#(( I've been working without a day off for nearly three weeks ))

[imagine-you]

You Know I Love You Too Much To Be Crushed Like That [Erik Campbell/Reader]

Summary: You're at the end of a long shift at the hospital and eager to get home and go to bed. But on your way to grab a snack for the ride home, you run into your ex. You would do anything to get him back, but first you've got to convince him not to kill his baby brother with a pack of peanut butter cups. Word Count: 5k Author's Notes: I've been in such a writing slump, but I fell in love with Erik and couldn't get this idea out of my head. I'm not a medical professional, obviously, so forgive any mistakes. I'm also a sucker for a fix-it fic, so here y'all go. 💖

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If anyone asked you about the biggest regret of your life, you would lie and say it was putting yourself through academic hell and getting your doctorate right before you hit twenty-five. But that wasn't your biggest regret. It wasn't even really a regret at all.  

What you really regretted, even though you would never admit it to anyone, was losing Erik.  

He drove you crazy and your fights were always epic. He was the only person you knew who could truly get under your skin and make you feel like you were going to lose your mind. But you loved him so much you felt like you couldn’t breathe without him some days. For three and a half years, he was your everything. But somewhere along the line, you fell apart.  

You were constantly working or studying or stressing over your future and Erik started staying later and later at the tattoo shop since you weren’t around. Before you knew it, you went days and then weeks without seeing him.  

You got so wrapped up in finishing your degree that before you knew it, Erik wasn't in your life anymore.  

It had been nearly a year since you were together, but he still featured heavily on your mind. You thought about picking up your phone and sending him a text several times a day. Half the time you wished you could hear his voice even if just for a moment. Even if he was pissed off, you didn’t care. You just wanted to know he was thinking about you. 

You missed the way he held you and the way he would press a kiss to your forehead when he knew you were sad. You missed being tangled up together in his bed and watching him get all worked up playing video games. You missed his laugh and sardonic sense of humor and the way he made you smile.  

No one could make you smile like he did.  

You even missed his family. While your own family situation was less than ideal, the Campbell family had welcomed you with open arms. Even though you and Erik were done, you still called Julia every few weeks and sent funny memes to Bobby. Howard had even invited you over to eat dinner more than once and Brenda sent you care packages since she was worried you weren’t taking care of yourself.  

 Without Erik, you didn’t feel complete. You felt like a part of you was missing. You were merely a shell of yourself, half-alive and searching for a reason to keep going. You thought getting your degree and living out your dream of becoming a doctor would make it all worth it, but without Erik, it just felt like a hollow victory. You were just so fucking lonely that you didn’t know what to do with yourself anymore. 

You knew it was only a matter of time before you caved and tried to get Erik back. You didn't know when and you didn't know how, but it was inevitable.  

You just never thought it would happen because Erik wanted to kill Bobby.  

You thought maybe it was just wishful thinking that had you hearing Erik's voice. You were exhausted, coming off a twelve-hour shift of shadowing and making calls you didn't feel prepared to make. All you wanted was your bed, food, and enough sleep to make the dead envious. You weren't even all that picky about the order that it happened, as long as it happened.  

But when you rounded the corner, intent on grabbing a snack to take with you for the ride home, all thoughts of leaving fled your mind.  

Erik was standing at one of the vending machines with Bobby right behind him. Erik was muttering to himself about something, and Bobby was standing back, looking worried with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. 

 You felt rooted to the spot, unable to move or even blink out of fear that he would disappear. 

Erik brought his fist up, hitting the glass, before shaking out his hand. "Ow! You piece of shit. C'mon!" 

You jolted out of your stupor and walked closer, helplessly drawn to him, before finally catching sight of what Erik was so desperate to free from the machine.  

"What the fuck are you doing?" You blurted, suddenly not caring about remaining unnoticed. "Are you trying to kill him?" You continued, gesturing towards Bobby.  

Bobby had turned to look at you, but Erik had only given a defeated sigh before resting his forehead against the glass in front of him.  

Bobby offered you an unsure smile before freeing his hand from a pocket to lift his hand in a wave. "Hi, Y/N." 

"Hey, Bobby," you greeted, glancing from him to Erik and then back again. "What the hell is going on here?" 

"I'm trying to kill him," Erik confessed, keeping his forehead pressed to the glass but turning his head enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye. "So he'll live," he clarified, finally turning to face you.  

"What," you said, too surprised to even phrase it as a question. You were momentarily caught off-guard by how exhausted Erik looked, but you couldn’t let yourself ignore what he said. “That doesn’t make sense, Erik.”  

You didn’t want to admit it, but saying his name after so long felt so good. It was like coming home after a long day where everything had gone wrong.  

"Look," Erik started, turning away from the vending machine and beginning to walk towards you. "I don't have time to explain. Just trust me, alright? We're going to get him the peanut butter cups and then he'll die and then we'll bring him back. And then all will be right with the world. Or at least our family." 

You hurried forward, blocking Erik's path when he made to go back towards the vending machine. "You're not letting him get anywhere near that, Erik. What the fuck is wrong with you?" The Erik you knew and loved would never put Bobby in danger, but now for some reason, he was ready to hand his little brother death coated in chocolate.  

"What's wrong with me?" Erik huffed out a despondent laugh. You had never heard him so defeated, but he hid it well with a sarcastic smile. "What's wrong with me is that Death took my dad and my sister and I'm sure as hell not letting it take my brother too." 

"Howard?" You thought for a second it was a sick joke on Erik's part, but then you saw the look on his face. "And Julia?" You couldn't help but check, hoping you heard wrong.  

Bobby nodded his head, solemn and apologetic.  

"And no one told me?" You knew it was stupid. You and Erik were no longer together. But Howard had told you only days after the breakup that you were still a part of their family. To lose not only Howard but Julia as well hurt more than you could stomach.  

"We were a little busy trying not to die ourselves," Erik told you, flashing his arm at you. You could see a new tattoo he had inked into his skin, no doubt a tribute to Howard, but there was a heart branded into the skin right above it.  

You instinctively reached out, not even thinking about how it might be weird to grab his arm. Only a year ago, your touch had been welcomed, but now you didn’t know how Erik would respond. You should have waited, but all you could think about was that Erik had gotten hurt, and you weren't there for him.  

"Oh, Erik," you sighed, barely remembering at the last moment to not call him ‘babe.’ You wished more than anything that you been able to prevent him from getting hurt. He was always so fiercely protective of the people he loved and sometimes you wondered who was watching out for him when you were no longer around.  

You lightly brushed your fingers along the tattoo, studying the burn mark on his arm. Erik shivered and you raised your head, meeting his eyes.   

You were in no way prepared for the look he was giving you. It was brief, but you still saw what he quickly tried to hide.  

It was want and desire. It was pain and grief. It was longing and apology.  

It was love.  

You knew you were still in love with Erik, but having the proof staring you right in the face that he was still loved you was something else entirely.  

It was everything.  

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, not even fully sure if he understood that you were sorry for more than just the burn on his arm. You were sorry about Howard and Julia. You were sorry for getting so wrapped up in your future, that you let yourself forsake your present. You were sorry that you were too scared to talk to him after the breakup.  

You were sorry that you let him go.  

You knew you needed to stay focused, so you tried to steer the conversation back on track. "None of that explains why you're trying to kill Bobby," you pointed out, hurriedly letting go of Erik's arm once you realized it was still in your grasp.  

Erik shot Bobby a questioning look before Bobby nodded his head in answer. Erik rolled his eyes before focusing back on you. "We don't have much time, and this is going to sound fucking crazy, but you've just got to trust me, alright?"  

Two minutes later, you were starting to wonder if you should get the two of them admitted for whatever break from reality they were experiencing.  

"You two have lost your fucking minds," you muttered, unable to think of anything else to say.  

"I know, trust me, I get it," Erik assured you. He hesitated for a moment before he reached out and grabbed your shoulders. "But don't get caught up on how batshit insane I sound right now and remember that when we were together, I never lied to you. Not once. Do you really think I'd be doing this as some kind of sick joke? It’s not like I knew you were going to stumble across my master plan to kill Bobby here. What are the odds that you just happened to be here?" 

You couldn't tear your gaze away from his stare. You knew deep down that he was right and telling the truth. But you still couldn't wrap your mind around what he was saying. You saw death every day at the hospital. But hearing about what the Campbell family had endured coupled with the idea that death itself was an entity correcting the timeline by eradicating everyone who shouldn't exist had your head spinning. 

And from what you understood, it wouldn't be long until Death came for Bobby. Innocent, incredibly sweet Bobby who had always made time for you even after your breakup with Erik. The world surely didn’t deserve someone like Bobby, but Bobby deserved the world. He deserved to live.  

Your thoughts were racing at a million miles a second. You could lose your license. You could go to jail. There were countless horrible outcomes that could occur, but you knew you would give up everything for Erik. You would do whatever it took to save Bobby. 

All it took was one look at Bobby to make your decision for you. 

"Exposing him to that is incredibly fucking risky," you said, nodding towards the vending machine where Erik had been doing his damnedest to free a pack of peanut butter cups. "Doing that without a doctor's supervision? That's just stupid." 

You let them both take a moment for your words to sink in. 

Erik got it first. He grinned at you, clapping his hands down on your shoulders. He reeled you in so he could sling an arm around your shoulders and pull you in close to his side to squeeze you tight. "Then it's a good thing I've got a doctor." 

A little thrill shot through you hearing Erik call you his doctor. It had been so long since you had been anything other than just his ex and you wanted so desperately in that moment to be more. You forced yourself to shrug his hold off and turned towards Bobby.  

"Come on," you directed, beckoning for the two of them to follow you.  

"What are you going to do?" Erik asked, trying to keep up with you as you lead them down one hallway and then another.  

"First, we're going to find an empty room. Then, we'll go from there." You kept an eye on your surroundings, making sure that no one was paying attention to what you were doing. "In here," you said, opening a freshly vacated room. It was at the end of the hallway leading towards an empty waiting room, which meant that it would remain unused for a while.  

As Erik and then Bobby passed you, you noticed the light in the hallway flicker for just a moment. You got the creeping feeling that someone was watching you, but when you looked up and down the hallway, there was no one there. You shuddered before closing the door and then turned to face Erik and Bobby.  

"Alright," Erik started, leaning towards you. "Now you’ve gotta tell me. What's the plan?" 

You winced, knowing that it wasn't much of a plan, but it was guaranteed to achieve the goal of killing Bobby.  

"We're going to have to stop Bobby's heart," you admitted, noticing the way Bobby shifted warily on his feet. "A clinical death is far preferable in this situation than anything else. We stop his heart and then immediately restart it." You had specifically chosen the room for its crash cart which would give you everything you needed to resuscitate Bobby.  

"So, basically the plot of Flatliners?" Erik asked, gifting you with a skeptical look.  

You arched a brow at him. "And your idea was better?" 

Erik studied you for a moment before he sighed. "Fuck it. Let's do it." 

Erik ushered Bobby over towards the bed while you set up what you would need. You could feel your heart racing as you got Bobby hooked up to a heart monitor and pulled the crash cart close to your side. You were terrified that Bobby would actually die without hope of resuscitation and his death would be on your hands. You knew that losing Howard and then Julia in just a few days had devasted Erik, but you didn't know if he would ever recover if he lost his baby brother too. Erik had spent his whole life watching out for Bobby and steering him clear of anything that might hurt him, so leading him right towards certain death must have been weighing heavily on him. If you were the reason this plan didn't work? Then you didn't think Erik would ever forgive you.  

"What's going to happen?" Bobby asked as he let himself fully recline on the bed. He sounded scared, but was trying to hide it. You hated hearing Bobby so terrified, but you knew there wasn’t much you could do except comfort him.  

You stopped setting out your supplies and turned to face the bed. You took a couple steps forward until you were at his bedside and then reached out to grab his hand.  

"Bobby, I know this is scary. And I know you don't wanna die. But I'm not going anywhere, alright? I'm not going to let Death take you. I'll bring you back. Or I'll die trying," you promised, hoping he got just how serious you were about making sure he survived the whole ordeal. 

Bobby's eyes were wide with fear, but after a moment, you noticed his grip on your hand relax. He nodded his head, letting you pull away.  

You offered him a smile before raising your head to see Erik staring at you. "What?" You couldn't help but ask, feeling slightly defensive.  

"Nothing," Eric claimed, shrugging his shoulders. "It's nothing," he lied before turning away and beginning to pick up a container. He shook it, shooting you a curious look. "What's in here?" 

"Put it down," you sighed, turning away to face your supplies again. "And keep an eye out for anything weird. We might not be on Death's hitlist, but I doubt they'll take kindly to us fucking with their plan." 

"What is all that stuff?"  

You jumped, not noticing that Erik had walked up behind you. You resisted the urge to lean back, wanting just a moment of comfort, before you pointed towards the crash cart. "That is filled with everything I'll need to bring Bobby back in case the AED doesn’t do its job. It also has what I need to stop his heart." 

"So, what? You keep this in every room?" You knew from his tone of voice that he was trying to distract himself. He was asking questions to keep his mind otherwise occupied from the fact that you were about to kill his brother. 

"Not every room," you answered, turning and facing Erik. "But in the rooms where someone recently died? Then yeah," you admitted with a wince.  

"Oh," Erik sighed, swaying just the tiniest bit closer. "Wonderful." He looked uncertain for a moment, but he had yet to take his eyes off you. 

"You trust me?" You couldn't help but check. Did Erik still have feelings for you? Absolutely. You knew that without a doubt now. But did he trust you? You didn't know.  

Erik kept eye contact for long enough that you had to fight the urge to look away. You didn't know what he was looking for, but you wanted him to find it. Whatever it was, it brought a slight smile to his face. "With my brother's life," he assured you before stepping away.  

You took a deep breath, allowing yourself one more look at Erik, before you finally approached Bobby again.  

"Okay, Bobby," you said, reaching for the first item you would need. "Let's put you to sleep." 

It turned out that killing Bobby was easy enough. Hearing him flatline after you stopped his heart had you feeling dizzy with panic. But you forced yourself to stay calm.  

You waited for a count of thirty seconds, ignoring Erik's nervous pacing near the door of the room. You couldn’t allow yourself to freak out if Erik was already panicking. You held people’s lives in your hands every day, but this was different. This was family. And if you weren’t able to bring Bobby back, then the rest of Erik’s family would die.  

Once you were sure Bobby had been gone for long enough, you started with the defibrillator again. You let yourself fall into the role of saving Bobby. Killing someone deliberately went against everything you vowed to uphold when you became a doctor, but trying to save someone was why you became a doctor in the first place. When you were a kid, you had to sit by and watch your aunt fade away from you as sickness took her. But you wouldn't lose anyone else.  

Not Bobby. And if you were lucky enough, you wouldn't lose Erik again either.  

"Uh, Y/N?" You heard Erik call, barely snagging your attention. You were in the middle of considering a shot of epinephrine to get Bobby's heart restarted. It was a risk, but it might be one you had to take to save him. The AED wasn’t working for you like it should and you were quickly hitting the point where you were going to have to consider alternatives. 

You noticed the lights flickering above you, but you ignored them. There was a creaking noise above you that you couldn’t explain, but it wasn’t important.  

You couldn't stop now. You had to keep trying.  

You used the defib again, keeping all your focus on the heart monitor to see if Bobby's heart restarted.  

"Y/N!" Erik yelled, this time closer than before.  

You felt an arm wrap around your waist before you were tackled to the floor. There was a screech that pierced the room before the light above you disconnected from the ceiling and swung down, heading right for the spot you had been just seconds before. There was a shower of sparks before the light fell and hit the floor hard enough to crack the tiles.  

You were rolled to the side as the ceiling tile above you gave way and followed after the light. You had your head turned to the side, looking at the destruction just inches away from your face.  

Erik was above you, his breath coming fast as he studied you. All you could do was blink up at him in shock, realizing that you had narrowly avoided death just a moment before.  

"You okay?" Erik asked, bringing up a hand to brush his fingers gently over your cheek, as if he had to prove to himself you were still there.  

"Fine," you lied, knowing that you didn't have any more time to waste. "Bobby--" you started, before you heard it. The sound happened again. And again. And once more, before starting up a steady rhythm.  

It was a heartbeat.  

Bobby's heartbeat.  

 In all the chaos, you had missed Bobby’s return to life. No wonder Death had taken one last shot at you. You had managed to disrupt its design and save the rest of the Campbell family. 

"Oh, thank God," you got out on a relieved laugh, grinning up at Erik. "We did it." 

"You did it," Erik countered, shaking his head. "I never fucking doubted you," he said before he dipped his head down, letting his lips brush yours. "Thank you," he murmured against your mouth before kissing you again. “You’re a fucking genius,” he pulled back to say before diving in for another kiss. 

You knew you needed to check on Bobby, but you allowed yourself to have Erik again for just one more moment. You reached a hand up, letting your fingers brush through his hair before lightly gripping the back of his neck, pouring everything you had felt for Erik over the past year into the kiss. You gave him all your heartbreak, sorrow, fear, longing, and need, hoping he got everything you hadn't been able to say to him.  

"Fuck," you breathed, breaking the kiss when the smell of smoke reached you. You looked over to see that the fallen light had managed to ignite a set of towels that had been knocked to the ground.  

You felt Erik moving above you and at first you thought he was shaking. But when you finally tore your gaze away from the fire to him, you realized he was laughing.  

"What--," you got out before he was kissing you again. This one was tinged with joy and promised more to come. He brought a hand up, his fingers curling just beneath your jaw to hold you in place. You let your eyes close, savoring the moment meant for just the two of you. 

Before you could lose yourself in the kiss, Erik was pulling away. You immediately tried to reel him back in, but he evaded your grasp and stood. He reached a hand down, helping you off the floor.  

"You help Bobby," he told you, nodding towards his brother. "And I'll go get something to put that out." He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before flashing you a reassuring grin. 

You watched him leave the room, shooting you one quick look over his shoulder, before he was out the door.  

You managed to get Bobby conscious, but you still wanted to make sure nothing had gone wrong during his brief excursion with Death. So, you convinced him to get admitted for observation. Erik had told a whole story about how Bobby had collapsed and you were there to save his brother once he went into sudden cardiac arrest.  

Your boss had ordered you to go home and rest, but you were scared to leave Erik again. So, once he made the decision to stay with Bobby, you found yourself making the same choice. If anything, having a doctor around for constant supervision would only benefit him. And if that meant you were in the same room as Erik for hours with nothing to do but lean your head on his shoulder and pretend you were getting some rest, then why not kill two birds with one stone? 

The next morning, Brenda showed up at the hospital to take watch over Bobby.  

"Go home," Brenda urged Erik. "Get some rest," she sighed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his temple. "Bobby will be fine. He’s not in danger anymore."  

You saw tears begin to well in Brenda's eyes as she turned to face you. "And you," she started before reeling you into a hug. "Thank you," she whispered, squeezing you just a bit too tight. “After losing my Howard and my baby, I couldn’t lose anyone else. And you saved him. You saved our family.” She wasn’t letting up on her embrace and you were starting to feel just the tiniest bit overwhelmed.  

Erik must have noticed your momentary distress, because he reached out and tugged on his mom's arm. "Let Y/N breathe, mom," he groaned, shaking his head.  

Brenda was quick to turn and pull Erik into another hug. She hid her face in his neck and you knew from the way her shoulders shook that she was crying. You happened to meet Erik’s gaze over his mom’s shoulder and caught the pain and gratitude in his expression. It was everything that Brenda had tried to say to you and you dripped your head in a nod of acknowledgement.  

"C'mon," Erik said once his mom let him go. He slung an arm around your shoulders to steer you out of the room.  

You didn’t know where he was leading you, but you didn’t care. You would have followed him wherever he wanted to go. You had spent so long without him in your life that for the first time in a while you felt like you were finally breathing again. You didn’t want to know what would happen to you now if you let Erik distance himself from you again.  

Erik didn't say anything until you were in the elevator and descending towards the first floor. He no longer had his arm around your shoulders, but he was sticking close enough to your side that you could feel his body heat. 

 “So," he started, rocking back on his heels. "What are you doing after this?" He shot you a look that you knew all too well. He was trying to hint at something but poorly concealing it behind nonchalance. 

You hadn't really thought that far into the future. Exhaustion was threatening to overwhelm you and all you wanted was a bed to sleep in for a few hours. If you had it your way, then Erik would be there when you finally managed to do it. 

"Probably going home to sleep until I don't feel like this anymore," you answered, shrugging your shoulders only to feel your arm bump into his for a moment. "What about you?" 

"You know," he mused, the corners of his mouth ticking up in a smirk. "I was planning on sleeping too. Why don't we just do that together? Carpool or something. It's safe for the environment or whatever." 

"Oh, really," you said, having a hard time fighting a grin. "Well, if it's for the environment, then," you joked, trying to not to let on that you were entirely too eager to be in the same bed as Erik again.  

"There's only one catch, though," Erik warned as the elevator doors opened. He gestured for you to lead the way before following you out of the elevator.  

"A catch?" You asked, starting to lead him towards the parking garage. You weren't sure how Erik got to the hospital, but you figured he wasn't planning on letting you drive home alone.  

Erik reached out to grab your shoulder, pulling until you turned to face him. He had a serious expression on his face and you worried for a moment that something had gone wrong between leaving Bobby and getting to the parking garage.  

"You see," he started, letting his grip on your shoulder drop to your hand. He pulled your hand up until it was clasped between his own. "I only sleep in the nude." 

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded for a moment. "What?"  

"And I'm afraid I require my bed partners to do the same," he continued, a shit-eating grin finally pulling at his lips.  

You drew your hand from his hold and shoved his shoulder. "You're such an idiot," you got out on a laugh.  

Erik's grin faded away and his expression grew serious once again. He grabbed your hand and reeled you in before putting his hands on your hips, keeping you pressed close together.  

You couldn't help the butterflies that took flight in your stomach, fluttering around like crazy and making you feel weightless.  

"Really," he said, his gaze briefly flitting towards your lips before finding your eyes again. "Maybe after we've both slept off the near-death experience, we could get dinner and catch up. Maybe more," he added with a thoughtful look.  

You knew it wouldn't always feel this easy. There would be conversations and fights and assurances in store for the both of you. Erik, once he was able to process everything, would still have to come to terms with the deaths of Howard and Julia. And you would have to do your best to convince yourself that you weren't going to fuck up the best thing to ever happen to you again.  

But for now, you were going to let yourself have exactly what you wanted.  

"I'd love that," you assured Erik, helpless against the grin you could feel tugging at your lips.  

Erik pressed a kiss to your mouth, letting you feel his answering smile against yours. "Good," he said once he pulled back. "Because I sure as hell don't plan on letting you go again." 

Author's Notes: I have a few other Erik ideas, so if you read this and you're interested in reading more, please let me know! And if you read this and liked it, please also let me know! 💖

[arrows-asks]

More incorrect quotes because my sanity is dwindling and my art drive none existent from the lack of off-days

Sonic: No, Silver and I don't use pet names.

Shadow, nodding: Understandable. Do tell me though, Sonic. What do bees make?

Sonic: ...honey?

Shadow:

Sonic:

Shadow: Huh.

Sonic, amused: Told you, jackass.

Silver, from another room: Yes, asshole?

Shadow:

Sonic:

Shadow:

Sonic: ...dammit.

[brownlyfe]

Love A Woman

A Three-Part Modern Day Au

Part 2, Part 3, Bonus

pairing: elijah “smoke" moore x annie x elias "stack" moore

cw: modern!au, smut, slightly ooc, bondage, bdsm, nicknames

word count: 7,745

summary: annie is caught between two brothers who show their love for her in two different ways. one quiet and soft beneath her control, the other? unapolegtically rough and playful. weekdays are a slow burn of passion and promise, but the weekends are chaos and surrender personified. but when blurred lines, missed promises, and real feelings start to surface, the balance shifts. loyalty gets tested. and annie has to decide what kind of love she really needs, and who’s strong enough to hold all of her.

notes: my first fic on here, and it would be a movie like sinners to bring me out. I've been writing on wattpad for years, but had no reason to crossover. I'm currently obsessed with Wunmi and michael's chemistry, so prepare for more. this isn't a normal poly situation, either, so prepare for the ride *wink, wink*.

Annie blinked as she stared at her computer, the screen stuck on a spreadsheet that hadn’t been typed on in at least fifteen minutes. Her eyes were glassy from the tiredness that overtook her body. The building was buzzing with whispered noise and the sounds of keyboards clicking.

She wanted to scream, truly. Instead, she shut down her monitor without a word, packed up her things with a robotic grace, and left without a single word of goodbye. Her feet felt heavy as she walked to the elevator. By the time she got there, the sharp click of her heels felt like a ticking time bomb to her collapse.

The walk from the office building to her apartment building was only four blocks, but it might as well have been miles. Everything was too bright and moving too fast. Every car horn stabbed through her skull, and conversations pierced her eardrum like an intrusion. The air was thick, muggy despite the calendar insisting it was still early spring.

She reached her building and stood in the lobby under buzzing lights with a finger hovering over the elevator button. But didn’t press it. Her apartment would be too quiet, too small, too cold, too lonely. She closed her eyes, inhaled through her nose, and walked right back out of the front door. 

The cab ride to Smoke’s building took fifteen minutes. She sat in the backseat with her head against the window, eyes closed, and deep breaths filling out her chest. She could hear her phone dinging in her purse, but Annie continued doing what she had been doing for the last three weeks. She ignored it. 

For nearly the last month, Annie had been ignoring practically everyone. Her friends, family, and even her two men, who had both been trying to reach her every day since she went missing. It wasn’t like she was trying to do it on purpose either. Work had her tied up in the unhealthiest way. She worked through the weekend, leaving late into the night and arriving early in the morning. She never got more than three hours of rest because her body wouldn’t settle.

It was muscle memory by now; buzz into Smoke’s building, ride the elevator to the top floor, and let herself in. Annie didn’t knock anymore. He never made her. The second the door shut, the quiet covered her like a warm blanket

Nothing was loud or overbearing. Her senses had calmed and the only things she had was the smell of something deliciously simmering on the stove…and him.

Smoke stood in the kitchen, white short sleeve shirt tight around his arm muscles and grey sweatpants sitting low. He didn’t bother looking up from his place in front of the stove. He knew who it was and what she came for. 

Her purse hit the table with a heavy thud. Holding onto the edge of the kitchen island for support, she kicked off her heels.

“Dinner will be ready in twenty,” glancing over his shoulder, that low, calm voice hit her like a sedative. His eyes softened the second they landed on her–bloodshot eyes, stiff shoulders, the outline of her stress written all over her body. “Bath’s already drawn.”

Annie didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. He always knew what she needed and when she needed it without her ever having to say a word. Nodding her head, she turned towards the direction of the stairs and started to peel her clothes off as she walked away.

The bath was perfect. Steam curled around the marble tiles, the air thick with lavender and eucalyptus. The water was hot, just shy of stinging. She sank into it with a hiss, letting her head fall back, hair piled on top of her head.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. That would come later, maybe. For now, she just... floated. 

She stayed in until the water cooled and her fingers wrinkled. When she emerged, a towel was already waiting on the counter—fluffy, fresh, and warm.

Dinner was quiet. He didn’t press her to talk.

They ate side by side on the couch, the TV playing some old movie neither of them was watching. She leaned into him, and he let her, arm curled around her shoulders, thumb stroking absent circles into her silk-covered skin. 

It wasn’t until the plates were cleared and the lights were off that she finally spoke.

“I need to use you tonight.”

Smoke said nothing, only nodded his head, and squeezed her body further into his.

“Whatever you need, mama.”

-

He lay back on the bed in nothing but his boxers, eyes heavy-lidded and patient. Annie straddled his hips, still in her robe. Her fingers trailed up his chest, light and teasing.

“You gonna be good for me?” she asked, voice low and sharp.

Smoke’s lips parted, and he exhaled slowly. “Always.”

She grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. He didn’t resist. Didn’t move. Just looked at her like she was the only thing in the world. 

“You don’t stop until I say,” she whispered against his ear. “You don’t even think about it.”

“Yes, mama.”

Her robe slid open as she lowered herself onto his face, his lips already parted, his tongue eager and dutiful. She held onto the headboard, grinding down slowly, deliberately, chasing the release she’d been denied for weeks.

Smoke groaned beneath her, needy and obedient. He licked her like a man starving, like he worshipped the ache between her thighs. She tugged his hair, used him, rolled her hips until her moans bounced off the walls, and still he didn’t stop. Not even when she came hard, shaking against his mouth.

“Again,” she ordered breathlessly.

And he did. Over and over, until she was gasping and sweat-slick and trembling. Only then did she finally untie his hands. She slowly eased her way back down his body with the help of his hands that immediately took hold of her hips. Their lips fused in a gentle song made of light moans and whimpers.

She reached her hand down and gently guided him inside of her. Slow and deep. He held her like she was made of glass, as they rocked against each other. Her body seemed to move on autopilot as her lower body met his thrust for thrust.

They kissed each other, each moan matching the gentle pace that was set. His lips moved from her lips to her cheek to her shoulder. Her body stuttered the closer she got to her release. Smoke doing what he does best, and that’s anticipating the needs of his woman. 

He bent his knees and planted both feet on the bed. He wrapped his arms around her waist in a snug hold and started sharp thrusts upwards, controlled, deep, precise. The kind that sent shockwaves through her body and pushed little gasps from her chest. The kind that made her lose any sense of control, but she held on. Not wanting to completely give up any of the little that she had, Annie braced her hands onto his chest, knowing that he could handle all the pressure. She used her trembling legs to help meet his quick strokes.

She could feel how hard he was holding back—not just from flipping her onto her back and taking over, but from finishing. He was too focused on her, on her pleasure, her body, her need.

Thrust after thrust, she rocked against him, their rhythm teetering between slow and sudden. Every time she rolled her hips down, he met her halfway, grinding deeper with those sharp, upward strokes that had her biting her lip to keep from crying out too early.

He let one hand trail up her spine, fingers dragging like worship. The other remained clutched around her waist, anchoring her to him like a lifeline.

When her body clenched around him, when her thighs began to quake, he whispered against her skin:

“Let go, mama. I’ve got you. Let me feel it.”

And she did.

Her orgasm hit like lightning, sudden, powerful, and silent for one suspended moment before she let out a strangled cry and collapsed forward, trembling against his chest. He held her, not daring to move too fast, not daring to push her past her limit, until her hips started moving again, a reminder that she was only done when she said so.

Smoke groaned, the sound laced with a quiet desperation. “You want more?”

She lifted her head, eyes glazed with post-orgasm haze, but her voice was firm. “I’m not done using you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, almost reverently.

She pushed herself upright again and braced her hands against his chest. He gripped her hips once more, adjusted his angle, and started thrusting up again—faster this time, harder, his body shaking with restraint as he drove into her.

It was a slow build again, but this time, it was mutual.

Her breath hitched. His jaw clenched. The bed creaked beneath them, the sounds of skin on skin and gasps and choked moans filling the room.

And when she finally gave him the nod, barely a whisper of permission, he came with a shuddering groan, hands gripping her tight, hips stuttering beneath her. They lay chest to chest, their breaths in perfect sync.

As carefully as he could, Smoke slid out of her and then rolled them over on their sides so that they were facing each other. Annie’s breath began to even out and slow down. Smoke knew then that she was on the verge of sleep. So, he pressed soft kisses to her forehead and cheek, whispering soft praises into her ear; he was just glad that she was relaxed now.

The booming bass was blaring through the streets as Stack’s Charger came to a rolling stop in front of Annie’s apartment complex.

Annie stood at the curb, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding her eyes. Smoke was behind her, calm as ever, one hand on the small of her back, the other holding her overnight bag. 

Stack threw his door open, grinning like the human embodiment of sin itself.

“There’s my girl,” he said, as the sounds of Yo Gotti’s Got Dem Racks thumped the whole car, “Ready to remember what fun feels like?”

Annie didn’t answer. She was still tired, her body was still simmering with tension that hadn’t been fully shaken from Smoke’s bed.

“She hasn’t eaten since breakfast,” Smoke said, passing Stack the bag. “She ain’t sleep much either. And her body’s still tight.”

“Got it,” Stack nodded, slinging the bag into the back seat. “I’ll take care of it.”

Smoke kissed the side of her head and murmured something too soft for Stack to hear. Then he opened the car door for her like the gentleman he was. Annie slid into the low seat without a word. Stack pulled off the curb before she could even buckle her seatbelt completely. Tires screeched as he merged with traffic, music still thumping through the car like a third heartbeat. 

The difference was always immediate.

Smoke’s world was always calmer, quieter, a bit softer, and a touch cooler than what she was used to. Stack’s world? Heat, noise, and chaos all perfectly molded into the shape of a man.

He rapped along to the radio, one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out of the window. Annie took to looking out the window, not paying much attention to the smooth-talking man next to her until she felt fingers ghosting the skin on her inner thigh. She swatted them away without much thought, not really in the mood for whatever games Stack was going to play.

One second, the car was coming to an abrupt stop on the side of the road, and the next, he was grabbing her jaw, turning her face toward him. 

“You feelin’ bold today, baby girl?”

Annie’s stomach flipped. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You ain’t have to. But you know I don’t like that shit. You know better, right?”

She rolled her eyes. It was instinct. A natural reflex. But it was a mistake. Stack didn’t raise his voice. Just chuckled once, dark and low, and said–

“Oh, it’s that kind of weekend.”

-

The lounge was pulsing like it was alive. Men and women were filling the tables and chairs, drinks flowing, and clouds of cigar smoke surrounding the air.

Stack was in his element. He had his usual corner table already waiting, people nodding at him as they passed, girls giving him second glances he never returned. He didn’t have to, not when Annie was tucked into his side, phone in hand, legs crossed.

Their waitress brought over another shot for her at her request for another round. Annie tipped back another shot, the tequila burning on the way down. Stack caught the glass just before she could slam it down on the table again.

“That’s four, baby girl,” he said, voice low in her ear. “You know your limit.”

She pouted, reaching for his still full shot glass. She wanted to forget about everything and feel nothing. Sometimes, the easiest and quickest way was to throw back drinks until she couldn’t remember her own name. 

Stack’s hand slid around her wrist, firm and final. Stopping her from actually lifting the clear shot glass.

“Not tonight,” he added, more serious now, his dark eyes locking with hers. “I said I’d take care of you. That means I decide when you’ve had enough.”

Annie rolled her eyes, yet there was a heat rising beneath her skin, not from alcohol. She didn’t argue. Not because she couldn’t, but because she’d already crossed that line once. And Stack didn’t play that game.

What Stack did was lift the wrist he was holding up to his lips, then gently helped her up as he stood as well. They made their way to the dance floor, Stack with a smirk on his face, keeping score of every inch of defiance from the woman behind him. 

The night blurred into a haze of rhythm and heat. Stack had his hands on her hips the whole time, keeping her close, guiding her every movement like they were the only two people in the room. He pressed her back against his chest while his hand slid low enough to make her gasp.

She forgot the emails. The deadlines. Even Smoke’s gentleness seemed like a far-off memory under the weight of Stack’s grip. He let her live a little. Just enough.

But of course, she had to ruin it by pulling away before he got the chance to kiss those lips he hadn’t seen or felt in weeks. 

“Oh, that’s how it is?” he said, lips against her neck.

Annie blinked up at him, faux-innocent.

Stack grinned, dangerous and slow. “That’s cool. I was gonna go easy on you tonight. Guess we’re past that now, huh?”

-

Stack didn’t drag her to the bedroom…he led her there. A hand on her arm, a steady grip, not yanking but directing. His energy had shifted the moment they walked through the door. The teasing, cocky Stack from the club was gone.

His bedroom was a temple of control. The walls were dark, the sheets black, and the mirrors, oh, the mirrors, hung perfectly above the bed, polished to a shine. He opened the bedroom door with a foot and gestured toward the bed.

“Strip,” he barked, yanking his shirt over his head. She hesitated for half a second.

Stack raised an eyebrow. “Slower than usual, baby. Must be tired. You want me to help?”

Her cheeks burned. “No, daddy.”

“That’s what I thought.”

By the time she was bare, he had pulled out the restraints from a chest in the corner of the room, black leather with soft padding on the inside. He decided to start with her legs, so he guided her onto her back. He bent one leg at the knee, bringing her ankle back toward her thigh, and fastened the first cuff tight, connecting them. Then the other, so she was lying with both legs bent, leaving her open, exposed, and vulnerable.

Instead of moving to tie her hands above her head or to the headboard like he normally would, Stack gently pulled her wrists down to her sides, guiding each one back to her corresponding thigh. He buckled her left wrist to the outside of her left thigh. Then the right. Her arms were folded, wrists locked to the cuffs holding her legs open. 

He kneeled in between her open legs, staring at her like a man starved. But he didn’t touch her, yet. Her cheeks burned, but the throb between her legs only intensified.

Then his voice dipped lower. “Eyes up.”

Her gaze shifted to the mirror above the bed, and what she saw made her breath catch. She looked wrecked already. Arms taut in their bindings, legs helplessly folded back, pussy glistening in the soft light. And Stack in front of her, shirt gone, muscles cut, and eyes lit with danger.

“You’ve been mouthing off all week, haven’t you?” he grumbled, trailing his fingers down her stomach. “Bet Smoke let you get away with it. He probably kissed your forehead and told you it was okay.”

“Well, guess what, princess? I’m not Smoke.” He reached across her body to grab the crop off the nightstand.

“You got twenty,” he said, running it along her inner thigh. “And you gone count. If you miss one, we start over.” With ease, Stack gripped Annie’s tied-up arm and flipped her over.

The first strike landed on her ass with a crisp, echoing snap.

“One,” she gasped. Then another, across the opposite cheek. “Two.”

By six, her voice was trembling. By ten, she was clenching around nothing, desperate and dripping. By fifteen, she wasn’t sure if it was pain or pleasure anymore; the lines had blurred. The heat in her skin was unbearable, but needed. Her pussy ached, her thighs shook. 

When the twentieth hit, it wasn’t a scream that left her lips. It was a moan.

Stack grinned darkly. “That’s my girl.”

She barely had a second to breathe before he was flipping her onto her back, dropping to his knees on the bed, and lowering his face between her thighs.

“Now let’s see how many times I can make you cum before you pass out.” And with that, he dove in.

Bound and helpless, she had no control. Couldn’t close her legs, couldn’t squirm away, couldn’t do anything but take it. His mouth was ruthless.

Tongue dragging slow and deep, then flicking fast over her clit in maddening patterns. Every time she got close, he pulled back just enough to deny her, making her whine and beg against the restraints.

He edged her twice, brought her right to the brink, and then pulled back, laughing as she begged, squirmed, and cursed his name. When she cried out, “please,” he reached up, slapped her thigh just hard enough to make her gasp.

“Please, what? Use your words, baby girl.”

“Please let me come. Daddy, please…”

He smirked. “Not yet.”

Annie felt her body give in, her breath catching with each denial. Her body was squeezing tightly from holding on so much. 

“Eyes up,” he ordered, tapping her cheek.

Annie’s gaze slid up…and there she was. Bound and helpless. And there he was kneeling on the bed in front of her, smirking like the devil, thick dick in hand, dragging the tip along her soaked folds.

“Look how pretty you are when you’re fucked open,” he growled. “Watch yourself, baby. You better not look away.”

Stack eased his way into her, but didn’t bother with letting his woman get adjusted. He began to fuck her with purpose, rough and deep, controlling every rhythm, every sound she made. Her wrists pulled at the restraints, her thighs trembled with overstimulation.

“Look at you, takin’ it so good.” Her breath caught when Stack smirked down at her. He took to gripping her throat as he fucked her to the point of her whole body jiggling.

She could feel her body clenching and tightening. Her stomach was the main culprit.

“You gonna cum?” he asked, voice tight.

She whimpered. “I-I don’t know. E-elias-”

“You know you’re not allowed.”

He pulled out and slapped her clit hard enough to make her choke on a moan, then sank back in with a grunt. Her entire body shook, sweat rolling down her sides, tears spilling from her eyes. She was trying her hardest not to give in, knowing that she would be in far more trouble than she was currently in. 

Stack was unrelenting in his strokes, making sure to hit every depth of her. Leaving no place untouched. He pressed a gentle kiss to her neck, loving the way her whimpers and breathless moans filled his ears. He kissed his way up to her ear.

“Say thank you, mama. Give me the words I like.”

“Thank you, daddy. T-t-thank you!”

He smirked and gripped her neck again, then he kissed her, hard and possessively. His thrusts not slowing down, not even a little.

Her voice was wrecked. “P-please, daddy. I’m sorry, I was such a brat. Please, let me cum. P-p-please, I need it. Elias…p-please” The last word coming out as a stuttered whimper. 

He groaned into her mouth. “There she is. Now cum.”

When she did, it was violent. Back arching, mouth open in a silent scream, legs trembling uncontrollably. He held her through it, fucking her through the aftershocks until she was twitching, oversensitive, boneless beneath him.

“Again,” he growled, looking up at her through his lashes. “Keep lookin’, princess. Don’t you dare take your eyes off that mirror.”

And she did. She watched herself fall apart over and over. Her second and third orgasms had her body convulsing with pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Tears collected in her. Drool wet her lips. Her thighs trembled, her voice broken with babbling pleas.

“Please, daddy, please, I can’t. It’s too much–” Annie managed to get out in between the harsh rocks of her body.

Stack smirked, lips slick from her. “That’s too bad. Because I’m not done with you.”

Annie’s eyes widened, and her mouth sputtered jumbled words. Stack’s smirk only got wider as he reached down and gripped a bouncing breast in one of his own, and the other rubbed her stomach, debating over whether he should ruin her or not.

Normally, they would be in position number five at this point in the night, but Stack was content with just the one. Looking at her face to face was his kryptonite. His release was creeping up on him, meanwhile, Annie felt her orgasm hitting her all over.

Then he came with a groan, hips jerking as he spilled deep inside her, burying his face in her neck with a growl of her name. He unbuckled each restraint slowly, rubbing the soreness from her joints, murmuring praise between every touch.

“You’re mine on the weekends,” he whispered into her ear. “And you know what happens when you act up. But you did good, baby. You took all of it and let it out.”

She nodded, boneless and spent in his arms. She couldn’t even speak. Just curled into him, safe and sore and glowing.

And Stack simply smiled. Because the weekend had only just started.

It was Sunday night. The sky was a beautiful purple, the sun melting behind the skyline as the Charger rolled up outside Smoke’s building. The engine cut off, but the music was playing something soft, for once. Stack stepped around to the passenger side and opened the door like a chauffeur.

Annie didn’t move at first. She looked like she might melt into the leather seat. Stack helped her up, supporting her carefully. Her knees buckled slightly when she stood, and she hissed softly at the ache.

“Easy,” he said, one arm around her waist, the other carrying her overnight bag. The two moved their way through the apartment building, into the elevator, and up to the top floor.

The front door opened before either of them knocked. Smoke stood in the doorway, expression unreadable but warm. Wordlessly, Stack passed him the bag and Annie. 

“She’s good,” Stack said quietly. “Just tired and sore.”

Smoke nodded. “I’ve got her.”

Stack gave Annie one last kiss on the cheek and disappeared out the front door. Smoke closed the door behind them and turned to her. She looked like a storm that had been weathered. Smoke caught her before she could stumble further.

“Hey,” he said gently, cupping her face. “I’ve got you, mama. Let me take care of you.”

-

The bath was already running. 

He’d learned by now no words at first. Just touch and presence.

Smoke peeled her clothes off slowly, carefully. Then untied her sneakers and set them aside. His eyes roamed over her marked skin without judgment. He touched every bruise with a gentleness and care that he reserved for only her. She winced when he reached her thighs.

She sank into the bath like it was salvation. The water steamed, full of oils and salts that smelled like chamomile and eucalyptus.

Smoke knelt beside the tub, rolled up his sleeves, and ran a soft washcloth over her skin. His hands were warm, slow, and methodical. He didn’t talk. Neither one did.

When her eyes fluttered closed, he kissed her temple and whispered, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

The lights in the bedroom were dim. The sheets were fresh. A playlist of low instrumentals hummed from the speakers, barely loud enough to register.

Smoke helped her onto the bed like she was made of silk. She winced as she lay back, thighs trembling. He crawled in beside her, trailing kisses down her body, soft, wet, and worshipful. Over every bruise. Every mark. Every bite and stripe that Stack had left behind.

“You’re so good,” he murmured. “Letting yourself go like that. Letting him take everything. That’s strength, mama. That’s power.”

Annie exhaled shakily. Smoke kissed the inside of her knee.

“I love how your body tells stories,” he whispered. “I love the bruises. The tremble in your voice when I touch you here,” he pressed his lips against the crease of her thigh, “and the way you look after you’ve been used. You’re still glowing.”

He spread her legs slowly and kissed between them without hesitation, tongue moving with unhurried care. She gasped, still raw, overstimulated, and sore.

“Too much?” he asked gently.

She just released a shaky breath as she made eye contact with him. Annie didn’t know whether she was truly prepared to experience much more, but she knew he would be careful.

Smoke hummed as he recognized the look that she was giving him. It was something that he was good at. Reading her was his specialty. He eased up just a bit and began to give her soft kisses and sucks to her clit. He didn’t chase her orgasm. He wanted to give her peace. 

When she came, it was slow and warm like she was melting. Tears pricked at her eyes, but not from pain. He wrapped her in his arms after, held her tight with his body curled around hers. Fingers stroking her back, lips brushing her shoulder.

“Tomorrow’s Monday,” she murmured groggily.

Smoke chuckled. “I know.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“I got you, baby. You know that.”

Annie smiled, eyes barely open. “What would I do without you?”

Smoke kissed her forehead. “You’ll never have to find out.”

By the time the sun rose, her outfit was pressed and ready. Her phone was charged, coffee brewed, and breakfast was waiting. But it was more than that, her heart was steady. Her body grounded. Because Smoke wasn’t just her safe space. He was her recovery.

The emails never stopped. And neither did the late meetings, the after-hours calls, or the endless pressure to be the best, the fastest, the most capable.

Annie’s phone buzzed every few minutes. The blue light of her laptop reflected in her eyes long after midnight. Her apartment was quiet and deathly calm, even though she was used to being alone there.

She hadn’t seen Smoke or Stack in two weeks. Not properly, anyway.

She answered their texts with dry one-word replies. Ignored their calls more than she took them. When Stack FaceTimed her last weekend, she answered bare-faced and red-eyed, snapped something short and cold, and hung up before he could call her out.

Smoke still sent her flowers and food. Stack still called and sent videos. None of it worked this time. She stayed in her apartment, slept in her clothes, woke up angry, and went to bed worse.

-

Stack paced his living room with the phone pressed to his ear, jaw tight, patience fraying.

“Did she text you back?” he asked flatly. “It’s been four days.”

On the other end, Smoke’s voice was calm but clipped. “You know how she gets.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“You gonna go get her?”

“I want to,” Stack growled. “I want to kick her door in, bend her over the nearest surface, and remind her who she belongs to.”

Smoke was quiet for a beat. “That’s not what she needs right now.”

“I know,” Stack sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But it’s gettin’ real hard to sit on my hands when our girl’s out there drowning.”

“She’ll come to us,” Smoke said calmly.

-

Annie sat on the floor of her shower, water scalding. Her phone buzzed from the counter, but she didn’t check it. She didn’t need to, she already knew who it was.

And she hated that she was this exhausted. She had a craving that took over her whole body. A craving for their hands, their voices, their complete and utter control. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Something had to give.

-

It was Friday at 3:42 PM when Stack got the call. When he saw Annie flash across his screen, he nearly dropped the glass he was holding.

“’Bout time,” he muttered, wiping his hands before swiping to answer. “Talk to me.”

But her voice wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t tired or soft or needy. It was sharp and dangerous.

“Pick me up. Work ends at five. Don’t be late.” Then she hung up.

Stack stared at the phone like it might talk back.

“…Oh, she’s lost her damn mind.”

-

He was waiting outside her building at 4:57. Leaning against the Charger, arms crossed, sunglasses low, grin slow and mean.

Annie strutted out like she hadn’t left him hanging for weeks. She wore tight slacks, a blouse with too many buttons undone, and her eyes were full of challenge and fire.

Stack opened the door for her, silently. And she slid in without a word. He got behind the wheel, started the engine, and kept the silence up until they hit the freeway.

“You got somethin’ to say, baby girl?”

She huffed, looking out the window. “Just drive.”

He chuckled once. “Oh, nah. You got one free pass, and you just cashed it.”

She turned, finally, locking eyes with him. And she simply just rolled them, turning away from him completely. Stack’s smile dropped.

His hand slid off the wheel and wrapped around her throat, slow and precise, just enough pressure to make her heart skip.

“I’m not dealing with this all weekend,” he growled, eyes still on the road.

She didn’t reply, just scoffed.

Stack shook his head, a smirk on his face. He knew exactly what he was going to do. Instead of heading in the direction of his loft, he headed in the direction of his twin brother’s. Stack knew that his brother would be far more equipped to handle her in this state than he was.

The rest of the fifteen minute ride was complete silence. When they pulled down the familiar street of Smoke’s building. Annie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion when they pulled up in front of the building.

Stack got out of the car and opened her door. “Have fun.” 

Annie wanted to say something, but it seemed to get stuck in her throat once Stack tapped her back and lightly pushed her forward. An unknown feeling seemed to fill her head. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them loose. Instead, she held them in.

It started with the sound of keys hitting the floor. Smoke turned from the stove just in time to see her shoulders sag, her purse slide off her shoulder, and Annie practically melt into a dining room chair.

No words came out. Her attitude had disappeared in the five minutes it had taken for her to get from the front curb where Stack left her to Smoke’s front door. A quiet, choked sob was the only noise that came from her.

“Hey,” he breathed, instantly moving toward her, “hey, baby, I got you.”

She shook her head violently, palms pressed to her face like she was trying to keep it all in. But the sobs kept coming, broken, raw, hiccuping through clenched teeth.

“I–I can’t,” she gasped. “I–I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Smoke knelt in front of her, cupped her face in both hands, and kissed her forehead, soft and grounding.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ya, mama,” he whispered. “Just breathe for me.”

She leaned forward, arms wrapping around his squatted frame, and collapsed into him. It was a total surrender. 

He held her for a long time, rocking her gently, whispering calm into her ear while her body shook with the weight of too many silent breakdowns. Smoke was doing his best to calm his woman down. Her tears were dripping on his neck, and he could feel the exhaustion weighing her body down.

After a few minutes of comforting her, Smoke helps Annie stand and leads her to the bedroom. There were no candles, no bubble bath, none of the usual things he would do in her time of distress. However, things were still as calm and as relaxing as ever.

They settled on the bed with her lying under him, practically naked. Her face was stained from the tears she had just released. Despite how settled she currently was, Smoke could still see the vulnerability swirling in her pretty brown eyes. He knew what she needed without her ever even having to open her mouth.  

He placed a gentle kiss on her neck before pulling away and peeling his shirt off. His eyes never left hers. His voice was quiet and steady.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she croaked.

He nodded. “Do you want to feel something else?”

Her puffy, shining eyes met his.

“Yes.”

“Then use me,” he said simply. “I’m all yours.”

He lay back on the bed without a word, arms open, letting her climb over him. She wasn’t rough, not at first. Her hands trembled as they dragged across his chest, her mouth soft and desperate as she kissed him like she was trying to escape inside him.

She tied his wrists to the headboard with her silk scarf. 

Smoke moaned softly, already breathless from the simple act of giving her control. “Tell me what you need, mama.”

Annie’s voice was hoarse, heavy with emotion. “I need to take it out on something.”

“Then take it out on me.”

Her hand wrapped around his throat, gently but firmly. She kissed him again, deeper this time, and rolled her hips against him, slow and hard. Smoke’s eyes fluttered shut.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I want every tear, scream, and pain you got, baby. Give it to me.”

Her breath quickened at the way his voice in that deep country accent spoke to her. No matter how much control he gave her, he always managed to reel her back in. As quickly as she could, Annie took his sweatpants off, glad that he decided to freeball for the day. 

She reached her hand and gripped him. Not bothering to deal with the giving and receiving of oral satisfaction that she was sure her man was prepared for. She knew how ready she was, so the moment she sank down on him. She bit her lip and sat up, her hands pressed on his chest. 

Smoke looked up at her like she was the sun, moon, and the stars. He loved watching her above him, rocking until she was able to get her release. And the looks he gave her during her ride always made her more turned on than when she started. And tonight was no exception.

She rode him hard, desperate and determined. Every thrust was filled with more than lust. It was a perfect mix of frustration, exhaustion, and rage. It was all bleeding out through her body. And Smoke took it.

He whispered through gritted teeth. “Use me, mama. Get yours first, okay? Don’t worry about me. Just feel, baby.”

She nodded her head, her body rolling and picking up speed at the encouragement. Her eyes met his as breathy moans stumbled from her lips. Her thighs burned at the pace she had set. She could feel her release creeping up on her, and it only made her want to push harder.

When she came, she cried again. Her face buried in his neck, body shaking, breath ragged. And still, Smoke didn’t stop murmuring praise into her skin.

“You did so good, baby.” Smoke pulled one arm free, needing to touch her. He wrapped his arm around her, tugging her impossibly closer.

She reached up and untied him slowly. Still, he didn’t let her go.

“You’re not broken, okay?” he whispered into her hair. “You’re tired. You’ve been holding it together too long. Let me help you hold it now.” Smoke kissed her temple.

The morning sun was already high when Annie blinked awake, still tangled in Smoke’s sheets. She was supposed to be at work.

Her phone had been blown up with emails, texts, and voicemails from that one high-profile, high-strung client who didn’t know how to talk to people without making them feel like dirt.

And now, thirty minutes into an impromptu phone call on Smoke’s couch, Annie was done.

“No,” she snapped into her phone. “You already approved the deck this week, we can’t make any revisions.”

She froze, jaw tense.

Then, through clenched teeth: “You’re not listening.”

Smoke sat at the kitchen table, shirtless in gray sweats. A cigar smoldered between his fingers, untouched but burning slowly. He watched her in silence, eyes calm but alert.

She hung up with a shaky exhale and threw the phone onto the couch.

Smoke took one more puff and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “You done, mama?”

“I swear,” she muttered, pacing again, “if one more person tries me today, I’m gonna lose it.”

“It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.” His tone was light.

Annie turned to him, eyes flaring. “Don’t.”

Smoke tilted his head slightly. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t say shit to me right now. You’re just sitting there watching me.”

Smoke tapped ash into a tray. “I’m sitting here because I know how to stay calm when you can’t.”

Annie’s voice sharpened. “Right. Because you’re perfect. Always so damn quiet. You think you’re better than me, Elijah?”

He didn’t flinch. Just took another slow drag of his cigar and let her unload. He knew what she was doing, but he didn’t let it get to him. She was still too wound up mentally for him to care too much about the bite she had behind those words.

“Nobody said that.” Smoke leaned back, resting his arm on the table.

“You just sit there, acting like I’m overreacting or–or–or crazy!”

Smoke lifted his eyebrow as he took another pull of the cigar. “You want me to fight you, or you want me to be what you need?”

“Right now?” she said, breath shaking. “I need you to put that shit out. I can’t even think with that smoke in the air. And I sure as hell can’t hear myself over your fucking silence.”

Neither one had noticed the door open, nor did they notice Stack standing in the corner. He stood in the dark area of the entrance to the open living room. He had heard a good amount of it to know that Annie was out of her mind with the way she was talking.

He took a few steps forward until he was completely in the room. One look at Annie who was tense and practically vibrating, and then at Smoke, sitting calmly, taking slow drags of his cigar.

“…The fuck is going on in here?”

Annie froze; her breathing was ragged.

Smoke, without even turning around, said calmly, “Hey, brother.”

Stack stepped further in, taking off his glasses. “You good?”

Smoke shrugged, dragging on the cigar again. “She’s not.”

Stack looked back at Annie. Something in his expression shifted. That usual playfulness disappeared and was replaced by a darker heat. Something sharp, cold, and dominant.

“You cussin’ him out?” Stack asked slowly, tone deadly calm.

Annie opened her mouth, but then closed it. She didn't have anything to say. And even if she did, it would probably be the wrong thing to say.

Stack let out one low, humorless laugh.

“Oh, nah, baby. Don’t act brave now. You wanna raise your voice at him? The man who rubs your legs after I leave ‘em shaking? The one who draws you fuckin’ baths?”

He stepped closer, each word a warning.

“You come into his space. Sleep in his bed. Cry in his arms. And this morning, you turn around and snap on him like he ain’t been your peace?”

Annie’s lips trembled, but Stack didn’t stop.

“Nah, princess. That’s not gonna fly.”

Smoke finally spoke, quiet but firm. “She’s just overwhelmed. It’s aigh–”

Stack cut him a glance that silenced him instantly. “You sat there and took it. That’s your grace.”

Then back to Annie.

“But I’m not him.” His voice dropped to a growl. “So now? You answer to me.”

The silence that followed Stack’s words was electric.

Annie stood frozen, heart thudding, throat tight. She opened her mouth to argue, to defend herself, but Stack was already moving across the room. Each step was fast, deliberate, and dominant.

He grabbed her by the wrist, yanked her forward, and bent her over the cool marble of Smoke’s kitchen island in one practiced movement.

“Stack–” she gasped.

“No,” he said, voice ice. “You don’t talk until I say so.”

Smoke didn’t stop him. He just let his twin do what he did best when it came to Annie. He leaned back in his chair, shirtless and still smoking, eyes locked on hers, calm and unreadable, letting Stack take what needed to be taken.

Stack shoved her robe up around her hips and ripped her panties down in one swift motion, baring her completely. She gasped, humiliated, breath caught between guilt and arousal.

“This the same mouth that cried in his arms last night?” Stack growled, palming her ass.

The first slap landed sharp and clean. It made her flinch. And there was a burning sting left over from his heavy hand. 

“You get peace,” smack, “you get worship,” smack, “and you turn around and spit in his face?”

“I–I didn’t mean to–” A rough, stinging smack interrupted her statement. She hung her head and bit her lip trying not to show how much it was getting to her.

“You meant it enough to say it.”

Smoke exhaled slowly, watching from across the table, elbow resting against the armrest like this was a ritual he’d seen before.

“Keep count, baby girl,” Stack said, smacking her again, harder this time. “Ten. Then you apologize. To both of us.”

Her voice cracked. “O-one.”

Another. “Two–”

By six, her voice was shaking. By eight, her legs were trembling. Her palms were flat on the cold counter, forehead resting against her arm, eyes stinging with tears.

When ten hit, she was breathless, sobbing softly.

Stack leaned close, one hand gripping her hip, the other sliding between her thighs to feel the heat there. And of course, she was wet.

“Now,” he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, “you’ve got something to say.”

She turned her head, eyes catching on Smoke’s across the table. He didn’t say a word. Just stared at her through the smoke, lips parted slightly, watching.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I–I was wrong. I lashed out, and you didn’t deserve it, either of you.”

Her voice cracked, and she turned to Smoke fully, desperation bleeding through.

“I’m so sorry for the way I spoke to you. You didn’t deserve that. You never deserve that. You always take care of me, and I was mean.”

Smoke finally stubbed out the cigar in the ashtray, lips twitching like he was thinking about smiling. But he didn’t move.

Annie swallowed. “Please… Elijah. I need you.”

Stack stepped back, voice lower now. “Go to him. If he’ll have you.”

She stumbled forward on sore legs, the punishment still burning in her skin, and moved to the chair where Smoke sat, legs spread, posture open.

She dropped to her knees first, part apology and part desperation. Then looked up at him. Her lashes glistened with unshed tears. “Can I…?”

He looked at her for a long moment, eyes still unreadable. Then patted his thigh once.

She climbed into his lap, folding into him with a shaky breath. But he didn’t hold her. Not yet at least. He was waiting for a proper apology.

His voice was low and steady. “Say it how I like to hear it.”

Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry, Papa. I was mean. I disrespected you and let my stress turn me into someone I’m not. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just trying to help.”

Smoke leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “And?”

“And I missed you. I need you.”

That’s when he finally wrapped his arms around her. They were tight and safe. She tucked her head in his neck, sniffling her residual tears away.

Stack leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her fall apart in Smoke’s lap, satisfied.

“Good girl,” he said, voice like velvet and smoke. “Back where you belong.”

[januaryembrs]

THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]

Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)

word count: 7.9k

trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.

authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.

previous chpt | next chpt

'Doctor, look into my eyes.

I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'

The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.

Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.

Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7. 

Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.  

Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now. 

They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included. 

Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings. 

Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up. 

Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt. 

But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t. 

He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around. 

So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help. 

Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover. 

“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,” 

“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.

“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”

“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,” 

“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her. 

He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard. 

Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her. 

She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside. 

“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?” 

She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again. 

“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”

“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”

Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her. 

“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”

He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances. 

The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece. 

“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare. 

A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching. 

“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up. 

She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms. 

The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly. 

“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help. 

Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face. 

The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried. 

“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing. 

She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home. 

But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her. 

He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic. 

And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour  ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed. 

Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.

It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it. 

It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking. 

JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed. 

Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.

So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her. 

JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more. 

So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm. 

So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few. 

It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book. 

“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,” 

She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation. 

“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?” 

“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.

“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend. 

She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words. 

She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised. 

So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.

JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse. 

Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out. 

Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit. 

Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t. 

He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,” 

Nothing. 

And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of. 

“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot. 

He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver. 

He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.  

“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,” 

“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then. 

“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,” 

“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out. 

She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle. 

“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.

“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before. 

“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”

“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise. 

“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,” 

And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished. 

He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack. 

And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.

If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese. 

Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this. 

It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her. 

So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).

“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,” 

“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”

“Do you mean julienne?” 

“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid. 

“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty. 

“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”

David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there. 

Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her. 

“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”

David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now. 

“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”

“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"

“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound. 

She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too. 

Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning. 

“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol. 

She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. 

“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.” 

“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile. 

“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,” 

And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks. 

While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.

She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway. 

It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in. 

He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later. 

“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing. 

“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months. 

She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was. 

But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again. 

Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door. 

It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time. 

But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years. 

“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab. 

She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed. 

It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was. 

“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans. 

“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!” 

Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck. 

“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”

“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”

They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with. 

Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought. 

This never happened. 

Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning. 

That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s. 

So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage. 

Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more. 

He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom. 

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”

And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit. 

She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down. 

It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her. 

“Bug, I’m getting you-”

“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought. 

Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her. 

“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke. 

“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”

His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks. 

“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,” 

His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her. 

He felt like a fool. 

“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.” 

“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,” 

It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth. 

He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly. 

“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.” 

He would be lying if he  said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.

“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder. 

Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock. 

She kissed him. She had kissed him. 

And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.

“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again. 

Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together. 

But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep. 

He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow. 

–

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[tpwk-formula1]

Kinktober Day 9 - Orgasm Denial - OP81

Oscar Piastri X Reader

TW - A week long denial, some description of edging, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex

WC 2100+

Y/N POV"

"Oscar, it's been three days, please," I beg again.

"You said you wanted to try a week," Oscar asks with a light laugh falling from his lips, raising his brow in a questioning manner. I just groan out throwing my head back before finally admitting, "I can't do it any longer."

"No? I told you, you wouldn't be able to. Too much of a little cum slut to go a whole week without cumming for me," Oscar teases making my thighs clench together at his words.

"Oscar, I thought it would be easy. But you made it hard," I whine trying to climb into Oscar's lap.

"ME?! I didn't do anything," Oscar mocks innocence.

"Oscar, you were buried between my thighs for over an hour yesterday refusing to let me cum," I tell him while starting to grind down on him looking for more friction.

"You said, you wanted to be edged a week. I wasn't about to go a week without touching you," Oscar says making me whine out and grind a bit harder.

"Please, you were right," I finally admit hoping Oscar realizes I'm tired of the little game we decided to play.

"I think you can make it another day or so," Oscar finally says before halting my movements not allowing me to gain any more pleasure.

"Oscar," I deadpan looking straight at him.

"Y/N," Oscar mocks back making me whine knowing it was gonna be a losing battle.

As the rest of the day goes on Oscar doesn't tease too much but will occasionally will send a quick slap to my ass or grope my tit a little knowing how sensitive I was when I was this worked up.

The next day was a whole other story. I woke up to Oscar nearly bringing to an orgasm but quickly stops when he knows I'm close. Throughout the whole day I can barely focus on anything but the dull throb between my legs.

"Oscar, I'm over this," I tell him again making him look at me before turning his attention back to his phone.

When night rolls around Oscar find his way between my thighs again bringing me to the edge multiple times before calling is quits and crawling into bed with me again.

"How are you not ready to cum too?" I question Oscar knowing he wasn't cumming either.

"Cause, I'm finding too much pleasure in how desperate you get," Oscar tells me simply before pulling me into his chest before both of us fall asleep.

The next morning I wake up before Oscar and decide it was my time to show him exactly how I was feeling. I slowly sneak under the covers to find Oscar's morning wood already standing up proudly through his boxers he slept in the night before. I sloftly pull out his cock from his boxers bringing my mouth down to his cock which is already leaking with precum, showing he he was struggling with this denial just as much as me.

"Fuck, baby," Oscar groans clearly waking up from the pleasure. I continued my actions bringing Oscar right to the edge but quickly stopping when my alarm went off telling me it was time to get up for the day. When I get out of bed without saying anything and turning off the alarm Oscar is quick to start complaining.

"Baby, please. You can spare another minute I was so close."

I just laugh at Oscar's desperation knowing he got just a lick of what I've been going through the past 5 days. When I get in the shower I hear Oscar come in to start his day as well.

"That sucked," Oscar whispers just before starting to brush his teeth. I just giggled at him again.

"Only two more days," I chuckle knowing if I continued to tease Oscar he would snap far before the two days were up. As the day continues I can tell Oscar is growing weaker by the hour. Between small brushes past him or teasing kisses placed on his sensitive spots there was only so much Oscar could take.

When we finally get into bed for the night Oscar sits up and starts talking.

"Baby, I don't think I can take this any longer. I haven't cum in days and between your teasing and me teasing you, I can't do it," Oscar finally admits making me sit up with him.

"Oscar, you've been teasing me non stop all week and I spend one day giving you a taste of the same medicine and you're ready to break," I tease making Oscar groan out realizing just how desperate I must be too.

"We can make it anoter full day," I add sternly before laying back down and going to sleep with Oscar finally cuddling up and falling asleep as well.

The next day was a busy day so neither of us really had a chance to really continue teasing but that night we both went a bit crazy knowing tomorrow would be the day.

"Y/N baby, fuck I can't handle much more," Oscar gasps out after I spent the last couple of hours edging him. I finally pull back and crawl into his arms before placing a few kisses on his lips before he flips us over and starts teasing me back.

It's only been a half an hour before I'm shaking from how stimulated I was, "I'm cloae again." I moan out which has Oscar pulling away allowing me to come down from the edge before repeating the whole process.

"Feels so good Osc," I whine out when Oscar has three fingers shoved into my dripping pussy.

"No more," I finally whine out when Oscar pulls away again, having lost count of how many times he had brought me to the edge before pulling away.

When Oscar climbs back up he pulls me in for a kiss allowing me to taste myself on his lips.

"Tomorrow," Oscar whispers against my lips making me whisper back.

Edging was something Oscar and I loved to do and when we set a date we almost always stuck with that, but this past week we were both close to breaking multiple times showing that maybe next time we had this much time on our hands we would not be doing it this long again.

In the morning we both had Zoom meetings which we both agreed we would be spending the rest of the day in bed together once they had both ended.

It's around 3pm when we both find ourselves back in bed. It's almost instant we start making out, with me on top of Oscar I'm grinding into him feeling how hard he is growing instantly.

It's not long before our clothes are completely off and Oscar is burried in my pussy again.

"Fuck, Osc I'm close," I moan out which has him pulling back continuing to edge me a bit. I feel his fingers slip into my pussy making me clinch around them loving the feeling of being filled up again.

"Oscar," I moan out loudly when Oscar starts finger fucking me making sure to his my G-spot over and over and over again bringing me to the edge again. Oscar knows my body like the back of his hand so he pulls out again allowing me to calm down a bit before continuing.

"No, more," I moan when Oscar brings me to the edge again for the 5th or 6th time in such a short period of time.

"Give me one more," Oscar mumbles against my pussy sending a new vibration to my clit. He pulls back slightly blowing on my clit making me whine out at the cooling sensation.

When Oscar brings his lips down to my pussy he starts out slowly building my orgasm back up slower than he had been today. When he slowly slips his fingers back into my pussy I feel them curl right against my G-spot knowing I won't last long like this, but instead of Oscar aggressively fucking me like normal he's just slowly massaging me making sure to continue to bring me up slowly.

"Close," I moan out even though both Oscar and I know I won't be able to come with such a light stimulation he was currently giving me. Oscar doesn't change a single thing keeping me right on the edge but not allowing me to fall over. He continued to hold me on the edge for at least 30 seconds before he pulled back watching me whine out knowing how desperate I truly was.

"Are you ready?" Oscar whispers while making eye contact.

"Mhm, please, Osc," I moan out clearly still blissed out from the previous pleasure. Oscar dices right back in making sure to bring me right to the edge rather quickly before slowing down and keepign me right there again.

"Please," I beg out not knowing how much more I can handle.

"Patience," Oscar mumbles out against my throbbing clit making me whine at the stimulation.

Oscar finally decides to quit his teasing because he starts speeding up making me want to cum almost instantly but holding back knowing I had to wait for permission.

"Cum for me," Oscar says while speeding up his actions with his fingers making me instantly start cumming all over his face. It was rare for me to squirt but neither of us were surprised when it happened. Once I've come down from my high of myt orgasm Oscar doesn't slow down one bit making sure to bring me to the edge almost instantly.

"I'm gonna-" I can't even finish what I'm trying to say before I'm releasing another orgasm spraying my orgasm all over Oscar's face again.

"One more before I fuck you," Oscar mumbles out making sure to keep the same amount of pleasure coursing through my body.

"I don't know if I can," I whine out feeling the overstimulation start to take course.

"You can and you will," Oscar tells me sternly making it clear he knows exactly where my limits truly are.

I feel Oscar slip another finger in stretching me out even more. "Fuck!" I moan out getting slightly overwhelmed by the pleasure.

"Cum for me," Oscar says instantly making me start cumming again. While I didn't squirt this time the pleasure from this orgasm was just as intense if not more. Oscar helps me ride out my orgasm before slowly pulling away and bringing his face close to mine to see just how much I soaked it.

"You're quite the messy girl," Oscar jokes before starting to kiss me allowing me to recover from so many orgasms before making me cum again.

I can feel Oscar start to tease my clit with the tip of his cock making me twitch a bit due to being so sensitive. When Oscar finally slips into my pussy he instantly bottoms out making me moan loudly while he also groans finally feeling my pussy for the first time in a week.

"So tight," Oscar groans into my neck tickling it a bit, before he bits down and leaves a little hickey.

Oscar starts at a slow pace before building it into a brutal pace making me pant, "I'm about to cum."

"Cum for me baby," Oscar groans slipping his finger down to my slit and applying slight pressure to help bring me over the edge. While I'm cumming I can feel Oscar tense a bit before starting to cum and release rope after rope filling my pussy up.

"Fuck," Oscar groans while coming down from his orgasm.

"More," I whine while starting to grind my hips up to get more stimulation and get Oscar fully hard again.

It didn't take Oscar very long before he was pumping into me at an unforgivable pace. It was rare for Oscar to get this rough but after a week of teasing this is exactly what we needed.

It's not long before I find myself at the edge again but this time it is building up to be substantially stronger than my previous ones.

"Fuck," I whine out not knowing what to do being so overwhelmed. Oscar removed his hand from my clit knowing it would be too overwhelming if I came like that again.

"Cum with me," Oscar gasps out clearly being just as close as I am.

The second I start cumming Oscar sends one last rough thrust burying deep into my pussy and unleashing another load filling me up so much that some of it is leaking out and sliding down my ass.

"Fuck, that was good," Oscar announces breaking the silence before laying next to me while we both come down from the most intense sex we've had in a while. I just laugh before turning on my side and cuddling into his side.

"I love you," I whisper leaning up and kissing him softly.

We spent the rest of our day making each other cum over and over again before ending the night in the shower and watching a movie.

[shurisasthmaticgf]

oh baby he down bad: charles leclerc x black fem! reader

summary: three times when you realized you truly did have your boyfriend wrapped around your finger

warnings: crying, period mention, swearing

blog moved to @delewlew

author's note: this is the first charles fic i've written so please be kind...i hope you all enjoy it. i'm sick with covid and i was loopy on meds when i wrote this so i hope it makes sense 💀 comments and other feedback are welcome and appreciated!

whoisyn uploaded a story!

you laid in your bed curled into fetal position with your phone mere inches from your forehead. the room was dark but light enough to see half of your face as your eyes welled with tears. you rambled, "a few weeks ago when i was visiting new york i bought a bunch of takis and nerds clusters because they don't sell them over here in monaco and i went to go get a bag of both and i didn't know i ran out! i'm so upset i don't even want to settle for anything else." you wailed loudly, mixing in a few laughs at how ridiculous you probably looked but you had no shame as you hit post.

the entire day had been going pretty shit from the moment when you woke up and bled through your favorite pajamas to nearly passing out when you wanted to have a relaxing hot shower to make you feel better. now you were just laying in bed clinging to your body pillow that had lingering notes of your boyfriend's cologne. it was early in the night but your entire body felt like it was hit by a bus and you were one tylenol away from needing a stomach flush yet it didn't actually feel like it was helping. to make things worse, all you wanted was your boyfriend but he was supposed to be going out right after he got off of work.

you laid stiff in your bed in an obscure position because you found that was the only one that didn't make you feel worse. the door to your bedroom opened and your boyfriend entered wearing pajama pants and no shirt. you squinted through the dim light and mumbled, "babe? thought you were going out tonight? you had that thing." charles placed two bags of your favorite snacks onto your nightstand and responded, "i was but i found out through twitter that my girlfriend was crying at home." you turned your face away from him out of embarrassment because you were literally crying over chips and candy. he turned your chin back to him, "why didn't you call me, mon cœur?" you shrugged and reached for the bag of candy, "it wasn't that serious." he pulled you closer to him and you shifted positions so your head was against his chest. charles pressed a kiss to your forehead, "anything that bothers you is serious to me, darling. but, i am here and you have your snacks so we can watch your movie like we always do, yes?" you nodded and turned on Princess and The Frog which was one of your comfort movies since childhood.

whoisyn posted a story!

replies:

lilymhe WHP IS YOUE DEALER PLS 🙏

↳ whoisyn lemme ask charles

francisca.cgomes feel better bby <3

↳ whoisyn thank you so much ily ily ily ❤️

logansargeant i still have like 3 bags of hot cheetos and those nerds things for you from when you asked me to grab you some when i had a layover in new york

↳ whoisyn omg i forgot abt those! i'll get them next week if u bring em. ty ty.

alex_albon lily wanted me to ask you who your dealer is? she said you'd know what she meant

↳ whoisyn oh my bad pookie i forgot...but charles said he just has a stash of american snacks at his place for me. i'll bring her some next weekend tho dw ❤️

↳ alex_albon THANK YOU OMG I COULD KISS YOU RN - lily

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

you cut through one of the alleyways out of street view once you noticed someone had been recording you as you walked through the streets of monaco. most of the time you managed to sneak through the city without being spotted but today you had to make a trip to the mall where a handful of people recognized you immediately. as someone who was never in the public eye and lived as a "regular" person you were still getting used to people recognizing you and following you around. time and time again you'd gone viral for your fan responses when they asked for pictures or autographs, usually a laugh and "why, i'm not the famous one?" you were genuine with your interactions and were known for helping fans get autographs or deliver fan letters to charles at grand prix weekends. although you enjoyed this aspect of his fanbase, sometimes it was too much and you just wanted to live in peace like you used to. so you'd learned every back road and sidewalk to your shared apartment for quick escapes.

the alleyway was quiet and away from the few people that were walking and talking beside you. just as you were to round a corner you heard a soft meow. stopping dead in your tracks you looked around confused to where the sound was coming from. there was silence then another meow, and another, and another until you realized a small orange cat a few meters away was the culprit. the tiny kitten was shaking and wet in some fluid you only hoped was water, but by the smell it was definitely sewage, pipe, or garbage juice. you wrinkled your nose and held the helpless fur ball in your palm, "shit...what the fuck do i do?" the kitten nibbled on your thumb and you stretched your finger away, "don't do that i don't want rabes or whatever cats can carry." you looked over your shoulder and sighed, "well i guess i have a cat now... let's go."

once back in your apartment you put the small kitten in your bathroom tub on an old rag. the small animal meowed and mewed the entire time you rinsed it off with the only soap you had that was safe according to google. instead of drying it's fur with your blowdryer you just towel dried it which he continued meowing. you'd never had a cat and didn't know what it meant when kittens meowed so you just started rambling, "well that's so interesting you feel that way because i literally said the same thing too! like i don't even know why that would make sense because when you really think about it they always want you to think that but in reality the truth is the complete opposite of what they want you to believe." the orange kitten looked at you with its head turned to the side and you sighed, "i don't know what you want from me man i just met you." the cat meowed louder and you mumbled, "that was definitely a cuss word but i'll let it slide."

an hour later you had given the kitten a small amount of some canned tuna and it fell asleep curled into your neck against the towel you kept it wrapped in.

charles entered your apartment with his eyes on his phone as he called out, "i'm home- oh." he usually expected you to be in your room so when you were out in the main room on the sofa he was startled. you sipped from the smoothie you'd gotten from the fridge and looked up from the book you were reading, "hi baby." charles stared at the kitten on your chest then back at you, "hi beautiful." he waited for you to say anything about the new addition and when you didn't he prompted, "what do you have there?" you looked at your hand and held up the cup, "a smoothie." you took a long sip and the straw crackled loudly, "oh yeah i figured out how to make that one hailey bieber has at that overpriced place in LA. it's actually really good i see why people lost their shit over it."

your boyfriend nodded slowly and pointed to the kitten on you, "my love, please tell me why is there a cat on you." for a minute you looked at him as if he was making it up but then you realized you never got around to actually texting him what happened. he waited for you to explain because the story had to be good if you, notorious anti-pet owner, came home with a cat and let it sleep on you.

you told him while looking at the kitten, "yeah, you're a daddy now." charles replied with too much ease, "i know that you call me that but that cat does not." you looked up with an exasperated glare, "can you be serious for one minute please." charles chuckled and apologized, "okay okay you go, tell me why i am now both of your daddys." you raised your hand to throw one of the clean rags you hadn't used at him which he shielded his face from, "okay i'm sorry go ahead." as you retold the entire thing charles just stood there with a fond smile, finding the whole ordeal quite amusing. at the end of your story he reached for the kitten and pulled back his hand, "why is it slippery?" you answered, "i put coconut oil on it so it didn't get ashy." charles started laughing once more and you smacked his shoulder lightly, "hey i never had a pet besides a fish okay! i'm trying my best here." charles pulled you into a hug and pressed a kiss to your lips, "and you're going to be a great cat mom too, you've already done a good thing."

whoisyn

liked by charles_leclerc, f1, and 44,304 others

whoisyn happy birthday son to my son chisme octavius nortorious C.A.T. l/n-leclerc

view all 12, 079 comments

username1 WE THOUGHT IT WAS JUST CHISME LMAO WHY WOULD YOU NAME HIM ALL THAT-

whoisyn chisme bc if you pretend to gossip he'll immediately listen and start spilling tea too. octavius because charles said it sounded regal, and notorious C.A.T. for the culture.

↳ username2 LMAO YALL KINDA ATE NGL

charles_leclerc my two loves ❤️

username2 i need limited edition chisme x ferrari merch @/scuderiaferrari

↳ scuderiaferrari 👀

olliebearman i miss my brother

↳ whoisyn he misses you too <3

username3 i remember when y/n first found him, i can't believe he's a year old already :( he's so big now

username4 i thought charles said he wanted a dog

↳ whoisyn well i didn't find a dog, i found a cat. so we have a cat.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

the video had circulated on twitter only a few hours after it dropped and you'd noticed your name trending on the internet. after making the mistake of checking why you were trending once, you'd never really paid much attention to it again. the first time many people were shaming you for dating your boyfriend and making jabs at your physical appearance. rather quickly you realized it would be better to just keep up with silly memes your friends sent to you opposed to stalking every corner of the internet to see what people were saying about you.

this specific instance was charles in an interview and he'd mentioned you briefly while playing a game of this or that:

"do you prefer a weekend getaway to the coast for a snorkeling trip or the mountains for a skiing adventure?" the interviewer quizzed charles on his current vacation preferences. the driver asked, "is this by myself or with people?" the interviewer answered with a small smirk, "you and one other person- can be anyone, best friend, sibling, girlfriend, mom, etc." charles let out a laugh and knew what the interviewer was getting at and chose to went along with it for fan service. he thought for a moment then answered, "i think the snorkeling trip, my girlfriend likes this kind of thing with the fish, sea animals, and the diving in the water. that and she is better of a skier and snowboarder than me so..." out of the frame the interviewer laughed and joked, "a little mermaid moment, i love it."

you looked at the video and laughed when you noticed the small hello kitty band aid on his hand. earlier that week he'd gone with you out to the sea and you'd found a small cove to swim around in. somewhere along the way back charles had cut his hand on a rock and you'd put a little band aid on it from the only stash you had, and he had no complaints over the pink cartoon design. he found it cute and whenever he looked at it he was reminded of you.

whoisyn

liked by charles_leclerc, sanrio, and 53, 432 others

whoisyn oh, he look so cute wrapped around my finger 🎀

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username1 SLIDES 5 AND 6-

alex_albon drop the link for the shirt

username2 CHARLES GOT THAT SHIT AWNNNN 😤😤😤

↳ comment pinned by creator

hellokitty we love to see this 🤩

↳ whoisyn omg pls sponsor me 😍

↳ sanrio check DM! ❤️

f1 i'd play mermaids there

↳ whoisyn we did 🤭

↳ landonorris WITHOUT ME? 😞

↳ danielricciardo X 2 💔

↳ georgerussell X 3 😪

↳ whoisyn my bad...next time we'll send a text

username3 oh baby he's down bad

username4 no way in hell she got this man in hello kitty pants after a long day of playing mermaids 💀

↳ username5 just say ur a loser who doesn't know how to have fun

comment has been liked by creator

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

the end.

[crumpetz]

a little update on the progress of The Big Road Home

it has been so long since i made a post that i had to figure out what to click on all over again lol. this week it hit me that ppl follow me specifically for fic upates and it just slipped my mind that i could be saying more. i have, like, internet social anxiety, and just default to never saying anything most of the time.

anyway, i'm really happy to report that progress on the fic has really moved along recently. for anyone who doesn't know, i have long covid and the brain fog has really interfered with my writing process. i originally taught myself to write using a certain system where i kept a lot of things in my head at once, and since losing that ability, i've been relearning how to write in a way my current self can do. which especially has sucked for the fic and where it left off, because the part i stopped at was actually a huge group of scenes scattered through multiple otherwise completed chapters that i was saving for later (before i got long covid). because even in my peak condition with my brain capable of keeping all the details straight, those scenes were still so challenging and important to get right that i wanted to wait until i was feeling extra sharp lol. so yeah, i've been basically having to reread my entire fic over and over every time i wanna figure out how to add in like one small part of all the things i've gotta cover (and thanks to the brain fog, on average, i'm capable of thinking thru all that maybe three days out of every month if i'm lucky?)

so, all that rereading and getting the details and characters consistent finally has been paying off, because i reached the stage this past week where i could finally bring it all together. the final product is going to be less seamless than what i'd originally intended, but that's just a given now that my brain is different. and, full disclosure, the stuff that i'm talking about is exposition. which i think for most ppl reading my fic is more like information they just want to know and less something that needs to feel seamless in delivery, unlike character interactions and emotional arcs. so, the reality is that the exposition in the next handful of chapters is gonna be a little clunky, but the non-exposition stuff will all be like normal, with the same amount of care i usually work toward.

i don't want to assume when everything will be ready. final tweaks always take me longer than i'm expecting. but to put it into perspective, i spent the last 2-3 yrs (i forget how long it's been oh no) getting thru like 20 percent of what needed to be done. and then i just spent a few days last week getting through 60 percent. i'm gonna wait until the full set of chapters i'm working on is complete because i want to be able to post them without a long wait in between, and i want to take the time to really get the emotional beats right. but i guess if i had to say anything for sure, it would be that for the first time since i got long covid, i'm truly seeing the light at the end of the tunnel for this fic.

my final note is that the next set of chapters isn't the end of The Big Road Home btw. i forget if i ever mentioned this, but from the start, The Big Road Home was going to be three main parts. the first part with jason and tim being street kids together, then this part we're in with tim living with the Wayne's is part 2. there's gonna be a whole 3rd part coming. idk how long it'll be, lol. it's the only part i haven't written a single word of because i've kind of been saving it as a treat.

thanks for your patience and encouragement all this time. as i said, i have pretty awful social anxiety on the internet and don't reply to ppl who reach out nearly as often as i want to. but every kind word or fanart or playlist or thoughtful comment on stuff you noticed etc etc has really carried me through the past few yrs. i can't tell you how many times i was spiraling, feeling like i might not be able to figure out how to write the next part with my current limitations, and one of you said something so lovely and encouraging, and i'd just suddenly have it in me to give it another try.

[onmyyan]

Something Sweet

The sweet complex aroma of coffee followed you everywhere you went, a constant somehow comfortable level of noise flowed through the coffee shop, you were at the register doing your usual thing when the bell at the top of the door jingles.

Your head snaps up, bright smile on your face as you say, "Welcome in." It was a customary greeting you gave to all customers, but not to him, to him it was a special greeting. Caspian had discovered this quaint little coffee shop on his morning walk to his bakery, he came in for the first time last week and was blown away by your kindness, sure most baristas were kind but you were genuine in your kindness, something that caught his gaze immediately. The first this Caspian notices are your pretty (e/c) eyes, bright and welcoming in the way his mother's were. He's drawn to you immediately. You wore an all black, simple uniform but to Caspian you were the bell of the ball. He comes in everyday for a week straight bright and early before he opens his bakery, eventually he manages to slip his occupation into the conversation causing you to light up, "I've been dying to try that place no way!" You make plans to come in one day and to Cas, it's a date.

Gabe had been coming to the coffee shop for years, they made the best Americanos and he liked his coffee strong, but what was recently keeping him in the shop was the cute little barista they just hired, you. He was enamored from the first little heart you drew on his pastry bag. He'd been flirting his ass off since he laid eyes on you, putting the mack on to the best of his abilities, but you kept it cute, laughing off his flirtatiousness with expert finesse. God it drove him insane.

Ricky found himself in the quiet but still respectably busy coffee shop, his laptop in hand he walked in simply expecting to get his work done, but when his eyes met yours he nearly dropped his computer. The warmest pair of (e/c) eyes stared back at him with a kindness he hadn't been used to. Walking up to the counter he found himself smiling softly at you. "Hi, I'm Ricky." You aren't taken back by his strange greeting, instead you smile, "Hi Ricky, I'm (y/n)." You can tell he's taking a second to process the menu, at least that's what you think, what he's really doing is soaking in your features, how was it fair for someone to look so good in a simple black uniform? "What would you recommend?" He asks trying to keep his composure. His heart was pounding in his chest, only a thin counter separated the two of you, he was close enough to see the rise and fall of your chest as you pondered his question. "Our spicy mocha is pretty good, you seem like a spicy mocha kinda guy." She says teasingly, in a almost friend like manner, her playfulness wasn't doing anything for Ricky's delusions. He spent three hours pretending to write on his laptop while secretly recording you going about your workday without a care in the world, he watches you joke with your coworkers, watches you show the same level of care and respect to every customer, it all adds fuel to the quickly spiraling obsession.

The day they come at the same time is the day chaos breaks loose in the Delmont home

[madameisaacpereire]

First off I just want to say I love your writing, I’ve reread it sm tbh, and can I ask for a fic where Henry helps the reader when she’s in a depressive episode? Sorta like the one you already wrote where she’s ill but, here she doesn’t rlly speak and her mood is rlly bad, and struggles with everything and having a will to do it etc?

ok hiiiii i hope this is ok! unedited first draft, might go over it again later, might not. i had some fun with this one, hopefully he isn't too OOC because i think this is the sweetest thing i've ever written about henry.

a month of winter

henry x reader, standalone.

   It starts gradually, the way these things so often do. A late assignment, a single class skipped in favor of lying in bed all day. But these things always snowball so rapidly. Late work turns into work left undone, a skipped class into weeks worth of missed classes, and you very soon aren’t leaving your bed for anything.

You’re not even cognizant of it happening until you’re drowning in work, graduation on the line, and you haven’t so much as brushed your teeth in... an amount of time you’d rather not disclose. You haven’t showered, or changed clothes. Your dorm room reeks of dead skin. Your sweater is covered in crumbs leftover from days ago, when you finished the last of your snacks. 

   The thing is, you know your classmates would help you in any way they could, if you only were to ask. They’d take down extra notes, sit with you until each paper has been written, or a particularly difficult passage translated. You’re sure they’d drive you out to the country in hopes of the fresh air helping your sensibilities. They operate much like a dysfunctional little family, in that way.

But everything has spiraled so far out of control that you’d find it embarrassing; it might strike pity into their eyes. You absolutely detest being pitied. And along with that, you’re having a difficult time truly caring whether you graduate or not. 

   Which leaves you at a sort of impasse for awhile. Work piling up, dehydration building, personal hygiene virtually nonexistent. The first day without food or water is nearly unbearable enough to snap you from your stupor, animal impulse seconds away from overriding this dead feeling. The following two days, however, you mostly spend asleep. It’s dreamless, painful and dry. But you find this type of emptiness more bearable.

   This is how Henry finds you. He wouldn’t typically drop in on you in such a fashion– you don’t tend to get along very well at the best of times– but Julian asked that he make sure you’re alright, and he’ll do anything Julian requests. You aren’t conscious of his presence at all, allowing him to survey the damage with a pinched expression you’ll never be aware of. 

   Your room’s level of disorder is incredibly disturbing to him. Things seem to surround your bed in circular layers. Circle one is mostly dust, circle two used clothes, circles three and four the wrappers of any and all snacks you managed to choke down (as though you threw your refuse as far from you as you could.) Circle five is more clothing, a much thicker carpet than before, six a heap (or several,) of different books, seven your school supplies. And the worst circle, in his opinion, is the one closest to you. Circle eight, fittingly enough, is little more than a wasteland. Two empty soda cans, an empty chip bag, crumpled school work, and you. 

    You’re the most terrifying sight in this room, if he’s honest. You almost look dead. He considers leaving but you shift in your sleep, movements weak; he catches sight of your cracked dry lips and sunken in eyes. That’s what kicks his sense of responsibility into high gear. If he were a less respectful son, he’d curse his mother for this internal obligation to assist distresssed women. Instead, he begrudgingly begins to pick up the pieces. 

   He heads to the hall, bringing a few handfuls of trash along with him, and dials Richard to ask for advice. Richard suggests he bring you to the hospital. He even offers to come along, which Henry shuts down. This feels personal, somehow, and he’d rather not involve more people than strictly necessary.

Henry clears a path to your bed, picks you up as carefully as he can, and brings you out to the car. He ignores the curious, half alarmed stares he gets from other students. They’re irrelevant to him. What matters is ensuring that you’re alright; because what good is an academic rival if she isn’t well enough to actively challenge him? 

   You wake a few times on the drive, but dehydration has you so delirious that you don’t comprehend what’s happening. You think it’s a strange dream and you don’t speak, so he doesn’t know you’ve woken. You fall back to sleep again, and only wake once more when nurses are fussing over you. The IV fluids filling your veins are making you shiver. It’s disorienting and more than a little terrifying. But it isn’t the worst part of your hospital stay.

   The worst part is Julian’s visit. He looks sorry that you’re ill, tells some long winded story about a time he was ill himself, and then mentions Henry. Offhandedly, as though it doesn’t matter or you must already know, he lets you know that Henry happens to be the one that found you. Your favored intellectual sparring partner. The classmate you love to hate. The man with the worst superiority complex you’ve ever witnessed.

You could pass away right then. Melt through the bed and into your grave. Since you aren’t chatty in response, Julian doesn’t stay long. A relief if ever you’ve felt one, and the rest of your stay is quite tolerable in comparison.

   They rehydrate you over the following few days. You’re cold for most of it, thanks to the near constant stream of fluids. They feed you clear liquids the first day and work you back up to solids painstakingly slowly. They try to make you talk with a counselor. Words still won’t come out of your mouth, but your doctors throw around a lot of words all on their own: psychiatric unit, facilities, transport, major-depressive-disorder, catatonia. They start you on a pill of some sort called Amitriptyline as soon as you can keep liquids down, which you take without question because you still don’t fully care what happens to you. 

   You sleep for a large chunk of that stay, and this is the main reason why you aren’t aware of how much arguing Julian and Henry do with the hospital on your behalf. You’re unaware of their insistence upon your release into their care, and how adamant they are that you don’t get shipped off to some facility or other. You’d be mortified if you did, so perhaps this is for the best. 

   You still can't speak as you’re being signed out. Henry’s the one bringing you back home. Shame and defiant anger prickle beneath your skin. He brings you fresh clothes that look suspiciously like your own. You’re sure they couldn’t possibly be yours, because they’re too soft and clean. You wear them anyway. It gives you the slightest hint of pleasure, however dull. 

   The car ride is fairly quiet. You’re still on verbal strike, and Henry isn’t really sure how to handle a version of you so silent. The only time he does speak is to give you some more humiliating news:

   “Julian and I agreed that you’ll stay with me until you’re well.” Henry says, pulling to a stop in front of his place. 

   Your face is redder than a stoplight, you’re sure of it. How can you stand staying with him for any significant length of time? Especially without speaking? You’re even angrier about this, but you let him usher you indoors all the same. He directs you to what seems to be the only bedroom in the place. The bed itself is perplexingly small. You toss him a questioning look.

   “I don’t sleep in here,” He answers as if you've spoken, “Now. Some of your things have been brought over, so you should find yourself plenty comfortable.”

   He explains that he is to be your companion for a few weeks, as if this is some sick Daphne Du Maureier novel, and only leaves your side long enough to allow you to settle into bed. The thing that makes you angriest is the fact that you’re already beginning to feel slightly better. You sit in silence that first evening, Henry reading to himself in a chair he unceremoniously places in the corner. You fall asleep glowering at the wall.

   The next day isn’t much better. Henry brings you tea and toast once he notes that you’re awake, as well as a cup of water and an empty cup besides. This, he explains, is so you might brush your teeth without wasting energy to get up. In the end, you do brush your teeth, and feel better for it. But there’s still a sullen, silent sort of argument beforehand. He hands you a pill, too. The same thing you’ve been taking at the hospital. An antidepressant.

   “Julian doesn’t think you should take these. He says all they’ll do is make you worse. But I’ve spoken with Richard and the doctor about it, and they both say you’ll get well much sooner if you do.” He doesn’t give you any further input.

You get to decide whether you continue on with this course of treatment, one which won’t even be semi-destigmatized for another thirty or so years. He files your choice away for later, once you've made it, and doesn't ask again.

     Today, he begins to read to you. He reads selections you’ve missed from classes. You find his voice comforting despite the cool monotony of it, which sickens you. Every now and again he pauses and launches into some of his own thoughts on the selection. You have plenty of thoughts yourself, but you don’t contribute. You do, however, make rather nasty faces at him when you disagree. It’s hard to tell, but you think he finds this amusing. 

   You have a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, along with some sugar-sweet coffee. For dinner, there are two foil covered plates delivered. It’s Sunday, you realize when he sets it in front of you, and this is a special delivery from the twins. There’s a glass of your favorite wine to go with it, chilled and set on the bedside table. 

   “I thought you wouldn’t like to see anyone yet.” He explains.

   The next day passes similarly. Tea and toast. Coffee and tomato soup. Wine and a suspiciously full plate of food. Tonight, however, Henry runs a bath for you. You sit in it, wearing your underclothes, and let him mechanically wash your hair. He doesn’t seem to enjoy this any more than you do. That brings you some solace, at least. The only thing you have to do is peel your wet underthings from your body and replace them with pajamas. 

   You bathe this way once every other day. Breakfast is always the same, lunch and dinner only slightly more varied. The readings change as he catches you up on classes, but they always last the same amount of time. You’re dragged into a comfortable routine with absolutely no responsibility to uphold it. Sometime after day four, you begin to make noises in response to things. A derisive grunt, a loud huff, even (once) something that sounds laughter adjacent. He gives you a moleskin and a pen to write with, which you do, and this is your first real communication with another person in two months.

   He asks why you didn’t come to anyone for help. You don’t answer this. But you do answer other questions, like ‘Would you like ham on your grilled cheese?’ Yes. Or: ‘Which sweater would you prefer to wear today?’ The black one. You also use this notebook to emphatically disagree with his musings on Plato. And it doesn’t even seem like he really minds, which puts you on edge. He’s rather indulgent. He actually pretends to consider your points.

   These disagreements are how you begin to work on overdue translations in the afternoons on week two. You work through them quickly, because there’s very little else to do, and find that you’ve caught up with the class in record time. You eat Sunday dinner alone in your room again. But he promises whoever's actually bringing these plates by the apartment that they’ll be able to see you soon. Quietly, of course, but you hear it all the same. 

   Week three is when he catches you smiling at something for a fraction of a second. He begins bringing you out to the yard for thirty minutes every morning. You take your tea and toast out there, bundled in enough sweaters and coats for at least four of you. The fresh air does you good, though you won’t admit it. This Sunday, he sets out proper clothes, and you make a physical appearance at Sunday dinner. You’re overwhelmed by all the hugs and well wishes you’re met with. But it’s in a good way. 

This Sunday, you say the first thing you’ve said in nearly three months.

   “Pass the salt?” You aren’t even fully aware that you’ve said it. 

   A hush falls over the table, anyway, and the salt appears before you in record time. This Sunday, you laugh at an awful joke Bunny makes. You’re still very clearly a shell of a person. But you’re getting better. You fall asleep in the car on the way back to Henry’s, exhausted from the excitement. He carries you in, carefully undresses you to your under-things, and tucks you into bed. 

   You continue to take your tea and toast outside in the mornings. You bathe every other day, with Henry’s clinical assistance. You talk more. You still won’t tell him why you never told anybody how poorly you’d been doing. But your lips are far from cracked by now, eyes no longer sunken in. You’ve begun to wander the apartment some. 

   You help him make lunch on Sunday, and you go along to dinner again. This dinner is less stilted and awkward than the last. It’s normal, or something like it. You chime in your usual amount and drink Charles under the table. And even though you fall asleep shivering on the car ride back, you feel warm all over. 

   The following week is spent moving back into your dorm room. You find that it’s pristine when you first show up, which surprises you most pleasantly. You bring your things back in small increments. Your first night back, Henry stays over. He doesn’t sleep, but works on something or other at your desk. It’s a comfort to have him there. If he weren’t, you’d likely be anxious about falling back into that pit of despair. He stays a few more nights, leaving earlier and earlier until he isn’t visiting your room in the evenings at all. 

   Your arguments, once hot and spiteful, have managed to fizzle out. What you have now is a calm enough friendship that you miss his presence. He misses yours, too, so once a week, he shows up at your door with tea and toast. When it’s nice enough, you take a leisurely half hour walk outdoors. You contradict him far less during classes, now preferring to bring up your differing opinions on those weekly walks. The resulting discussions are far more civil than they ever were.

   You still have bad days, of course. Days where getting out of bed seems pointless. Where you hope it’s true that smoking causes cancer. On these days, you spend the night in the bed Henry doesn’t use. You'll never address this, but you suspect it's all, somehow, Julian’s doing. The way his eyes twinkle when he watches you and Henry speak after class suggests as much.

[lovestory]

i haven't really felt like opening tumblr at all this year, but it was obviously very moving when i saw taylor's post about her masters, and i thought of this community immediately. i thought about the day when we found out scooter had bought the masters initially, posting about it, and taylor seeing those posts we made on here. i feel pretty inclined to share this with you: i got a new job, i started last week - and it pays more than double what my last job did. i'm the in house graphic designer for a huge commercial construction company now, they take really good care of me, and i've dropped out of uni because i have found success and love for design again. i didn't even know opportunities like that existed in the small area i live in, and i definitely didn't think they'd choose me.

in january i made the decision to leave tumblr. aside from a general disinterest and struggling massively with my mental and physical health, i was just tired. being treated the way i was online since before i even turned 13 was exhausting. i had people in my inbox when i was a minor sending me sexual messages and begging me to post my prom pictures, people making "gossip" blogs about me, people sending me my address, people sending me three part messages about why they hate me. whenever i'd say i hated this kind of behaviour, people would blame me for not turning my ask box off. last year in particular i'd dealt with a couple of stalking incidents and completely closed myself off from people contacting me on here. but instead of respecting that, i would just have other blogs get anons about me. one day i saw a mutual get a message about me, and half the shit they were saying just wasn't even true, and i'd just fucking had enough. i just wanted to step away and be a fan in a different way for awhile and try to focus on getting better. consume content and think what i thought without people arguing or making vague posts in response.

i moved out of our rental in april. as we were moving out, it led to the discovery that the entire house was infested with black mould that had been painted over/covered up when it was renovated. this mould was making me incredibly sick after living with it for so long, my entire body was covered in hives every day, i couldn't breathe, i couldn't keep my eyes open, i felt awful. our new house is finished being built, they're just doing the landcaping. i can't explain how sick i felt every day, and what a relief it is to not be in that kind of pain anymore, and to not be renting anymore.

i've always felt like i was working harder than everyone else just to compensate for the fact that i'm me. it was so liberating to walk in for an interview and know i had exactly what they needed. it was so liberating to be offered so much money for what i do, no arguments, no telling me that they couldn't afford to pay me decently. i nearly gave up on graphic design, i loved it too much to let it be ruined. i'm not afraid to say that i'm good at what i do anymore, i approach my work with confidence. for six years i've worked as the only employee for two separate businesses, being paid worse than anyone else i know, and i'm so relieved to be working with people again - talking to people my age. the isolation was killing me.

it makes me emotional looking at my blog as an archive now, i am so proud of all the little things i made over the years and what i contributed. being a fan of taylor was my life for so long and the only thing i held onto to keep going, i love the records of hers that i have, i love the memories, i love that she used to see my posts. and i'd be lying if i said what the fandom has turned into hasn't turned me off from participating. i will never return to tumblr in the capacity i once was, but if i ever get a thought or an itch to make something fandom related, i'll post it. i guess it felt important to share how drastically, a lot of you have followed me for over 10 years now. i really had to push myself to bring myself out of where i was stuck, it was really hard. but it's okay now.

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ sneaking into vegas ] j. drysdale

part one !

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!!reader

summary : (Y/N) flies into Vegas to surprise Jamie for his first NHL game in nearly a year

warning(s) : none

author's note : listen, this was supposed to be a little thing but it turned out to be over 2k words so … i got a little carried away

༺═──────────────═༻

She was supposed to be across the country in New York, but when her boyfriend told her that he was going to be playing in his first NHL game since he got hurt last year, she couldn't resist getting on a plane to go watch him.

Especially after she saw who Anaheim was going to be playing for their season opener. (Y/N) knew that she needed to be in Vegas for that game. Even if that meant leaving New York a week early.

Jamie doesn't know she's coming. As a matter of fact, she tells him that she's going to be in her temporary office catching up on some work all day so he doesn't suspect anything when she doesn't reply to him all day because she has an eight-hour travel day ahead of her.

Her flight leaves at nine in the morning and she won't be getting into Vegas until two in the afternoon pacific time. That leaves her nearly five hours to check into the hotel that the Ducks are staying in while they're in Vegas for the game, get something to eat, and head to the arena without alerting Jamie to where she is.

Should be easy since she knows that Jamie will be at morning skate from eleven until two then will take a nap and eat before he heads to the arena at five. He has things that will keep him busy so she can sneak into Vegas.

On the contrary, Trevor knows that she's coming in and has a whole plan to keep Jamie busy if he decides not to take a nap after morning skate. They've been working together for the past few days so make sure the surprise goes smoothly. He's supposed to pick her up from the airport as soon as he's done practice.

(Y/N) has never watched Jamie play a game of NHL hockey. They met after he got hurt last October and started dating in February. She's very excited to be in the arena for his first regular season game back from injury. She doesn't care if she's the only Ducks fan in the place. She'll be making sure she cheers loudly for Jamie and his teammates.

At two on the dot, the plane lanes at Harry Reid International Airport. When (Y/N) gets off the plane a few minutes later, she texts Trevor and lets him know that her flight has landed. He replies and says that he's waiting for her in his rental whenever she grabs her suitcase from baggage claim.

A few notifications come through while she's waiting for her bags. All from Jamie throughout the morning.

j ♡ - 10:04 am hope you have a good day at work. will miss you. hope you can catch the game tonight if you aren't working super late

j ♡ - 10:49 am forgot to say that i love you so ... i love you 🩷 gotta go to morning skate so talk to you later

j ♡ - 2.08 pm z ditched me if you're not busy for a short call. i don't think i'll be able to sleep before the game so call me if you have a few minutes

She looks at Trevor and asks, "Do you think he'll be suspicious if I call him really quick? I think he has some pre-game nerves and I told him I'd only work until dinnertime, which is what time it is in New York."

"I don't think so," Trevor replies. "It'll be like you're calling him on your way back from work. Just don't get all cute and everything. The two of you make me sick when you get all lovey-dovey with each other. I already hear it from Jamie every day."

(Y/N) sticks her tongue out at Trevor as she clicks 'call' on Jamie's contact. Trevor lowers the music so she can talk on the phone.

It rings three times before Jamie picks up. "Hi, baby," he breathes out when he answers the phone. "I've been needing to hear your voice."

"Hi, Jamie baby," (Y/N) replies. Jamie's nickname causes Trevor to make a face as he drives. She swats at his shoulder. "How was morning skate? You just got done a little bit ago, right?"

"Yeah," Jamie says. "It went good. I think it went well. I feel pretty good about playing tonight, minus the fact that we're playing Vegas and I got hurt playing against them last year. I'm just nervous about playing them after last year."

She frowns. "Hey, you'll be okay," she assures him. "You're going to play so well tonight. I know you will. No matter what happens tonight, I'm proud of you. I'm excited for you to get back on the ice, and I know your teammates are too. I'm pretty sure Z has missed having you on the ice with him."

"I've missed being on the ice with them, but what if I do something wrong?" Jamie questions. "What if I give up the puck and they score on the giveaway? What if I fall and land on my shoulder wrong? What if-"

"Jamie, stop," (Y/N) interrupts. "None of that is going to happen, okay? Not intentionally. You're working yourself up and you shouldn't be because this is what you're good at. You wouldn't be in the NHL if you weren't good at hockey, baby. There's a reason you're playing for Anaheim at the professional level. Do what you do best tonight. Your teammates are there to pick you up if you need them to until you get comfortable. Stop freaking yourself out."

They pull up to the hotel and Trevor parks his rental away from the main entrance so none of the Ducks players see (Y/N) and report to Jamie that his girlfriend is at the hotel. "You're right," Jamie sighs. "I'm sorry to bother you with this while you're at work."

"I'm actually on my way back to the apartment," (Y/N) tells him. "But even if I was still at work, bother me with this any time. I'll never be mad if you want me to call you because you're nervous for a game."

"I don't deserve you, (Y/N)," Jamie says. "I truly don't. I love you so much."

The comment brings a smile to her lips. "I love you more," she replies. "I'm pulling into the parking lot now so I'll talk to you later. Maybe you can get Z to bring you something to eat if you can't sleep."

Jamie laughs and says, "If I bug him enough then he'll definitely bring me food. I'll let you go though, get settled in for the night. I'll talk to you after the game."

"Call me after," she tells him. "I don't care that it'll be after one in the morning. Call me and tell me all about the game. I'll want to hear all about it and how it went."

"I will," Jamie replies. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The line goes dead after that and (Y/N) realizes that she has a small smile on her lips. He won't have to call her after the game. She'll be waiting outside the locker room when he gets done showering and getting dressed after the game.

Trevor gets out of the car and mumbles, "The two of you make me sick." She laughs and gets out of the car after him.

He grabs her suitcase from the trunk and hands it over to her when it's on the ground. With Trevor following close behind, (Y/N) walks into the hotel. She checks into the room that she'll only be in for about four hours total because Jamie is going to make sure they're together that night, and she doesn't want him to kick Trevor out of the room.

It’s been a few weeks since they’ve seen each other so she wanted to make sure there was a room they could stay in together.

Trevor walks her to her room, which is a floor below the Ducks’ rooms. “We’re in 504,” he tells her. He hands her the extra key to his and Jamie’s room while she hands him the extra key to her room. “I’ll let you know if he sleeps, which I doubt but I’ll let you know.”

“Make sure he stays calm and remind him that he knows what he’s doing,” (Y/N) tells him. “Don’t let him freak himself out.”

“I’ll just distract him,” Trevor replies. “With food or with an activity that he likes to do. Maybe I’ll take him to a casino for a bit, I don’t know. I’ve got him though. Until you take over after the game.”

She nods and Trevor walks up to his and Jamie’s room. With a sigh, she opens the door and lets herself into the room.

Her suitcase with the jersey she’s wearing to the game is left right by the door and she goes right to the bed. She sets an alarm for five so she wakes up after the Ducks leave for the arena. She’ll leave a half an hour later so she doesn’t run into Jamie when he’s on his way out the door.

After a long day of traveling for the surprise tonight, (Y/N) is fast asleep almost right after she puts her phone on the table to charge.

༺═──────────────═༻

T-Mobile Arena is one of the nicest arenas that (Y/N) has ever gone to. Most of the people are nice. She gets a few looks from Golden Knights fans because she’s in the Drysdale jersey that Jamie gave to her. She loves the jersey, and she promised him that she’d wear it to the first game he plays in after his injury.

That game is tonight.

She makes her way down to her seat with the other Duck wives and girlfriends, and they’re all excited to see her. Some of them meet her for the first time, but they’re all super nice.

The puck drops a little after seven, and (Y/N) spots number 6 almost immediately. He glides around the ice like he’s flying, and she’s mesmerized by it.

(Y/N) has watched practices and Jamie work with Trevor throughout the past few months while he recovered from his injury. That is nothing compared to what she’s watching right now.

Vegas gets on the board first with two seconds left in the first period, and the fans erupt around her and the other wives and girlfriends.

Then they score again with five minutes left in the second period.

Then they score again six minutes into the third period. It’s not looking very good for the Ducks at this point. (Y/N) finds herself frowning because she knows that they wanted to be a better team this season.

About thirty seconds later, the Ducks get themselves on the board with a goal from Mason. Their little group celebrates the goal.

(Y/N) knows that Jamie had the puck before Mason put it in the net. His first point in over a year in his first game back from injury. It causes her to scream a little louder in celebration. Her mouth hurts from smiling. She swears the smile doesn’t drop until the final horn blares through the arena, signaling a 4-1 Vegas win.

Not the best first game, but it’s only game one of 82.

After the game, (Y/N) finds her way down to the locker room where the Ducks are. She leans against the wall right outside and waits.

She can hear Greg Cronin on the other side of the door talking to his team about the game. She didn’t think they did terrible, but they’re in there getting lectured like they gave up ten goals.

Yeah, Jamie might be really excited to see (Y/N) when he leaves the locker room. Especially after getting a long lecture from his coach.

He played a good game, and she’s proud of him. She’s happy that she decided to hop on a plane and come out to Vegas to watch Jamie play. She’ll be even happier when he comes out of that locker room in a little bit.

Cronin leaves the room with a heavy sigh and doesn’t even acknowledge (Y/N) standing in the hallway. She doesn’t even care.

A few minutes after Cronin leaves, Trevor sticks his head out into the hallway. “He’ll be right out,” he tells her. “He’s hitting the showers really quick before he leaves. I don’t think he’s in a good mood but when he sees you, that’ll change.”

She nods and Trevor disappears back into the room.

Just to mess with Jamie a bit, she takes a picture on her Instagram story of the giant Vegas logo and geotags T-Mobile Arena. Jamie has her notifications on so he’ll see that as soon as he checks his phone.

Ten minutes pass and (Y/N) is getting antsy. She knows that he doesn’t take very long showers so he’ll be coming out of that locker room any minute.

Several Ducks leave and greet her as they pass while she waits for Jamie. Troy pops his head back into the locker room when he sees her and says, “Hey, Jimmy. Someone’s here to see you.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.”

(Y/N) shoots Troy a smile as he walks down the hall to get on the bus.

The door opens and a very confused Jamie Drysdale walks out of the locker room. His eyes land on (Y/N) and he runs up to her. She smiles as Jamie hugs her around her torso and lifts her off her feet.

She giggles and wraps herself around Jamie. Her legs are around his waist and her arms are around his neck. He buries his face into her neck and she puts her nose in his wet hair.

“When did you-”

“Earlier today,” she says into his hair. “Worked with Z to make sure you didn’t see me when I got in. When I saw you were playing Vegas in your first regular season game back after injury, I had to come out and watch.”

Jamie sets her down but doesn’t let her go. She looks up at him and he looks genuinely surprised to see her. Good to know Trevor didn’t blab and ruin the surprise.

“I can’t believe you’re here in Vegas,” Jamie breathes out. “You saw my assist in person?”

She smiles and nods. “I saw your assist in person,” she replies. “I’m very proud of you, Jamie baby. First point in a while. I told you that you had nothing to freak out about. You’re a talented player. I had no doubt that you would be amazing tonight. Maybe even pick up a point or two.”

The smile that Jamie gives her makes her heart flutter. This is the smile she has missed and wanted to see after this game ended no matter the result.

Jamie pulls her against him by her waist and presses a feather soft kiss against her lips. “All I could think about after that assist was how I wish you were here to see it,” he admits to her. “You were actually here to see it.”

“Mhm,” she hums. “I made the right choice. I’ve really missed you. I wanted to surprise you today.”

“Consider me surprised.”

She gets on her toes and instigates a deeper, more frantic kiss when she presses her lips to his. She kisses him the way she’s wanted to kiss him in the three weeks since they last saw each other.

Her fingers curl into the hair on the back of his neck, not caring that it’s wet. Jamie has a grip of his jersey on her waist that’s keeping her from going anywhere. As if she would go anywhere right now.

This is where she wants to be. She doesn’t want to go anywhere else.

“Ew, can’t the two of you wait until we’re back at the hotel to suck faces?” Trevor voice asks. It pulls them apart. “You’re away from each other for a few weeks and all of a sudden you’re both a fan of PDA. It’s gross.”

Jamie turns his head and (Y/N) looks over his shoulder to see both Trevor and Mason standing in front of the locker room door. “It’s not my fault you have no one to suck faces with, Z,” Jamie retorts. “Imagine being across the country from your girlfriend then tell me you wouldn’t suddenly be a fan of PDA.”

She buries her face in Jamie’s shoulder to hide a smile. Trevor rolls his eyes and says, “You’re sleeping in her room tonight. I am not giving up ours.”

“Don’t worry,” Jamie says. “I was already planning on it.” He turns his attention back to (Y/N). “I wouldn’t want my teammates to hear the things that I’m going to do to (Y/N) tonight.”

Yeah, sneaking into Vegas was the best idea she’s ever had.

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST | part two

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

[x-aefx]

★PRIORITY - BELLA RAMSEY

Bella Ramsey x y/n

Summary; Bella would much rather spend time alone with you then at a party.

You loved Bella and you loved their friends, but after a long day at work you preferred to go straight to bed then be at a party.

The loud sound of music was the first thing to greet you when you approached your shared home, then the smell of alcohol and then the multiple bodies inside your home.

You pushed through crowds of people as you tried to locate your partner. Finally you found them, standing in a group of three in a quiet enough spot. You figured it would be rude not to say hi.

Bella saw you approach, a large grin forming on their face their eyes met yours. They waved enthusiastically at you.

Noticing the gesture, Bella's friends turned to look at you. Each smiling friendly at you. You smiled back.

You walked over to Bella, interlocking your hands as they pecked your lips.

"Y/N! It's been so long, where have you been?" A new face entered the conversation, joining the circle as they stood beside Amy. It was your friend Leah. She was right it had been nearly three weeks since you seen her. You two never went that long without talking.

You plastered your best smile even if you didn't feel it. Your eyes threatened to close as exhaustion was creeping down onto you.

"I've been busy with work. Sorry, I should've gotten in touch." You apologised. You meant every word. You missed being around friends, however you were practically half asleep right now.

"Don't worry about it, I understand." Leah smiled genuinely, waving off your apology.

Bella traced their thumb against your hand. The action making it harder to keep yourself awake.

A new topic of conversation arose, everyone engaged in it. You took their distraction to excuse yourself.

"I think I'm going to head to bed. I can barely keep my eyes open." You whispered into Bella's ear, only for them to hear.

Bella looked at you with worry. "Want me to come with? I can end the party."

You shook your head in response.

"no need. I can sleep through anything. And you should enjoy yourself with everyone, I don't need a babysitter." You kissed their cheek before they could argue back. A shy smile crept onto their face from the action.

Leaving Bella with their friends you made your way upstairs to your bedroom. Everyone at the party were all close friends of you and Bella, no one was seriously drunk and you trusted each of them to leave on their own and without a mess. It wasn't the first time a party was held in this house.

Shutting the bedroom door behind you helped to muffle out the sound of music and conversation.

Quickly and quietly you changed into your pajamas and got ready for bed.

There was no better feeling than crawling into bed after a long day. Wrapping yourself under the duvet you lay on your side and closed your eyes to try fall asleep.

The door creaked as it opened, the noise no longer muffled and light from the hall poured into the bedroom. It disappeared instantly once the door was shut.

You looked up in confusion.

"Bella? I told you-"

"I want to be here, with you." They cut you off before you could try persuade them to leave.

Bella changed into their own pajamas quickly and brushed their teeth before eagerly getting into bed beside you. You couldn't help but smile.

Immediately, you were pulled closer to them with your head laying on their chest and their arm wrapped around your waist securely.

It was peaceful.

Just you and Bella.

Your limbs were tangled with theirs, you could hear every beat of their heart and feel every breath they took. You couldn't imagine a more perfect place or feeling then being with Bella. Just the two of you.

Bella placed multiple kisses on your face. You felt your face heat up, you burried your face in their shoulder so they wouldn't see your blush.

Bella giggled at you shyness.

"I love you. " they whispered.

You couldn't control your smile from widening. You felt your heart skip a beat and the butterflies in your stomach grow.

"I love you too." You responded quietly but Bella heard. They pulled you closer to them, you didn't even think that was possible.

You never felt happier or more at peace than you did with Bella.

[mournings-stars]

all i've ever known, again

the fifth and final part to IF IT’S TRUE / the orpheus and eurydice fic :))

so i kind of lied to yall... cus pt. 4 was the last part of the prelude and i had a final last part already started LOL so heres kind of (very much up to you whether it is or isn't) an alternate ending to this greek tragedy-inspired story also thanks to this request: “a happy ending or continue the story like what happened after the reader failed to bring Lucifer back ect.” from @smnthvxe that gave me the idea to change it from a direct continuation to an semi-alt happy ending… i think yall will like this alt ending more than a canon-aligned continuation :)

includes: all that other stuff but fluff this time i promise….

tags: @lxkeee @viannasthings @majonla @sapphirecaelis

part one | part two | part three | part four

When he fell, you didn’t come to the trial. You couldn’t. You didn’t tell anyone about his indiscretions. You let everyone think you were still happily as close as you were, wishing it’d been more — that you had, did, and said more. You stayed in the house you shared, went on with your days as you had been, and slept in the same bed because you had trouble sleeping when he wasn’t there. 

But you didn’t speak. 

He’d try, and he didn’t go back to Earth for some time, but each time you tried, your throat tightened and you had to stop before you said something that would make both of you feel worse. You couldn’t look at him without expecting him to confess more of what he did, more of how he showed her things that were so special to you. You didn’t want to know what else happened, if he kissed her, slept with her, it’d only make things worse. But he told you he never did. He told you he comforted her, and she comforted him, and that was all. 

He tried giving you replicas of flowers when you accepted what he told you, but they didn’t mean the same as they did before, and the moment you took them, they began to wilt. “I’m sorry,” you’d try to say as he looked at the flowers in defeat, but nothing came out. He brushed it off, pretending it didn’t sting and offered to show you what he’d been working on, but you didn’t want to be the one he showed his pride to when there was no one else to go to. 

“I’ll never see her again,” he promised, his last attempt to fix what he’d done.  

“It’s okay,” was the most you said to him in weeks, but he wished he didn’t hear it. He wished he wasn’t hearing you tell him to be happy without you again. 

But he knew now; all of his doubtful thoughts, after he ruined everything, were true. He’d made them so. 

Yet, you still protected him. 

Until the very end, you protected him for years until you couldn’t without falling with him. Years, and you didn’t tell anyone. Years, and you started staying in your old home, alone. Years, and when rumors spiraled, he helped her flee from The Garden. 

Years, and he understood what your relationship had truly been as he began to spend years with Lilith. 

Years, and when you didn’t show, everyone knew the truth. 

He didn’t even try to fight falling. 

Then, it was months. You didn’t see Lucifer on the promenade, or in your garden. You didn’t even see him coming back from Earth. You hadn’t spoken in years, but you saw each other everyday, and you noticed quickly when you didn’t. 

No one told you he fell. No one told you he stood trial. All of Heaven was keeping you in the dark until you went to Sera. 

“Free will? You banished him for free will?!” You yelled at her, and she let you, having expected this reaction. 

“He was also unfaithful,” she said simply.

“We weren’t married.” She shook her head. “We were hardly together — Sera, you can’t do this—“

“You spent centuries together. Nearly a millennium, do not dilute that kind of love to excuse his sin.” Eyes appeared all across her being. She was more angry for you than you had ever been, and she wanted you to lose faith in him. Just as she had. 

“We spent that time together, yes, we lived together. We slept in the same bed, had meals together, held each other… But most of the kisses we shared were on the cheek, or hand. It’s not what you think—“

“Don’t do this, Humility,” she scoffed, “I won’t listen to you lie for him—“

“It’s true! Sera, please, listen to me. Free will can be good! We can root out the evil in humanity and send it down to this Hell you spoke about. Humans will understand right from wrong — they won’t just resort to evil without knowing that’s what it is. Let him explain, I’m sure he had the best intentions—“

“Intent means nothing when this is what happens!” You quieted at her stern voice and full angelic form, heavenly voice echoing off the walls. “You cannot fix this—“

“You have to let me try.” And again, years later, she watched you in defeat in front of her. First, you cried to her over what you were losing on Earth, and now what you lost because of it. Except this time, you didn’t blame the humans. “Please,” you begged, making her resolve soften as she saw the shine in your eyes. “Let me try, so I can show him I’d do the same for him, as he’d do for me.”

“What are you talking about…?” Her angelic form settled as she frowned at you. “Surely, you don’t blame yourself—“

“No.” You shook your head. “When the Earth began to change, and everything felt so bleak, he was there to help me back into the light with the garden.”

“What garden? Eden?” You shook your head again and she was even more confused. “Perhaps you could show me?” She got up, walked over, and put a soothing hand on your back. 

You were consumed in a golden wave of magic, transporting you to the garden you came to everyday. You blinked your glassy eyes at her, gesturing to the garden and the animals that came to you and hoping that would be enough to convince her. 

“I’ve never seen this place before,” she said, frowning, but soaking in the beautiful environment. “It must’ve been created by an angel…” She trailed off, understanding what Lucifer had done. “Humility…” 

Your tears fell in shock, wide-eyed realization coming to your face as you looked around. It all felt so familiar, so close to home. You thought it was because it reminded you of Earth before it changed, but there was a reason it helped you feel connected again; every flower you ever said you missed, every animal you ever treasured or showed to him, even the pond that two ducks circled. He recreated it all. 

You shook your head, looking down at your hands as a cloud of golden dust created a beautiful lily in them. The very same flower you shut him out for. Looking at it now, it was one of the most beautiful flowers you’d ever created. Poisonous or not, it stood out as something you would have loved. 

Sera sighed, peering down at the lily you cradled as if it could take you back in time. She avoided your sad eyes as she looked over your face, pondering the idea that was lingering in her mind. Perhaps you would finally lose faith in him if she did it — perhaps, he would prove that he did care — perhaps… there were too many outcomes that could come from this. 

But she said it anyway. “I’ll give him a chance,” she told you, watching the way your wings lifted as you looked up at her. “If you fail, he will stay in Hell… forever, but I believe you can succeed.”

She told you her test, bringing you to the golden gates and creating the stairwell you would spend days walking down — days, where all hurt feelings washed away the moment you set eyes on him and he looked happy to see you. Days, where you realized he had a ring on his finger. 

You were too late, you thought. He would never come with you, you thought. 

But he did, and you pushed yourself to leave immediately, following every rule until you reached the golden gates of Heaven and stayed with your back to the stairs as you stood in front of them, thinking he hadn’t followed you. 

You took a deep breath before you turned, seeing Lucifer step onto the clouds and feeling your heart race when you realized you made it through Sera’s trial.

He was still, unsure of what he was at liberty to do now that you were back. The adrenaline of seeing you after so long, seeing you so ready to take him home, that allowed him to hold you like he did before, had gone the moment he stepped inside that stairwell and replaced itself with overwhelming doubt that the moment you were back, things would be how they were; doubt, that convinced him he'd already failed. Doubt that convinced him to prepare to see you cry for him again. Doubt that convinced him he'd have to say goodbye—

He didn’t even have time to process your arms going around him, but he recognized the warmth of your wings, secure and tight around him, feeling like home. 

And, God, did he miss it.

His head tucked into your shoulder as his arms hugged your waist, holding so tightly that you had to speak up. “Lucifer…” He held you tighter. You held him close, fingers threading into his hair to soothe him. “I’m not going anywhere—” And you felt his shoulders tense as you reassured him, harsh breath and wetness hitting the crook of your neck before he lifted his head. 

“Forgive me for this later,” he muttered, hand going to your cheek before he leaned in. He didn’t give you time to think before he kissed you, lips urging and eager as a bright, golden warmth washed over you. You could feel Lucifer’s hot tears on your skin as his lips persisted against yours, your hands going to his cheeks to run your thumbs beneath his eyes as you kissed him back. The moment your wings unwrapped from him, he muttered a weak, “no,” and reached his free hand behind you to gently guide your wings back around him as he pressed his lips to yours once again. 

For the brief moment you were apart, you caught a glimpse of a light above you. You pulled back. “Luci—“ His mouth was back on yours before you could finish, but he paused. 

“What did you call me?” He asked hopefully, but you didn’t repeat yourself. Instead, you told him to, “Look,” pointing just above his head. His halo had returned, glowing brighter than ever. 

The glow settled after a moment, Lucifer’s gold and blue, beautiful angelic appearance returning to him for a brief moment as Heaven’s golden gates opened. 

You stepped away from him and he knew the moment was past, fingers grazing his lips as Sera appeared in front of you. 

“Lucifer,” she spoke. “I see you made it back…” She looked between you, then paused when she saw his halo. “I suppose I should listen to you now.” She looked to you, nodding, and you gave Lucifer a gentle smile before flying off as they went in the opposite direction. 

“I didn’t think you would be able to do it,” Sera admitted after a long silence. Lucifer had been looking back at you, watching you leave in the direction of your garden. He looked at her when she spoke up. “I wouldn’t have.”

“If I was leading, I might’ve failed,” he said. “But I had something to prove.”

“And everything to lose, yes.” She nodded with a grimace, looking down at the ring on his finger. “I’m surprised you came.”

“What?” He frowned up at her, then followed her line of sight to the ring on his hand. “Oh…” Sera hummed as he lifted his hand, pulling the ring off. “It’s not what you think.” He handed her the ring and she inspected it, looking at the inscription on the inside of the band. 

Music notes were engraved in the golden ring, and Sera could hear the song in her mind. “I haven’t heard this song in a long time — the Song of Love, isn’t it?” She handed it back, watching him slip it back on his finger. “But before that, it was—“

“It’s Humility’s song,” he said. “I made it a long time ago — when the world stopped needing it to change the seasons,” he admitted, twirling it on his finger. As he did, melodic winds flowed past them and sang the very same song. He stopped, the winds settling. “And for these past years, I wore it so that I might be able to hear it again. Even down there.” Sera pursed her lips, not responding to the admission. “Sera,” he sighed, “I never did anything with Lilith—“ It was her turn to sigh, as she’d heard it before. It was the only thing he fought against in the trial. “—I know how it seems. I know my telling Humility was a confession to being unfaithful, but I never did anything with her, and in the years I had with her, we’ve been nothing but friends. There was a connection, I can admit that, but it was nothing in comparison—” 

Sera laughed, shaking her head. “You should’ve realized that sooner—“

“—and I never acted on it. That was when I told Humility, when I realized — After Lilith told me she loved me, and it meant something different than the love I have for Humility.” Sera quieted, letting him continue. “I can live with Humility never trusting me again — but, Sera, all I ask is that you believe I’m telling the truth.”

Sera was quiet for some time, stopping their walk as she stared at the ring on his finger; just like the lily, it was like it brought him back in time. 

“You should tell Humility,” she decided, her belief would rest on that. Whatever you decided. Lucifer was quick to turn the opposite way. “Lucifer,” she called and he turned. “It was my intention to protect you both, not to plant doubt.” He could hear your voice repeating her warning of abandonment, the hurt and vitriol having replayed in his mind for years. And it finally stopped now. 

“I know,” was all he said before he left, heading straight for your garden. 

He found you there, sitting in front of the pond with the two circling ducks. Lilies floated in the water and sprouted at the bank, vibrant, warning colors surrounding you as you watched the water. 

Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to speak, wishing he could immortalize the beautiful scene as twirled the ring on his finger. Winds blew gently, guiding you to turn your head toward him. You could hear the faint song, a smile coming to your face as he came and sat next to you. 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said. 

You shook your head. “Tell me tomorrow… Let’s just enjoy today.” You took a lily from the bank and carefully tucked it into his lapel. “It’s the first day of spring… Come to the Celebration tonight?” There hadn’t been one in years, and he knew it. You were asking him to spend the night with you, just as he’d done so many years ago. 

“I couldn’t miss it.” 

There was a long silence before he placed a zealous, maybe overly so, hand on your cheek. His thumb ran over your skin and he smiled faintly. “I missed you.” You placed your hand over his, turning to kiss the inside of his palm before taking his hand with both of yours. He pulled it gently to his mouth, kissing the back of your hand. “So much.”

And you could feel it. You could feel the truth in his words, and you could feel that there was a truth you didn’t know, one that wasn’t what you dreaded years ago, one that compelled you to twist the ring on his finger and make that symphonic breeze begin to blow as you went to remind him…

But he spoke before you could, taking the opportunity to finally remedy what he’d done as he held your hands to his chest. “I know.” 

And you couldn’t help but smile.

[izloveshorses]

i feel like my biggest takeaway from andor (s2 specifically) is... it's something you just gotta accept as it is. it wasn't the cassian origin story™ we were expecting, and tbh it wasn't even a real rogue one prequel™ either.

don't get me wrong, i'm disappointed that it wasn't exactly what we wanted it to be. and i'm annoyed by tony gilroy's misunderstanding of one of my favorite characters of all time. but it was never going to be perfect. we've had almost ten years to craft what we envision cassian's backstory. of course some of us were going to be disappointed. but... i think there's more to the show than that? cassian sort of became a vessel for a larger narrative.

i think they decided to tell a beautiful story about grassroots rebellion and how to start a fully functioning revolution from the ground up, and when you look at the broader picture, they did that really well. and the quality of the filmmaking, the cinematography, the set, the costuming, the writing... it's beyond almost anything we've seen coming out these days. let alone for disney, let alone for star wars, of all things. sure, it suffers from the shorter seasons, three ep release weeks, etc, but i think those are just pitfalls of the state of modern tv. and with all things considered, they fit a lot of story into a tight schedule. and i can't believe The Mouse greenlit this radical as hell show.

as for the character choices and rogue one tie ins..... i am cherry picking what i liked and moving on. tbh i already forgot about the baby thing today, didn't remember until logging back on here after work and seeing a post about it lol. i am looking at things i didn't like and saying 'wow that was stupid! anyway.' maybe i've just been online too long, maybe i've been hurt real bad by other shows in the past, maybe life is just really hard rn and i just want a good goddamn show to look forward to, but i just don't really care to focus on the bits that made me mad anymore. obviously there are some things i cannot forgive (killing cinta, for instance) but the rest.... i am looking away... i do not see it...

we've survived a long time without much more than a single movie to work with. and we've lived off of 'everybody lives/nobody dies' aus for nearly ten years now. i think we can do the same here <3

[afewproblems]

Difficult Days Part Ten

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six Part Seven, Part Eight Part Nine or Read on AO3

“You're ridiculous,” Gus sighs, as they make their way into the precinct, waving at the desk sergeant who shoots them both a wide grin as they pass, “you can barely even tell anymore--”

“Oh yeah the yellow is just a choice now, I put this on this morning, couldn't you tell?” Shawn grumbles, pressing into the soft skin under his eyes, wincing even at the light pressure.

It’s been two weeks since the incident with Mr. Coveralls and the hospital visit to treat his broken nose and concussion. The worst of the bruising and brain fog have finally started to disappear, leaving behind angry yellow and sickly green shadows under his eyes, as well as a lingering ache in his head that shows up whenever he moves too quickly.

But at least Shawn is finally allowed back in the station after the mandatory two week rest that the doctor and chief had insisted upon -a ban unfairly reinforced by Jules, and even Buzz.

Lassie has been running the gamut from being irritated by his lack of rest, firmly insisting on his return home, to shooting Shawn unreadable looks, according to Gus, behind his back --which is extremely frustrating given how Shawn had thought they had left things back at the hospital. 

There had been a smoothie for shits sake! 

But no, of course Lassie had to go and turn around like everything was normal, like he hadn’t swooped in like a knight in shiny armour. Shining armour? Something other than his normal drab off-the-rack ensembles; but the point was that Lassie was acting just as he had before, sans manhandling after the concussion. 

It was certainly confusing, and more than a little frustrating. 

Shawn is more than happy to start working cases again, if only to distract from the, apparently, one-sided weirdness between himself and Lassiter. 

At least he can go back to distracting himself and half the station with their usual antics, and hopefully snag a new case while they’re here.

“Shawn?”

Shawn stops, it's been over ten years since he last heard the voice calling his name and it's enough to make him freeze in his tracks. Gus stumbles into his back, nearly causing both of them to fall.

“Tell me I'm having an auditory hallucination right now,” he whispers to Gus who frowns at Shawn until the voice calls out again.True he was still technically on concussion protocols but given that Shawn hadn’t had any hallucinations even immediately after hitting his head at the station two weeks ago, this was a bad sign. 

“Shawn Spencer, as I live and breathe!” 

Oh, it’s actually worse.

Anthony Llewellyn walks across the lobby of the station, making a beeline for Shawn and Gus. His curly brown hair has receded slightly, but age has done nothing to temper his handsome face. If anything, the laugh lines around his mouth and the creases beside his large hazel eyes have made him even more attractive since he stomped on Shawn's heart all those years ago.

“What happened to your face?” Anthony asks, a slight pitch of alarm in his voice as his eyes trace over Shawn’s face.

Shawn shoots a withering glare at Gus, raising his eyebrows in a silent I-told-you-so, earning him a scoff from his best friend. 

“Oh this, just an occupational hazard,” Shawn barks out in a strangled laugh as he waves a dismissive hand away from his bruised face, “but hey, you're back huh? I would have figured you'd stick with the east coast after Princeton, nothing like living in New York”.

“New Jersey,” Anthony corrects with the same crooked smile that Shawn loved all those years ago.

He feels his ears begin to heat without his permission, “I've heard it both ways,” Shawn says with a confidence he doesn’t feel. He clears his throat loudly as Gus steps closer, standing nearly between him and Anthony with a scowl etched on his face.

“Why are you at the station man?” Gus asks coolly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I could ask you guys the same thing, but imagine my surprise when I saw your name in the paper,” Anthony says with a grin, “I would have thought after what happened that summer you would steer clear of cop shops, hey Shawnie?”

Shawn winces at the nickname and leans closer to Gus, “Yeah, I uh, it’s good, I’m consulting--”

Anthony hums, dropping his gaze up and down as though scanning Shawn, the warm smile he’s wearing doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “no kidding”.

“Actually,” Gus bites out, glaring openly at Anthony who all but ignores him, “we’ve assisted on over twenty cases already this year”.

“Then I bet you could give me a hand with something hmm?” Anthony moves closer, reaching out to clap Shawn’s shoulder once before gripping it loosely, his thumb traces a soft pattern over the sleeve of his lime green polo, “how about it, for old times sake?” 

Shawn hates the way his stomach flips at the touch.

“What's the case?” Gus asks before Shawn can open his mouth, Anthony glances at him with an annoyed grimace before breathing out a long sigh.

“Well, my new wife and I went to this resort in San Diego, Beach Village something-or-other, and we're pretty sure that one of the attendants stole my watch and wedding ring,” he says with a frown, he turns back to Shawn with a soft smile and gently slides his hand down Shawn’s arm to grip his elbow, his hands are cold and clammy against his bare skin.

New wife. 

Shawn swallows harshly as he takes his arm back from the other man’s hand. He hates the way his chest feels tight at the words, the way the slimy slide of Anthony’s eyes over his face still manages to make him feel simultaneously like he’s flying and crashing, even now that the man is so, so clearly trying to use him. 

And he’s not even being subtle about it. 

“You and your wife didn't go to hotel security?” Shawn says smoothly as he catalogs the other man's appearance now. He takes in the slightly swollen fingers on both hands, wrists and the slight swell of the other man's face. Shawn had seen that same swelling before, when his grandad took him and Gus when they were kids to the mountains for some ‘proper’ camping as he called it. 

Anthony looks away as he nods.

“Oh I did, but we were leaving the same day and I--we, my wife and I, just wanted to get out of there so we could file a police report. My insurance company said that would be the first thing to do”.

Shawn grimaces at the obvious lie, “I can't let you file a false report Anthony,” he says quietly, keeping his tone neutral as he watches the other man blink in surprise.

Anthony is silent for a moment, looking at Gus first with a laugh in his eyes that disappears when neither Gus nor Shawn join him, “what are you talking about?”

Shawn sighs, before taking a step closer, “just, why don't we talk outside, you haven’t made the report yet so--”

“Talk outside,” Anthony repeats incredulously, “what-just what are you implying?” He’s angry now, his spine straight and all traces of good humour have vanished.

“Anthony, come on,” Shawn says lowly, looking around, ”I put up with you talking to me like I'm stupid when we were eighteen, but I'm not about to let you do this”. None of the officers milling about have spared them a glance so far, but judging by the rapid flush rising up Anthony's neck he won't be staying quiet for long. Lassiter and Juliet hover in the background from their nearby desks, watching the exchange and Shawn hopes they leave it be.

“Is that what this is about?” Anthony says, and yup, there's the volume he was worried about, “Jesus Christ Shawn, are you seriously doing this because I dumped you? It was like twenty years ago, get over it!”

Shawns balks at the words, turning to Gus, “When did we turn forty, did I miss the cake?” 

He swallows harshly, still grinning despite the way his ears have begun to heat, “Ten years, twenty years, same diff, but that’s not what we’re talking about Anthony, you’re trying to file a false police report”.

“Okay,” Lassiter interrupts, as he swiftly walks up to stand between the three men, “this is a police station, I'm going to need you to lower your voice”.

Shawn feels eyes on them from the rest of the station. Vick is still in her office, thank God, but Buzz has joined their little watch party now and Juliet has also moved closer, standing beside Gus with her hands at her hips, classic power pose.

God Shawn has the worst fucking luck lately, because of course Lassiter and Juliet, are the ones that get to witness his ex-boyfriend publicly tear a strip off him.

Anthony's face twists as he nods sharply, glaring at Shawn over the Detectives shoulder. Shawn breathes a sigh out through his nose, gritting his teeth as Anthony opens his mouth to defend himself or discredit Shawn --same difference at this point. 

“If this man is bothering you,” Lassiter continues without missing a beat, “rest assured we will remove him from the premises”.

“Oh sure,” Shawn says snidely, rolling his eyes, as Gus stiffens beside him, "kick out the person not actively committing a crime, great work Lassie--”

“I wasn't talking about you, Shawn,” Lassiter cuts him off, glaring at Anthony.

Oh.

Shawn looks at Gus who is staring at the Detective as if trying to download his thoughts because, who the hell is this and what have they done with Lassie?

“Alright sir, it’s time to go,” Juliet says primly as she takes a step fully between Shawn and Anthony, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with Lassiter. 

Anthony sucks his teeth, his eyes darting between the two detectives as though sizing them up, “he doesn't have any proof, you're not taking his bullshit seriously are you?”

Lassiter says nothing, his narrowed blue eyes flick between Anthony and Shawn.

“Shawn probably had a vision, right?” Buzz says from his desk in the corner, “he's very good--”

“Oh my god, Is that what he told you?” Anthony laughs, and it's not a nice laugh, “good to see nothing's changed, everything’s still a joke to you, huh Shawn?”.

Shawn stiffens and takes a deep breath, A few more officers are now looking at them, Buzz watches worriedly from his desk and stands up from his chair.

“Okay,” Shawn says, shaking his head, “sure, you said you were filing a report for the theft of your watch and wedding ring, that they went missing at the resort you and wifey stayed at, right?”

Juliet and Lassiter both turn back to Shawn now, Lassiter watching Shawn with the same blank expression he’s come to hate recently while Juliet tilts her head curiously, her eyes flit between Gus and Shawn. 

Anthony raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest now in a silent challenge. Well, game on Llewelyn. 

“Dragging some poor resort attendant through the mud for this? Thinking no one will question it, right?”

“Shawn,” Gus says warningly, reaching out for Shawn’s elbow but he pulls away from his grasp.

Shawn continues, ignoring the way Gus drops his face into his hands, “that resort is almost four hours away, definitely at a higher altitude and way warmer than Santa Barbara, just based on how swollen your hands are”.

“Shawn,” Gus hisses at the same time Lassiter says, “elevation,” in a tone Shawn has never heard before, but he keeps going, ignoring them both.

“With the abrasions on your ring finger knuckle there, and the marks on your wrist where the watch would have been, you clearly took them off after your drive”. 

Anthony freezes, his mouth opens and closes once before his face hardens into a vicious glare.

Shawn smirks, gotcha.

“Are you--you’re not serious right now,” Anthony sputters, taking an aborted step towards Shawn but Juliet is faster, halting his movement with a firm hand on his chest, “that isn't--this is unbelievable, you’re fucking pathetic”.

“And you're just after the insurance payout,” Shawn hits back sharply, he feels Gus’ hands on his shoulder, holding him back as Juliet stands her ground, waiting until the other man finally takes another step away, raising his hands in surrender. 

“God,” Anthony says, dropping one hand heavily at his side while the other runs through his curly brown hair, “I don’t know how I put up with you for as long as I did in highschool Shawn, leaving for Princeton was the best decision I ever made--”

“So you're Princeton,” Lassiter interrupts as he turns towards Anthony fully, leaving his back to Shawn and Gus.

Gus lets go of Shawn's shoulders just to bring them back to slap him on the arms, an expression of dawning horror blooms on his face.

“What?” Anthony growls at Lassiter, leveling him with an unimpressed glare.

“You're the other idiot that made a mess that we’re all still trying to clean up,” Lassiter says and Gus's jaw drops briefly before his head tilts contemplatively, eyes narrowing at Lassiter. 

What the fuck is happening?? 

Shawn tries to step forward again, but Gus renews his grip on his shoulders, shaking his head in a silent, ‘I-don't-know-what-the-hell-is-happening-either-but-you-need-to-be-cool’.

“So you,” Lassiter says, taking a menacing step closer, “should take his advice and leave now before we book you for filing a false report”.

Anthony breathes out a scoff, “what, you believe this asshole?”

“And disturbing the peace,” Juliet says brightly, counting on her fingers, “and threatening an officer--”

Anthony looks between Juliet and Lassiter for a moment, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of continuing his tirade as the number of cops watching from the sidelines grows. He rolls his eyes and shakes out his shoulders before finally, finally, taking a step backwards and turning back towards the entrance, “Okay, okay, I'm leaving, have a nice life Shawnie”.

“I’ll walk you out,” Lassiter growls, gesturing towards the lobby. He doesn't move until Anthony turns on his heel and finally leaves the bullpen. 

It’s quiet for all of five seconds, Shawn can feel the eyes of the room on them as he takes a deep breath through his nose before slowly exhaling through his mouth. The bubble of silence pops shortly as Juliet clears her throat, leveling an impressive Lassiter-like glare around the station. 

“I’m going to make sure that’s all Carlton does,” Juliet says quietly as she reaches for Shawn’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before she follows the pair out of the station. He nods, watching her go as a bone weary fatigue suddenly hits him square in the chest. It’s most likely a lingering concussion symptom from all the yelling and sudden stress which makes the whole situation all the worse, his first day back at the station is now a write off. 

Gus steps closer, his brow pinched in concern, “okay I know that sucked, but you need to get out of here”.

“Yeah,” he says, wiping a tired hand over his face, “I just--I need a minute--”

“Nope,” Gus says sharply, “now, before Lassiter and Jules get back”.

“Gus,” Shawn breathes out tiredly, feeling as though the last string holding him up is about to snap altogether, “don't be a wet sock inside my favorite shoe--”

“Shawn,” Gus interrupts, "you just deduced a crime and walked the head Detective through your entire process, without a single vision”.

Shawn feels his breath catch in his throat as he walks back through the last five minutes because Gus is right.

He steps back from the memory of Anthony standing over him, sneering, and shifts his gaze to Lassiter who looks at Shawn with narrowed eyes that pierce through his underbelly. The terminator scan is back and on full force now.

“Shit,” Shawn whispers, horrified, “shit, shit, shit, that's worse”.

Lassiter knows, knows that Shawn has been lying for months. Not just to him but the whole department, to the people he had started to call friends.

“Okay,” Gus steps back, gesturing to the back entrance usually reserved for officers, “go, I’ll see if I can do some damage control, I'll call you later”.

Shawn nods only vaguely aware that Gus has stepped away from the sudden lack of warmth beside him. He starts making his way to the side exit only for Gus to plow into his back like a linebacker before spinning Shawn around to hug him tight.

“Anthony was a jackass then and it looks like that hasn't changed,” Gus says into his shoulder, “so for what it's worth you dodged a bullet man”.

Shawn slowly wraps his arms around his best friend, letting the tension from the confrontation with Anthony fall away.

“Thanks,” Shawn says after a beat before loosening his grip to pat Gus on the back as he steps away, “now, I have an escape to make and several, several, orders of not-sad snacks to grab”.

 “Don't you throw a pity party without me Shawn--”

“Wouldn't dream of it!” He calls over his shoulder with a grin as he slips out the side door.

***

Shawn is well into his pity party, about two orders of queso dos fritos deep --the perfect not-sad snack, midway through his VHS copy of Gladiator, and with a list of places in Arizona he had not managed to see before coming back to Santa Barbara --his options other than skipping town again all but nothing, when he hears a knock at the door.

Four raps in quick successive pairs.

Shawn freezes.

It could be Gus trying out a new knocking pattern, and here with better news than his spiraling thoughts can conjure, but Gus hasn't called.

Shawn holds his breath, slowly reaching for the remote to pause the movie, relieved that he hadn't opened the blinds on the window facing the street when he got home from the station earlier. 

Maybe if he stayed quiet--

“I can hear your movie Spencer”.

God Dammit.

Shawn angrily stops the tape before dropping the remote onto the couch which bounces once and then falls to the floor with a noisy plastic clatter. 

“I know you’re in there,” Lassiter’s voice travels through the door clear as a bell. 

He sighs, dropping his head back onto the couch before he lifts the grease stained cardboard holding the few remaining fries from his chest and stands up, tossing the garbage onto the coffee table that is actually a garish slab of green plexiglass held up by several stacked milk crates he had spray painted red and superglued together.

Gus said it was hideous the last time he had visited but Shawn loves his DIY project.

Eat your heart out Martha Stewart.

He makes his way over to the door, opening it just enough to see the Detective with his hands in his suit jacket pockets, looking around with a suspicious glare.

“You live in a laundromat?” He says in lieu of a greeting.

“What are you doing here Lassiter?” Shawn asks tiredly as he opens the door a little wider, leaning his shoulder against the frame, blocking any additional line of sight into his place. 

“The spirits didn't tell you?” The Detective says as he removes his hands from the pockets of his coat to cross his arms over his chest.

Shawn fights the urge to slam the door in his stupid face.

Lassiter shakes his head after a beat of stony silence as Shawn says nothing, and sighs.

“Can I come in?”

Shawn shrugs, looking away but doesn't move from the door, blocking the entrance.

“Depends,” he says after another beat.

“Look, if you're worried about…” Carlton tries, the words come out haltingly, “I'm not going to…”

God Shawn does not want to have this conversation.

Lassiter breathes out, lifting his hands to run through his hair, shifting the normally neat salt and pepper locks out of place and Shawn is over it.

“Look, I really don't want to do this right now Detective,” Shawn sighs as he shifts his hands on the door, moving back slightly to end the stilted conversation and shut Lassiter out when a hand darts out to push the door open.

“Woah, hey--” Shawn tries but the Detective cuts him off by suddenly gripping his shoulders and walking him back into the apartment.

“What the f--what are you doing?!” He hisses, wrenching himself out of Carlton’s hands.

“Sorry,” Lassiter says, “I don't, I’m not,” he breathes out sharply through his nose and lifts one hand to pinch into his eyes briefly.

“You know, if I illegally enter someone's home, they aren't usually there to see me do it,” Shawn snips, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, “allegedly--”

“I'm not good at this,” Lassiter cuts him off, his voice loud in the small entryway. He drops his hands to his side before taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, “I've thought long and hard about exactly what I would say to you if I managed to catch you,” he gestures sharply at Shawn with an open palm, “to figure out exactly how you do what you do”.

Fuck.

Fuck. 

It's exactly what he and Gus had been worried about back at the station. He had exposed himself and Lassiter was finally pouncing on it. 

“You astound me Spencer”.

Shawn blinks, his head tilts slightly as he peers at Lassiter, his eyes tracing over his face for any hint of a lie.

It's the same drunk words from nearly a month ago, and this time Carlton is sober.

“I knew it wasn't that psychic crock, I've always known that,” Carlton continues, oblivious to Shawn's shock. He reaches back to close Shawns front door before stepping further into the room.

“But, over the last few months I've watched you make the most outlandish, ridiculous, amazing deductions seemingly out of thin air”.

Lassiter's eyes flick between Shawn's own, “but it's not out of thin air, is it?” 

He takes another step closer, “you observe, you see things others miss, right? Like the elevation thing today”.

Shawn swallows heavily and tries for a laugh that rings out hollowly. 

“Look Lassie, Carlytown, Lassidopholous,” his voice sounds unnaturally high pitched, nervous, even to his own ears as he takes a step back from the Detective, “you’re barking up the wrong tree--”

“And you deflect with stupid jokes, nicknames, and obnoxious theatrics with Guster so people don't pick up on it,” Lassiter says firmly, taking another step into Shawns space.

“Pick up on what?” Shawn says quietly.

Lassiter pauses, his throat bobs as he swallows before taking a deep, determined breath and squaring his shoulders, “how brilliant you are”.

Shawn snorts, waiting for the punchline, “okay, who are you and what have you done with Lassie?” 

Lassiter doesn’t move and his expression remains unchanged, “I'm being serious, Shawn”.

Shawn barks out a crackling laugh through the sudden tightness in his throat after a beat, “but,” Shawn runs a shaking hand through his hair. It doesn’t make any sense, where the hell is this coming from he thinks, twisting his fingers to pull harshly at the roots, “you never said anything”.

Carlton steps closer, resuming his pursuit, “I'm saying it now”.

“Are you sure?” Shawn asks in a small voice before he clears his throat roughly, “I mean, are you sure this isn't a prank?”

Shawn grins but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, “is Ashton Kutcher about to jump out of my cabinet because I haven't really prepared to have guests over--”

Shawn stops short as Lassiter reaches out with one hand to cup his face while the other hand rises up to gently remove his fist from the iron grip he has on his own hair. Lassiter slowly untangles his fingers before bringing their hands down to hang between them. 

“Definitely not a prank,” the Detective says softly as he squeezes Shawn's hand, and holy hannah when did Lassie become such a Casanova? 

Carlton doesn't let go.

“This okay?” he asks, his blue eyes flit between Shawn's own.

Shawn feels his face and ears heat in an uncharacteristic moment of flustered surprise as he looks between his hand and Lassie's face. His mouth opens and closes but words, a previously unending resource for him, have vanished.

Carlton grins down at him, stepping closer, “finally stumped you eh Spencer? I thought I'd have to resort to drastic measures to shut you up,” he says, rubbing his thumb gently over Shawn's cheekbone.

Shawn huffs out a strangled laugh, licking his slightly chapped lips; he watches the way those same bright blue eyes follow the movement of his tongue. 

“Drastic does seem more my style, but maybe you could pull it off”. 

Carlton smiles as he slowly moves his hand to grip Shawn’s chin, tilting his face up just as he had that night at Tom Blairs.

“Shut up, Shawn,” Carlton breathes over his lips, gently sliding the tip of his nose down Shawns, still cognizant of the healing cartilage, before leaning down to finally kiss him.

Shawn makes a noise, a muffled hum of surprise as Carlton walks them backwards until they connect with the wall behind them. His hand slides up from Shawn's jaw to cup the back of his head as he presses further into him, while the other hand drops Shawn's to slide up his back, pulling him into Carlton even more.

Insistent lips coax his mouth open for Carlton to slide his tongue along Shawn's--who gave him the right, or the ability, to kiss like this??

Stuffy, uptight, by-the-book, Head Detective, Carlton Lassiter kissed like a man starved and Shawn could feel his brain vacillating between over analyzing this turn of events and turning to goo.

Maybe that Snapple intern was on to something because Shawn could easily see himself kissing Lassie like this for hours, weeks, maybe he'd have to give them a call about their stats, let them know the record would be broken by Lassie's lips and tongue.

Shawn's hands slide up Carltons chest as a firm knee slots between his legs, moaning as he grips at the lapels of the Detective's horrible suit jacket--if Shawn has a say moving forward, he's definitely going to be insisting on a wardrobe upgrade---

Carlton breathes out sharply through his nose as he pulls away, just far enough to stop the kiss but his Iips still brush Shawn's as he speaks, "I can hear you thinking a mile a minute, I must not be doing a very good job?”

Shawn huffs out a strangled laugh as he slides one of the hands on Carlton’s chest up to rest on the back of his neck, his fingers brushing the short hairs that have started to grow out.

“Me? Thinking? You must have confused me with someone else”.

“Shawn Spencer,” Carlton says softly as he kisses the apple of Shawn’s cheek,  “fake psychic,” he kisses the soft skin beside Shawn’s right eye, “much smarter than he lets on” he kisses Shawn’s forehead,” loyal to a fault,” Carlton hums, finally pulling back to look him in the eye’s directly.

“Careful Lassie,” Shawn says a little breathlessly, “this is starting to sound like a compliment”.

Carlton hesitates for a beat, his thumb tracing up and down Shawn’s pulse point, “based on what I know of Henry, and that jackass who came into the department,” he says slowly, softly, “compliments probably came pretty sparingly for you”. 

Shawn feels himself still in Carlton’s embrace, his mouth twitches at the corners as he tries for a grin that feels brittle, fake.

“Now I know you’re definitely confused, I love me some praise, Gus insists I have to be careful or my head'll swell, even more than it already has, and float away on the Santa Anas”.

He unwinds his hands from around the Detective and tries to step around him but Carlton’s grip around him is firm, “besides, that guy, that was, just an old friend from school--” 

“Dammit,” Carlton says under his breath before shaking his head and seemingly steeling himself, “I need to…tell you something,” Carlton continues slowly, sliding his thumb in soothing half circles on Shawn's back, “I read the transcript from your call that night.”

Shawn can't stop the full body twitch at the words and does push against Carlton this time, ducking away from the warm hands holding him against the wall, “you-- come again?”

“Shawn--”

“You...you called him Princeton,” Shawn says weakly as the memory from earlier flashes before him. It was an odd thing for the Detective to say even then, but he’d been so distracted by the whole confrontation that its significance had slipped his notice. Jesus, how did that happen?

“I can explain,” Lassiter tries before Shawn waves a hand out in front of him, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Explain it then,” he snaps. 

Lassiter swallows, his mouth twitches miserably before he finally says, “outgoing calls are monitored Shawn, you called from Vicks desk, we have the transcript”.

The words hit him square in the chest and it takes everything in him not to tell the Detective to get the hell out of his apartment. His stomach clenches unhappily as he wipes his hand over his mouth, he hears his own small voice in his own head, sharp as though it was only yesterday.

“You were right Gus, he uh, he's going to Princeton, can't have someone like me dragging him down, wait, maybe I'm the Brodie in this scenario”. 

“How long have you known?”

Chapter Eleven Up!

Tag List: @adaed5 @drakkywolf @newgrangespirals @riverofrainbows @steddierthings @newgrangespirals @eriquin @childofposiden71 @theoxymoronicpoet @cinderellarhea @ladystardustinblackjeans

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Shadows of Fluttering Leaves

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 7

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: depressed reader, grief, victim blaming, implied history of sexual assault/harassment, bad parenting, not super healthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I am so sorry I've updated everything sporadically this year, y'all. I've been working really hard to stockpile updates so I'll be able to post at least biweekly for the rest of the year (if everything goes to plan!) As always, please comment/reblog to leave feedback. And a giant thank you to @gracethyomen for helping me plan this arc and make their fight more cruel. She is the queen of angst, go follow her.

w/c: 4.8k

You didn’t recall much from the past three days, but that was because there wasn’t anything to recall. After your conversation–if it could even be called that–with Frank, it was as if your soul had unstitched itself from your body. You went through your days as an emotionless husk. Your creative spark extinguished, your joy unreachable.

The walls in your building were thin enough that you could hear him moving around. Going to work and returning home to Max as if you'd never existed. Perfectly fine without you. Every heavy footfall that penetrated the rotting drywall brought a fresh sheen of tears to your eyes. 

The burly marine had become such a welcomed part of your life, losing him was like losing a limb. His absence felt like a bad dream. If you focused hard enough, you could still feel his calloused hands, smell the cheap soap and spicy clove aftershave he used. But a simple exhale would wash the scent away, and you were alone again–tired, anguished, and unloved.

You drifted through the day, unsure what to do with yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to go into work, or even communicate with Leo and Stacy for more than a brief text to prove you were still alive.

While this evening hadn’t been much different, the sight of your mom’s name flashing across the top of your phone screen as it buzzed had caused enough of an adrenaline rush to force you to chat with someone. Your throat felt sore after talking for the first time in nearly 72 hours, your vocal chords still recovering from their sudden overuse. Shuddering as you willed the memory of the call to fade, you felt the tell tale prick in the corners of your eyes.

Staring down at the damp concrete, you blinked frantically in an attempt to keep the endless tears at bay. The tilt of your head caused raindrops to drip off of your hood, rolling down your forehead. Around you, the slam of water against pavement and steel drowned out the thud of your determined footsteps. Blowing out a breath you slipped an unfeeling mask onto your face as you continued your walk to the bakery.

It wasn’t more than a few blocks from your apartment to the Rainy Day, but the beams of street lights would draw attention to your glassy eyes, and you didn’t need to highlight your fragility for any creeps that might be lurking at this hour. You'd had more than enough unwanted male attention for the week. Once you were safely behind the locked doors, you could look as broken down as you needed to.

Though you were exhausted, your confusion-and-betrayal-addled brain was still unable to rest and your hands itched to do something. Wallowing in your bed wouldn’t quell the uneasiness that speaking with your mom had ignited mere hours ago. But cooking might. At least, you hoped that was the case.

A crackle of lightning illuminated the bakery as you approached; the strike of light refracting through the windows made the place look rather sinister, draping it in oddly shaped shadows. Slipping the keys from your pocket, you tried not to cringe at the cold rain as it splattered against your exposed hand. Thunder rolled overhead as you waggled the key in the lock, finally getting the damn thing to budge enough for the door to shove open.

Stepping inside, you bolted the door behind you, using your phone flashlight to maneuver through the stacked tables and chairs as you moved to the kitchen. Before getting to work, you stripped out of your semi-drenched top and slipped into a clean t-shirt adorned with the logo of the cafe. Flicking on the overhead lights, you threw a hand up to shield your sensitive eyes as they strobed briefly before steadying into their normal bright rays. Taking a place by your preferred station, you took a moment to reflect on the tasks you had cut out for you.

Though Leo was more than capable of replicating your work if you detailed the recipes, they were happy to let you be the creative lead in your shared kitchen. As they’d mentioned multiple times over text the past few days, your absence from the space meant less variation in pastries for the bakery, and more for Leo to do. If you weren’t so emotionally depleted, you would have felt more guilty about abandoning them so suddenly.

Apparently, the emotional turmoil that talking to your mother always stirred was good for something. It had gotten you here, at least. Coating your station in a thin layer of flour, you ran through the motions of a basic croissant recipe.

You weren't quite feeling up to experimenting yet, but croissants you could do.

Soon enough, the smell of salted butter and yeast engulfed the room and your fatigued mind began to wander. Despite your best efforts to forget the comment, your mother's voice echoed in your ears.

“Really, sweetheart, what did you expect?”

The condescension in her tone clung to you like the barbs of an untrimmed rose. Your brain feebly tried to reassure you that she had no idea what she was talking about. To remind you that she didn't even know his name, that you'd told her—at most—three sentences about the whole situation.

But the majority of your brain was still reeling from the abrupt collapse of your relationship with Frank. And it was far too weak to not spiral at the implication of your mom's question.

Because, while she wasn't fully aware of who Frank was and what he meant to you, she was intimately informed of your history with men–hence her thoughtless words this evening.

Your dating history was...pitiful, to say the least. You tended to draw attention from the wrong men. Bosses, teachers, even your own relatives.

It had been your reality for as long as you could remember. As a child, whenever you'd come to your mother with another sob story about attention that you hadn't meant to attract, the blame was always placed squarely on your shoulders. Your outfits were too provocative, your actions too enticing. It didn't matter that they were the ones misunderstanding your kindness as an open invitation. It was still your fault.

Expecting her to sympathize with you when you told her you'd been grabbed by a stranger as you left the construction site was foolish. But it still hurt to know that she didn't.

What hurt more was the little voice in the back of your head that agreed with her. Knowing damn well that you'd chosen that outfit to fetch the gaze of a specific man. That the low cut neckline was meant to be provocative. That it was your fault that you'd been humiliated. That your own desperation had led to the continued phantom sensation of a large hand gripping your arm against your will. 

“If you dangle bait long enough, something will bite.” She reminded you. It wasn't the ocean's fault that you'd been hoping for a specific fish.

“But I didn't want them.” You'd lamented to her. You were tired of being a plaything, a quick fuck. You wanted something more, something real. And it had turned to ash in your delicate grasp before you could so much as appreciate it.

She wasn't sympathetic. Chastising you for forgetting your place, for getting attached, for seeking love in places it didn't exist.

“Love is harder to come by when you're, well...you know.”

You slammed the ball of elastic dough onto the bench, kneading it aggressively as tears poured down your face. Your stomach twisted as it heaved with sobs, the sentiment from your mother sounding eerily similar to the curt observation that Frank had hurled at you.

You ain't my wife.

He was right. You weren't his wife. His wife was beautiful, and caring, and patient. She'd loved him, had children with him, made a home for him.

Think I'm your little boyfriend or somethin'?

Biting your lip to stifle a sob, the feeling of foolishness crested in your chest again. It was humiliating to be called out like that,  especially when your naive little heart had been convinced he felt the same way.

I never wanted that.

Those words still hit you like a sock to the gut. He never wanted a relationship. He never wanted you.  Your stupid feelings were clearly unrequited, but how were you supposed to know that?

Was your childhood so deprived of love that simple acts of kindness had your heart doing backflips? Were his pet names and compliments just his gentlemanly nature because he was afraid to offend you?

This was a mistake.

His sweet remarks, calling you beautiful, the constant teasing—the relationship you once had with Frank began to play in your head; the muted colors of the picture doing nothing to make your chest ache less when his face sprang to mind. Your brain continued its depressing montage: Frank smiling at you, his gruff voice lifting around the word “sunshine”, his genuine interest in your work, his daily visits to the cafe, the way he leaned into every touch you offered him. All meaningless. Just another regret.

Exhaling forcefully, you flapped your hands in an attempt to stop their trembling. If the fragile dough ripped between your fingers, it would ignite a full meltdown. Clenching the muscles in your hands, you relaxed them as you forced every thought from your head, focusing on the pliant mass beneath your rolling pin as you mashed it into a lopsided rectangle. Carefully lifting the edges of the shape, you tossed it onto the sheet pan you'd prepared as tenderly as you could.  Using your fingertips to stretch it into a more appealing shape, you nodded in satisfaction, shoving the tray onto a cart and picking up your rolling pin again.

Each extension of your forearms, pressing the wooden cylinder into the raw pastry, condensing and lengthening the blob with small, stiff movements. Your elbows creaked with every stretch of the elastic dough, the swing of your arms feeling almost foreign despite being a common practice in the kitchen. A 72-hour break was too long, apparently. Any other day, you'd dance through this recipe effortlessly; Today though, every step felt choppy and hesitant, as if your brain expected you to fail again and again.

You hadn't felt this hopeless in a kitchen since the last few weeks of your atrocious entrepreneurial experience years ago. Yet another example of you being too trusting, too optimistic.

Your mouth flooded with the metallic tang of blood as your teeth dug into the flesh of your cheek, halting the choking despair that threatened to drag you down to the linoleum floor. You wanted to give in; your brain was still a ball of exhausted mush incapable of handling your day-to-day tasks.

Sloppily prepping a few more trays for their initial rise, you shoved the croissant dough onto the proofing cart and out of sight. The smell of yeast usually made you happy, but the biting edge of the scent was turning your stomach. It was becoming increasingly clear that you'd thrown yourself into your work without the stability to handle the sensory input of the bakery. Your head was pulsing because of the fluorescent lights, the whir of the electric mixer rattling your ear drums. Once the sticks of butter you'd added to the stainless steel bowl of the machine were smooth, you shoved the lever to shut it off—letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

Slapping heaping scoops of the creamed butter into a half-sheet pan, you set the pan in the fridge to solidify and shuffled blearily into the break room, collapsing onto the worn leather couch.

“You are such an asshole.”

Gritting your teeth as the words ripped you from an uneasy sleep, you peeled one eye open reluctantly. Two shadowy figures swayed in your field of vision, neither looking particularly happy with you.

The taller figure marched towards you. ”Three days? THREE DAYS? No calls, only a single fucking text,“ The annoyed voice grew closer, making you curl in on yourself.

”'M sorry.“ You mumbled, tears springing to your eyes.

”You better have a better apology than that. They were worried sick.“ A blurry image of Stacy manifested against the doorway to the breakroom, her arms crossed. Standing in front of your shoulders, hands firmly attached to their hips, was Leo.

”We were worried sick,“ Leo corrected, throwing Stacy a look.

Not denying the allegation, Stacy's cheeks dusted pink.

Crouching in front of you, Leo gave you a once over. Their furious expression quickly morphing into one of concern. “Did you sleep here?”

“Didn't mean to, the kitchen was just,” You gave a limp shrug, avoiding their piercing gaze. “Too much.”

“How long have you been here?” Stacy asked, striding over to drape her legs across the arm of the couch.

“Since midnight-ish.” You muttered, shame pitching your voice lower.

“Babes,“ Leo sighed, running a palm over your exposed arm as you tried to shrink into the couch cushions. ”What happened? Was it your mom?“

You should your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “Pete.”

“Pete?” Stacy raised an eyebrow, looking at Leo with wide eyes.

“What did he do, hun?” Leo plopped into a cross-legged position, leaning against the couch with an expectant look.

“Did you break up?” Stacy's voice was uncharacteristically soft, but the words were still teasing.

You burst into tears.

“Stace!” Leo scolded, climbing onto the couch and hefting your torso up so that you could lay in their lap as you bawled.

“What? It seemed impossible!!” Stacy said, mortified. She absorbed Leo's vacated spot, hands hovering apprehensively in front of you. “Shit. Please don't cry.”

“It's a bit late for that.” Leo huffed, cradling your cheek with one hand. “What did that bastard do to you?”

Gulping in air, you cowered against Leo's thigh. Your friends sat quietly, patiently awaiting your story. With a stuttering inhale, you wiped the newest round of tears from your face and pushed yourself into a seated position—gratefully leaning into the arm Leo threw around your shoulders. Looking up at them wide-eyed, you waited for their encouraging nod before speaking.

“Um..” Your voice was hoarse, words shaky. “So three days ago, I tried to bring him lunch...”

As if your consciousness was sparing you from the depressing events, the words tumbled from your lips instinctively, thoughtlessly. The story pouring directly from your torn heart, accompanied by a few stray tears.

Throughout your ramble, your friends remained silent–sandwiching your body between them. Leo's sturdy frame was a comforting weight to your left. Stacy had migrated to your other side, tentatively resting a manicured hand on your shoulder. They were both eerily still as you caught them up on the implosion of your relationship with your neighbor.

Eventually, you sighed, your body sagging with exhaustion. Briefly lifting your hands, you gestured to the small, bare break room you'd passed out in. “And then you found me in here, and that's it I guess.”

Your mouth snapped shut, your eyes flinging the final few droplets of saline off of your lashes as you blinked at your lap. There was a beat of silence. Two. Three.

Then all hell broke loose.

“Is he fucking serious?“ Stacy bit out, retracting her hand to cross her arms. Her brows were raised, jaw clenched as she looked at Leo.

”He told you that you were a mistake?“ Leo squawked, clearly fuming.

“I mean, that's not—” You began to reason, words dissolving on your tongue as Leo grabbed your hand with a glare.

“Absolutely not. Do not start that bullshit.”

Frowning, you averted your eyes. ”I'm not doing anything.“

“Princess, we love you, but don't pretend you're not blaming yourself.“ Stacy scoffed, standing from the couch and tugging at the roots of her hair.

“And defending him while you're at it.” Leo gently prodded your side with a knuckle, giving you an all-too-knowing glance. At your resulting pout, they sighed. “I know that hearing your mom blame you again and again is hard to unlearn, but she's wrong. So is Pete and all the other men who have done this to you. You deserve better.”

“Seconded.” Stacy nodded firmly, pointing a finger at you. “The next time I see him, I swear on my grandmother—”

The petite brunette was pacing, fists clenched in her fury. Leo looked equally angry, though they were much less obvious about it. Smirking at Stacy's empty threat, they finished it for her. ”We'll beat him senseless with a baseball bat.“

Giggling, you leaned into the hug Leo offered, exhaling into their shoulder. ”I appreciate you both, but I'd rather just move past it.“

”Deal.“ Leo kissed the top of your head, holding out a hand to help you stand from the couch.

”Speak for yourself, I am not willing to let this slide.“ Stacy called with a huff, stalking out to the counter to begin prepping for the morning rush.

”Should I be worried?“ You bit your bottom lip, eyes following her out of the break room.

”Nah, you know her. It'll pass, this is just how she shows her love.“ Leo reassured you, striding into the kitchen at the ambling pace you set. ”We would do anything for you, you know.“

Smiling bashfully, you nodded. “I appreciate it, Leo. Thank you.”

Though you were still dead on your feet and reeling from the emotional whiplash you'd been put through, an odd form of peace had engulfed you. Talking things out had taken a massive weight off of your shoulders.

You felt heat prick your cheeks as you sheepishly recalled the way you'd isolated yourself after leaving the construction site. At the time, it had felt like the natural path forward. But it clearly hadn't done you any good.

Your coworkers were eternally patient as you fumbled your way through your daily tasks, your brain still a glob of jelly after being berated by both Frank and your mother.

Gritting your teeth in frustration, you collapsed onto a bar stool. Kneading your forehead with one hand, you inhaled deeply.

Peeking around the corner of the walk-in, Leo frowned. “All of them?”

Nodding miserably, you forced a response around the lump in your throat. ”Every. Single. One.“

”Aw, babes.“ Leo pouted, coming to inspect the trays you'd thrown around your station as your defeat grew.

”They're all flat. How did it slip my mind that the rain would throw off the humidity in the main room? That's, like, proofing 101.“ You moaned, prodding one of the dense croissants with a finger. ”Christ, I feel like I've lost my mind. It should not be this hard to do something simple.“

Patting your back reassuringly, your best friend ignored your protests, lining your ovens with the ruined croissants and setting a timer. “Do you remember the first time Ez and I broke up?”

Ezra, Leo's on-again-off-again partner, had broken things off for the first time right before you both took your final preparation exam for your first pastry class in school. Leo had nearly flunked the course after they used salt instead of sugar in every dish.

Stifling a chuckle, you fiddled with the strands of your apron. “I seriously think Allard was reconsidering his decision to teach. His face!“ You and Leo snorted in tandem, picturing the old french man's grimace.

”Oh he definitely had regrets. My point is, the brain works in mysterious ways when you're grieving.“ Leo stated matter-of-factly.

”Grieving?“ You asked. “Frank didn't die–”

“I know that, smartass. But you still lost something, did you not?”

Pondering for a moment, you conceded. “I suppose.”

“So, your brain is handling this just like any other loss. Grief processing is its current main priority, remembering how to make picture-perfect croissants is not even in the backlog.”

“It should be, given that we operate a bakery.” You grumped, watching the pitiful slabs of dough puff slightly in the oven.

Smacking you gently over the back of your head, Leo's expression turned endearingly stern. “You, my dear, need to be kinder to yourself. Something huge and incredibly hurtful just happened to you. Give yourself a moment to breathe.”

Their soft command gave you pause. They weren't wrong. You'd jumped from escaping, to wallowing, to working without so much as a millisecond to relax. Had this bullshit happened to anyone else, you would've been much more understanding. But being kind to yourself was never your strong suit.

Mulling over the possibility of granting your brain a smidge of grace, you watched the flat pastries expand ever so slightly as they began to brown under the yellow oven lights. Realization finally striking you, you turned to Leo with a quizzical expression.

“You put them in the oven.” You stated simply, mind not quite forming a question to remedy your confusion.

Chuckling, Leo nodded. “I did.” They leaned against your station with a smile.

“Kitchen adaptations, hun. What did we used to do with pastry dough that didn't rise properly?”

Understanding dawning on you, your lips parted. “Croissant sandwiches.”

Squeezing your shoulder, Leo hummed in confirmation, striding back to their station to finish shaping bread loaves. You continued to watch the thin crescents puff, reminding yourself that the mistake was fixable. Sure, they wouldn't be the gorgeous, fluffy pastries you'd envisioned—but they could still be made into something delicious. For today, that was enough.

Feeling less hopeless, you wiped your hands on your apron and strolled over to the lines of proofing bread, moving them to the proofing cart easily. ”What are we stocking today?” You asked, hoping they'd notice the hidden meaning of the question.

“Let's stick to simple comfort foods. The weather is nasty, we probably won't be too busy. After we finish the staples, we could make some baguettes and a soup or two? Maybe some kitchen sink cookies and brownies too. Those won't take much effort.“ Leo tapped their chin thoughtfully, looking to you with a soft expression. ”Sound good?“

Smiling, you nodded–glad that Leo was willing to take charge for the day. Sliding your arms around your best friend's waist, you squeezed them tightly before bustling off to prepare some yeast.

Over the next few weeks, your mood improved significantly. Out of concern for you, and more than likely out of concern for the bakery, Stacy and Leo had spent a handful of nights at your place–helping you wind down after work, and motivating you to get up the next morning. Their presence and constant glares towards your and Frank's shared wall made it easier to move forward without him. You could feel your consciousness wading through the stages of grief, rapidly approaching acceptance.

For now, though, you were still moping–much to your friends’ dismay.

”C'mon, Princess! Live a little!! You haven’t gone out with us in forEVER“ Stacy whined, pinching your arm as she took a seat on the counter you were cleaning.

Scowling at her, you switched your rag out for a broom, determined to keep tidying around the obstruction she presented. ”I already told you. I don't feel like going out tonight, Stace.“

Sweeping stray coffee beans from under the machines, you fought back an eye roll at her snort. ”Oh, I'm sorry, did you have plans besides crying on your couch while watching rom coms?“

”Christ, Stacy, I told you to invite her, not insult her!“ Leo scolded as they exited the kitchen.

”Someone needs to say it!“ Stacy threw her hands in the air, looking at you pointedly. ”Being sad has its time and place, but the only way to truly get over a man is by going out and getting wasted, you both know I'm right!“ She huffed in frustration as both you and Leo opened your mouths to protest.

Scratching the back of their neck sheepishly, Leo raised a brow at you. “She actually might have a point.”

Pumping her fists victoriously, Stacy leapt from the counter. “See? It'll be good for you!”

Glancing between her and Leo, you sighed. Pouting in distaste, you knew you had been outvoted. If you refused to go, they’d drag you out anyway. “Fine.”

Your friends cheered, high-fiving their success. Stacy danced over to you. “It's gonna be great, princess. You'll see!”

“Oh, I’m sure.” You snarked, dipping the formerly abandoned rag in a bin of bleach solution and resuming your afternoon disinfecting duties in the front of the cafe while your coworkers plotted the outing.

“What are you going to wear, hun?” Leo called over their shoulder to you, after complaining to Stacy about their lack of cute clothes.

“Considering I am only going to please the two of you? I'm not quite sure.” You snorted, tone still sharp with irritation.

“Well, since you're clearly in such a great mood,” Leo giggled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Maybe we could get ready together?”

“We totally should! While blasting EDM really loudly in your living room!” Stacy grinned, feigning innocence despite her clear intentions to make Frank's life a living hell.

“Ok now you are definitely not invited.” You frowned, imagining how much he'd curse at you if you became a horrid neighbor on top of all your other faults.

“It's cute that you think you have a choice!” Stacy laughed evilly, rubbing her hands together in a movie-villain-esque motion.

Groaning miserably, you stiffened as Stacy padded over and held a hand out for the rag.

Making a grabby hand gesture, her other palm landed on her hip. “Hand the towel over, princess. You and Leo can head to your place to get you all fixed up and I'll finish cleaning.”

“I'm not sure whether I should be offended that you're implying I don't look stunning like this,” You circled a hand around your unwashed face. “Or worried that you're offering to lock up. You hate closing.”

“Exactly. That’s how much I want you to have a good night out, dude!” Stacy gave you a stern look, flicking her eyes between the damp rag and your stubborn expression.

Sighing heavily, you tossed the rag to her and slipped out of your apron. “If this place isn't gleaming tomorrow–”

“Yah, yah.” Stacy waved you off, putting earbuds in as she walked to the other end of the room.

“The disrespect.” You muttered, turning to Leo who was clearly amused at the fact that you'd been outwitted by the other girl.

“C'mon, sweets. We'll need to stop somewhere for drinks unless we want to go into debt to get drunk tonight.” Grabbing your hand, the two of you left Stacy and the bakery behind as you braved the heat outside.

Slogging up the stairs, arms laden with a paper bag filled with the cheapest alcohol the three of you could stomach, you adjusted your center of gravity to avoid toppling down the stairs. It felt like you were swimming upstream, given the weight in your hold and the immense humidity of the stairwell. Finally reaching the landing, you scrunched your nose as a bead of sweat dripped from it.

“Took you long enough,” Leo remarked, smirking at you from your front door, having made it up the stairs long ago. 

“Not all of us have a lithe athletic build and the heart rate of an Olympian.” You huffed, shuffling toward them with a small smile. Despite your initial apprehension, excitement had started to build in your chest at the thought of the night ahead of you. As you were about to express that much to Leo, the click of a doorknob stopped you in your tracks. 

Stepping out of his apartment, adorably happy pitbull in tow, was none other than your neighbor, Frank Castle. 

Frozen in place, it was a miracle you didn’t drop the bag in your shock. You’d assumed he’d avoid you just as you’d avoided him. Apparently you weren’t that lucky. 

Looking a bit surprised himself, Frank hesitated for a minute before plastering a scowl on his face and tugging at the leash in his grasp. “C’mon Max.” 

Watching Frank stalk past you without so much as a glance in your direction, your mouth dropped open with indignation. Poor Max was dragged to the stairs behind him, despite the dog’s efforts to greet you on the way down the hall. 

Gritting your teeth, you marched to your own door and unlocked it. Carefully depositing the bottles on the ground, you grabbed a handle of cherry vodka, cracking it open and taking a swig as you stomped into your apartment. 

“I suppose that’s one way to handle whatever just happened.” Leo murmured, studying you with a concerned frown. “Wanna talk about it?” 

“Nope!” You grinned, pulling another gulp of liquor from the bottle. “Care to help me pick an outfit? I’m hoping to drink for free tonight.” 

Striding into your room with Leo on your heels, your gut burned as the lump of despair you’d been clinging to for a week burned red hot with rage. Your friends were right. You deserved better. 

If Frank Castle didn’t want you, then you sure as hell didn’t want him.

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