as you can, smiling sadly at her when she turns around with a shocked expression. “Hi, JJ.”

“Y/N, I’m– I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were here…”

“She is,” Spencer suddenly sounds quiet, eyes cast down as if he’s a child who’s been caught red-handed doing something wrong. But then he raises his head, chin high and chest puffing out a little. “And she’ll stay here with me. Y/N doesn’t want to be moved to a secondary location, and considering we don’t know who Cat’s secondary is, I wouldn’t say it’s wise for us to do so. She’ll be alone in an unknown place. I… I would prefer if she’s here. With me. And officer Kaper.”

JJ’s eyes go wide and you can understand her surprise to hear her usually shy and quiet co-worker being so adamant. Hell, even you are a little bit surprised. “What you prefer?! Spence, this is not about what you prefer! This is about– oh my god, you two were making out.” 

Her observation is so dry that you almost choke on air. “What?!” His voice is a dead give away. Or maybe it’s the way you wince, looking away from her, that gives you two away. “JJ, this is none–“ 

“You are having an interpersonal relationship with a victim under our protection in an active case,” It’s the way she describes you as a victim, as if that’s the only thing you are to her, that makes you exhale harshly. “Yes, Spencer, this is my business.” 

“Uhm, technically–“

“Y/N, I’m sorry, but not now,” She speaks to you like a mother, and from what Spence has told you about her, you know that she has two wonderful boys. Two kids for her to mother. You, however, are not one of them. 

Slowly rising up from the couch, your voice is shaky when you speak, but your proud of yourself regardless– confrontation is not your best suit, some might say it’s your worst suit, but there is no escape this time around. Not if you want to stay with Spencer. “I’m sorry, JJ, but yes, now. I’m the one this is all happening to. I’m not a passive participant in all of this and I do get to make choices, even if those choices are against your recommendation. I chose to stay here. Not Spence.”

“Why here? Why not–“

“I know the area!” You basically squeak, frowning deeply at her. The JJ you know is sweet and soft-spoken. This JJ is… well, not that. This JJ is someone who gets the job done. This JJ sees you as a job. And that hurts. “Cat knows you guys, she has shown us again and again that she is one step ahead– look at what happened to Officer Kaper. He has a family! His wife and kids were there and– fuck, JJ, if something happens here, I know where to go! I know where to run to, I know the back alleys, I know the people… I can’t handle you guys taking me away from everything I know again. I can’t, I’m sorry, I just can’t, I–“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re not going anywhere,” In a second, Spencer is by your side, arms pulling you into his chest. “You’re stay here, sweetheart.” 

“Spence–“

“JJ, do you think I’m stupid?” The question shocks the words out of both of you. “I calculated the odds, okay? I know the risks. I know the pros and cons. But do you know what else I know? I know that when we thought Maeve was safe, her stalker was in her apartment. We put her under protective custody, and Diane still got to her. She could’ve been with me, I could’ve saved her!”

JJ doesn’t speak, and neither do you. You are frozen in place. Spencer had told you about Maeve just hours ago, described the entire thing, told you all the details of what happened back then… but he never touched on the now. On how he feels now. On how he remembers the whole thing now. On how it still affected him now. You can feel the anxiety on the way his breath shudders. The anger in his words, the regret, the fucking guilt As gently as you can, you circle his waist and squeeze. There is a part of you that hates doing this in front of someone else, giving them a part of this reality in which only you and Spencer exist; but he need to know you’re still here. Next to him, where he can keep you safe. “Maeve wasn’t your fault, Spencer,” JJ whispers, and you see in her a glimpse of the woman you’ve met before. “It wasn’t your fault…” 

“But this is!” He shouts back, stopping himself from lurching forward thanks to your body glued to his. Instead, he cradles your head closer, shuts his eyes tights, and let out the most pitiful exhale you’ve ever heard. “This is my fault… Y/N wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for me.” 

“Spence–“ You can’t even deny it. Logically, it is his fault this is happening– Cat is after you simply because she’s after him. That is undeniable, and you lose yourself in the endless search of what to tell him, how to comfort him. This is your Spence. Your boyfriend. And you don’t want this type of phantasmagoric guilt hovering over his head over the course of your relationship. This is how things end before they begin. 

“I won’t let her take Y/N away from me,” When he looks at JJ again, you gasp. His eyes shine with a determination you’ve never seen before, jaw tense and hands holding you to him like he means in. This time around, you know he means is. “Not now, not ever.” 

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