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jinkiezzsstuff · 10 months ago

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In Season

alastor x doe! femreader

no but really this is actually so depraved and smutty i cannot believe myself i hope yall enjoy the feast xx

Summary: You were aquatinted with hell for quite some time and you quickly learned as much as you could about mating season to protect yourself from other deer sinners. Although you came across the hotel and neither you nor Alastor could resist each other, and your instincts.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, female anatomy- no pronouns, no descriptions of bodytype/skin colour/hair type, heavy breeding kink, female masturbation briefly, penetration, squirting, creampie, horrorish aspects predator n prey, ‘in heat’ trope, OOC alastor bc y’know sex, general vulgarity, brief mention of blood, swearing, not proofread, LEMME KNOW WHAT I MISSED

Word count: 5K

You’ve been in Hell several years, and at first it was a little jarring. Especially since you now had hooves, a tail, a black scent-sensitive nose, and soft floppy ears. Honestly it was amusing getting used to your new body while dodging sinners hungry for new meat, you reminisced on your first days of hell often, as they were the most exciting.

But now you were more aware, you’d spent a majority of your time in hell assessing and attempting to understand the whole eternal damnation thing- after all you weren’t much of a believer in hell when alive. You kept atop all the sinners that were of note, the different sectors of the pentagram, the overlords as well as their strengths and weaknesses that coincides with their demonic form, you also paid close attention to all the rings of hell and their sins. You’d even grown interested in the hellbors and imps, never imagining how birth and life things that was supposed to be god's gift, ended up breeding in such a foul place like hell.

Most demons spawned into hell with some sort of form be it an object like a television, a prop like a doll, a toy such as a jack in the box, or more commonly an animal. Most humans found themselves attached to animals anyways which made sense as to why many showed up as one, as well as why it wasn't surprising to see many dogs and cats as a common form in hell. During your investigative research, you ran into a few.. hurdles.

Bucks, mating seasons. It seemed like all animal life here was cursed with some sort of violent mating season. Where all that sinners could think about doing was mating. Bucks had been your biggest issue in hell, you found it pretty simple to ignore mating seasons, focusing your mind anywhere but the burning in your pelvis, but the bucks would storm around looking for the smell of the doe near them.

It’s a pain in the ass and you always had your calendars marked, alarms and reminders set, as to not forget that mating season was coming and you needed to take precautions.

Besides the chase the bucks would give you every year, you had it pretty easy in hell, you published on a blog your findings marketing it to new sinners in hell, kind of like a guide to hell, and that kept your bills paid and your mind occupied.

Walking down the road in the pentagram city with the intentions of snapping some pictures of some of the expected violence in hell, you gazed along the different brick walls and shops, shopping with your eye at times. You came by yet another brick wall, this one littered with taped up signs, your paced slowed as your eyes rapidly moved across the words on different pages.

There were varying signs, one for resale value drugs, IMP immediate murder professionals, and Charlie Morningstars Hazbin Hotel. Pausing your stride you went up to the wall getting a closer look at the shitty drawn piece of paper, there was several different… characters, on it very poorly drawn. You recognize Charlie’s name of course, you’d often see her roaming around the pride ring actually, unlike her father who you never saw.

Pulling out your phone you snapped a picture of the sign and decided to take a trip down to that side of the pentagram to check out this hotel. It’s definitely quite the story to be told that’s for sure.

You made left, rights, had to take cover for thirty minutes while some sinners duked it out shooting up a whole block, then you tried to hail down a cab- failed and trudged for the longest time to the hotel. It was so much further than you anticipated but everytime you felt like turning back you told yourself you were almost there which got you to the door of the hotel, by the end of the day however.

Knocking on the giant doors you didn’t know whether to walk in like you would a hotel, or wait for a guide. Tapping your fingers against your thighs you’re suddenly hit with strong arousal that clawed suddenly at your abdomen.

Bringing your phone up from your pocket you checked the date, you knew the season was changing and autumn was here but you didn’t have any issues with buck recently so you didn’t really have to worry. You did confirm mating season was in progress, with the conformations laying within the calendar, but it shouldn’t have been a problem, unless there is a buck inside the hotel.

Suddenly the door flew open and you were pulled away from your contemplation by a high pitched, giddy voice tugging your attention toward it. “Oh my gosh, hi! I’m Charlie! Come in! Are you here for the hotel!” The blonde rambled quickly, tugging you in by your wrist.

The hotel was weirdly homey, you could tell that there were different personalities that occupied the space, different colours of reds decorated, random items littered around the room like stiletto boots by the door, a large pile of needles in a corner, the bar seemed to be its own aesthetic design. It was comfortably warm and smelt like an active fireplace, as well as something so strong and musky it made your legs inadvertently clench.

You attempt to hold your instincts inside but this wasn’t like any other buck you’ve smelt before- it made you ravenous. Pulling yourself together while Charlie spoke about the hotel you pondered what you’d say, you could exactly be like, is there a male buck here because i’m horny as fuck.

No. Smiling to Charlie tiredly, you finally ready yourself to give her the explanation. “This place really is lovely, I didn’t actually come to be a patron but maybe write something about it for the little blog thing i have.” You felt jittering and lightheaded as you spoke, your eyes scanning the room and ears pulled back. “Uhm would it be okay to stay for a night?”

Charlie perked up clasping her hands together nodding eagerly. “Of course to both~!” She sang out happily. “I am so glad some people are interested! Who knows, maybe after a day you’ll wanna stay!” She exclaimed, twirling around happily.

You smiled at her optimism and you were genuinely happy that the princess of hell was such a breath of fresh air in the smog filled hell you all lived in. “Do you want me to show you around? Meet our staff and guests?” Charlie asked, a glimmer of hope and excitement sparkling in her eye. You took a brief moment to ponder before nodding your head. “I think that would be perfect, then though would i be able to rest, the walk fucked my hooves.” You say tapping the tip of your booted hoof against the floor.

Interlocking your elbows Charlie nodded, dragging you toward the bar. “Of course you can, I'll end our tour with your room, but let me begin it with Husk! Our loyal bartender!” Walking toward the bar you’d spotted early on, the cat demon turned his head ever so slightly toward you. “Hi,” The alcoholic said flatly, Charlie laughed nervously, but you didn’t really mind his demeanour you preferred short and to the point.

“Hey Husk, nice to meet you.” The cat grunted at you, and gave you a sorta glare. “Another deer. Course it fuckin is.” Husk muttered to himself bitterly, Charlie scolded him under her breath, before turning to you with a grin and a shrug of the shoulders. “He’s sweet once ya get to know him. Heh, anyways c’mon lets meet Angel!”

After about thirty minutes of running around you met all but one of the members residing within the hotel. As you skipped around the hotel you entirely forgot about the low grade heat buzzing between your legs, you were used to it after all, and you enjoyed yourself a lot, confessing to Charlie that you particularly enjoyed the rambunctious Nifty and flirty Angel.

“Alright, the last person of note is one of the most important. He’s been assisting in the hotel basically since the start, half of it wouldn’t be possible without him.” Charlie explained walking up to a door, on it had two different do not disturb signs. A large wood one nailed right on the door, and a second hanging off the handle.

Charlie picked the sign from its hanging position humming while examining it. “He’s never had these before.” She muttered, voice filled with confusion, however you were lost in a daze. This was the smell you could pick up down stairs, he must’ve been a buck, there wasn’t any other way.

The scent was pungent, nearly knocking you off your heels with arousal, it was musky, something only described as sweaty and primal. The natural hormones of the demon beyond the door were unlike anything you’ve experienced before; it was like he was a starved man, hungrier than ever and more than ready to breed.

It was dirty and you felt embarrassed at the reaction you were having, typically you had a low hum and no real desire to attempt to have sex with one of the many deer demons who came after you so this was a bit of a new experience. And it was nearly painful, you don’t even know the guy and yet it felt like you were being consumed by him.

“Hm, wait here I’ll go ask Nifty! She normally knows the most,” Charlie drifted off tilting her head at you. “You okay there?” She asked nervously, you promptly nod at that, inwardly cursing yourself for not being more controlled. “Yeah,” You quickly clear your throat trying to play off the lust filled tone for a dry throat. “Yes,” You say with more conviction. “Sorry it’s been a long day. Before you head off, would this guy happen to also be a deer?”

Charlie grinned super wide, purely whites on display. “He is! Best for last! I think you two will be happy to have each other haha,” She chuckled a little awkwardly, brushing her hair behind her ear. She shook her head, swiftly bidding you ado and walking off to find Nifty.

You waited a moment listening for anything down the halls, but you didn’t hear anything anywhere, and you couldn’t see anybody around, nor could you see cameras hidden in the corner. Walls crashing down, heart rate naturally kicking up; you unbuttoned your pants, spreading your legs and slipping your hand down your pants.

You whimpered at the contact of your cold fingers to your clit, feeling the sticky sensation of arousal cover the bit of thigh that your underwear didn’t touch. You soaked yourself just by the smell of the deer on the other side of the door. You slipped your middle finger and ring finger down, coating your fingers entirely before slipping them into you, curling them as you did.

You inhaled deeply resting your free arm against the door above your head for you to lean forward on, you didn’t have the intentions of fucking your self in the hall, but one thrust turned into three. Now you’re dripping, gasping for air and trying to keep yourself quiet when all you wanted to do was collapse and beg whoever occupied the other side of the door to please fuck the neediness out of you.

As you quickened your pace, your body quivered from the uncomfortable position, but you halted everything when you heard the unmistakable sound of a radio on the other side of the door. It was a gritty sound, garbled with no real sound coming out of it, just strange static. You tried to catch your breath as you listened closely, checking your left and right speedily ro assure you were still alone.

Suddenly the doorknob shifted the door falling open under your weight. Your legs stuttered attempting to catch your body, hand whipping out from inside you, slick and sticky with your arousal as if you were some whore. Unfortunately you weren’t able to catch yourself fast enough but lessened the brunt of the fall with your knees before your hands came down to finish. You were still in a blitzed out haze, but the room was pitch black, the only sound that could be heard was an ambient sound of nature and the faintest sound of the radio.

The only light that you were blessed with was the hall light from the opened door behind you. You could barely make out deer heads hung on the wall and a red couch before the door snapped shut leaving you alone in the darkness.

You whimpered, clenching your legs and your teeth, you could still hear the radio but it sounded like it was seriously messed up, switching stations, pitches and incorporating sounds you’d never heard from a radio, like growls and deep rumblings.

Your fear mixed with desire and the smell of lust was far more palpable in this room. It was so much harder to ignore the scent and the smell of the buck who was definitely worked up in this room. “What a depraved little doe you are.” You jumped at the voice, nothing like you expected. He sounded wicked, dark, and surprisingly, hornier than you.

You could now hear him in the room with you, his deep pants, the footsteps around, you swear you could’ve heard him accidentally hit his antler against something as well, it was like he just materialised. “What’re you doing out of bed so late? You do know how filthy bucks can be this time of year, don’t you.”

You yelped as two bright red eyes appeared just a few feet in front of you, either this guy was crouched or contorted as you never stood from the floor. As his eyes got closer to you, his being consumed you entirely, as it dawned on you that he was crawling toward you like a goddamn animal.

“Sorry.” You meekly whimpered, tilting your head back ever so slightly, neck on display for him. He let out a baritone chuckle, shocking you slightly, before he replaced that shock with a new-by pouncing on top of you.

He brought his face closer to yours, the crazily dialed eyes of his illuminating your face enough for him to properly see and observe your face. You however only got brief glimpses of a strained yellow smile, and messy red hair that stuck to his face from sweat. You could feel his body heat against you making your own body feel hotter by the second, his right hand sat above your head, his other grabbed ahold of the wrist that moments ago was deep inside you.

One of his knees sat outside of your body by your thigh, while the other knee occupied the inner thigh too close to your core for comfort, or perhaps not close enough. All you knew is this deer was one of the horniest you’ve ever come across, his breath was erratic chest heaving, breath tickling your face and neck, his eyes were blown and obviously a firey red bright enough to add a horror-esque ambience.

You could feel the strain he had against his suit pants, it was hard not to when in the position he took he was straddling one of your thighs. He gripped your hand harder bringing it up to his face, your heart pounding in your ribcage as you watched motionlessly.

He groaned at the sight of your still wet fingers, his smile stretching just slightly as his eyes momentarily closed. Then his mouth opened, as did his eyes, teasingly he opened his mouth bringing your fingers up to him, before he took a hold with his mouth swirling his long tongue around your digits. You whined, closing your eyes at the feeling, the way he did it was not just in an attempt to be pornographic but to properly taste you, coating his taste buds with your arousal. Pulling his mouth away with an exasperated groan, he dragged his sharp teeth along your flesh, leaving tiny cuts that exuded just enough blood to satiate his desire.

He pulled himself away properly, saliva stringing as he did. You peaked your eyes open, as suddenly a feeling of being sucked into the floor consumed you and you felt like screaming. Though it all happened too fast that you weren’t able to squeak anything out; the floor sucked you in and within seconds spit you out. Gently your body bounced against soft velvet comforters on what you assumed was a bed- his bed. Still surrounded by only the blackened room, the buck nowhere you could see, you sat there heart pounding, bewildered, scared and horny, a unique combination to be fair.

“Tell me, my dear doe. When was the last time you gave into such, primal desires?” The man’s voice appeared before he did, sliding up beside you from the shadows. “Never.” You whisper looking into his deepened red eyes. “I am so sorry. I avoid bucks, I came for business- I didn’t- god i’m sorry i couldn’t help myself- you fuckin,” You threw your head back groaning in frustration, feeling embarrassed to admit you were just about willing to do anything he said if it meant he spread you out and bred you.

He chuckled demonically, his hand sticking out to you. “Alastor, sweetheart, pleasure to meet you, quite, the pleasure.” Alastor’s radio voice lowered and he purred to you so sultry that you clenched your thighs together. Grasping his larger clawed hand that he had stuck out, you shook him tightly enjoying the warmth and contact. “YN, pleasure to meet you too.”

Gently pulling his hand away, Alastor inched his way closer to you, leaning over he placed his hand on the other side of your torso seemingly trying to resume the position he held on the floor. “I could smell you enter the hotel, you know. I keep myself away every season and no other passer by, has been an issue. So what is it that you’ve done my dear,” Alastor questioned accusingly while dragging a claw up your neck and getting back to being on top of you.

Alastor felt like he couldn’t help himself, he felt a yearning for sex he’d not felt ever, sure there’s been the occasional session with his hand on a particularly trying mating season, but never real feral need like this. He wanted to leave his mark on you, and keep all those other foul deer demons that may attempt to take their claim on you in the future.

Growling radio admission and static echoed throughout the room, Alastor promptly closed the inches between your bodies, gently collapsing on top of you. Alastor dragged his tongue up your neck from your collar to your jaw line, ending his travel with an opened mouth kiss. You whimpered at the sensation of his body against you clutching his shirt, as he nipped at your neck with his sharp teeth drawing blood.

His thigh was pressed against your core with the way he leant down on you, and you wondered if he could feel how you were pulsing desperately begging him to fill you. Against your will you jerked up grinding yourself into him, causing him to groan at the own pleasure he got from the friction. Alastor then pulled away entirely looking down at you, then a gentle red light flickered on, then another, and finally a third, lighting the room up with a reddish glow.

You weren’t focused on how, or where the light came from, but rather the man in front of you. You had no clue it was Alastor, as in thee overlord Alastor, although you should’ve put it together based on all the radio feedback that sounded from out of him. Of course you knew of him from your research but he’d been gone when you came down so you easily forgot him.

Alastor was dishevelled, without a suit coat, just a button up and his suit pants, his hair was a mess as you briefly saw before, but man oh man did he look a wreck. He was sweaty, his antlers were out on full display, his eyes lidded.

“I had no idea you were a deer.” You say eyeing him up and down, he chuckled at that. “So you know of me?” The question, you might almost say, sounded uncertain, perhaps before with the lights off lended the two of you a comfortable anonymity that you don’t have anymore. Nodding your head you can’t help but attempt to gain some friction between your legs. “Darling if you truly want this as much as I, then I'd be more than happy to satiate the hunger for both of us- so long as we see to a date and several others after. I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing you with another deer after me.”

Although this formal speech was out of place for your current predicament you looked past it because you wouldn’t mind this being more than a one time hook up. “Of course, I hate one night stands.” Smiling at him, his smile softened compared to its harsher one before. Alastor moved in, this time you were able to watch him in the dim light, leaning back fully and off your elbows, you got comfortable on the soft pillow that kept you somewhat propped up.

You wanted your hands free to touch him, and hold him. When his face was inches from you, lips barely touching, your hands came up to play with his hair. You go cautiously hearing rumours about the distaste he has for contact he doesn’t initiate, however the moment your hands connect to his hot neck, he moans, pushing himself down to connect to your lips.

He smiled through, as you expected him to, but it was the best kiss you’ve ever had, purely based on how intense he was once he finally got a taste of you. You just barely opened your mouth before his tongue was escaping his mouth to explore yours, it was a searing kiss one that was unique to anything before. His body once again lowered as he relaxed on top of you, most of his weight rested on you, which you loved the feeling of it was like he was encasing you with him.

You could feel the stiff hard on that ached to be freed, and his uneven breaths that expanded his chest further into yours, like a tide your chests pushed and pulled each other in and out. It was erotic, and as your make out session dragged on the messier it got, teeth scraping tongues fighting, saliva glistening on the perimeter of both of your mouths. Your hands dug into his hair occasionally touching his long antlers that were out, and everytime you did he’d moan statically into your mouth.

Alastor cared little about his poise and instead chased his own pleasure as his mouth entangled with yours, you were receptive and as needy as he was, so he felt no shame when he started to hump himself against your core. He took even more pleasure in hearing you whine for more, bucking up into him. You buttons were still undone from earlier which made him feel a sense of anger he couldn’t explain, he wanted to be the one to make you come undone, he wish he could’ve gotten to you before you fucked yourself against his door.

So with a new goal in the demons mind, he snaked his arm in between your bodies, him needing to lift himself a bit to do so, and snuck his hand down you pants straight to your soaking wet core. Gasping at the contact you jerked up into his hand, his fingers sliding down the length of you leaving no area untouched.

“Impatient?” Alastor mocked pulling away finally, although he was in no place to, as even the simplest word came out jagged and out of breath. “Alastor please,” You begged unable to stop the way you jerked up into the warmth of his hand.

With contemplative hum Alastor halted all movement making you groan. It was unbearable to put up with, perhaps the foreplay of it all would be more enjoyable if it wasn’t such a painful lust you were in. Snapping his fingers, cool washed over your body like freezer air, and soon you realized you were left bare.

You jumped curling into yourself afraid of being so suddenly exposed. Looking up you were surprised to find the overlord himself nude with you, the comforter that once laid flat underneath you now pulled up behind him. Leaning forward blanket following in suit behind him, you simply stared at him, the markings on his body, the fact he had two tone skin, and of course the more obvious aspect of his body, the fact he was hung.

Covering the two of you under the safety of the blanket, Alastor pulled your legs apart gently, body slotting back where it’s supposed to be in between your legs. “You’re devine torture my dear. Attempting to be somewhat gentlemenly in a state like this, when you’re so desperate, is absolute torture.” Alastor grit out, his static gone as he struggled against the animalistic urge to dive into you.

Breathing out a breath you had no clue you were holding, you begged him pressing your body up into his. Thoughtlessly you reached down between you two, wrapping your legs around his torso to nudge him closer, and slowly you wrapped your fingers around him making him almost robotically crackle.

Giving him a few awkward strokes, due to your position, you guided him towards your entrance that needed no prep, with how you pulsed aching, and dripped greedily you weren’t too worried about pain.

Alastor barely took your guidance, as once you stroked him a twig snapped, when you lined him up to your entrance, he jerked forward plunging into you rather harshly causing your body to jolt. A heat shot through your body crawling down your pelvis straight to your toes, while your jaw hung open, unable to make the noise. Alastors radio was popping and crackling as he fucked into you, grinding his body against your own, he was pouring himself into you as fast as he could and for him it still wasn’t fast enough.

Meanwhile you were still attempting to catch up, your brain hazily lagging behind as your body jerked along with every thrust. You could feel yourself dripping down the length of him, the wet slapping of skin was just more indication you were practically a faucet. Reaching upward to grab onto his neck, it was your turn to growl viciously, loving the way his eyes and smile looked in this fucked out haze.

Grinning at him you tilted your head back, eyes closed at the insane pace Alastor was attempting. “Fuck Al, just like that please don’t fuckin stop,” You moan spreading your legs further apart so your clit was more exposed to his flesh that came slapping down.

One of his hands grasped your neck lightly squeezing, you clenched in tandem with his choking, absolutely loving the feeling of him having you at his mercy. “Who knew such a sweet face would be so, filthy.” Alastor said through a toothy smile his radio voice was gone only leaving his strained raw vocals.

You let out wails of pleasure as he fucked you into the mattress, before you roughly pulled Alastors head down forcing him to give you a kiss. Your tongues met before your lips did as neither of you were going in for gentle but rather a greedy taste of one another.

Alastor moaned and whimpered more when kissing you seemingly without hesitation, making you feel closer to the edge then before. Arching your body up you clawed Alastors back begging him, tears threatening to spill and the feeling of need. “Please Alastor, please fuck- so good it’s gonna- i’m gonna cum- Al don’t stop,” You cried loudly stumbling over what you wanted to say as you felt hot all over.

Above you Alastor could barely hold on, his forehead rested against you as you cried, wailing for him to fuck you begging for him to make you cum, and he knew from how you cried for him, ge was gonna. He also knew he wasn’t far himself feeling as you clenched and leaked all over the bed, it was disgusting and he loved it. Your skin stuck to his as his body came crashing down on yours legs too shaky to hold him himself up, but his pace didn’t let up all that much still forcing himself deep into you, marking every inch of you.

You screamed, clawing his back wrapping your arms around him as you convulsed. You whined about how it was so good how hard you were coming but it got mixed up in his mind as he focused on the violent gushes of liquid that rushed out of you. It seemed your orgasm kept being pulled out as you continued to gush around him making him bellow out his own praises of how good you felt, how glad he was you were coming on his cock and making a wet mess of his bed.

Alastor was ravenous as he used your cunt to milk him of everything he had trying hard to get himself as deep as possible in you. Meanwhile you continued to moan and whine at him your orgasm still pushing on gushes is liquid squirting out of you as your sentive mating body wanted more, wanted to be bred and was ready to hold out to do so.

And bred it was, Alastor bit onto you as he came, loving the feeling of filling you to the brim, it wasn’t anything he’d done or felt before. You groaned, smiling wickedly and you hungrily kissed up his neck pulling his ear with your teeth, whispering to him about how badly you wanted to be filled with his cum, eyes rolling back as he stilled in you finally.

Your body ceased a bit before his movement ceased, It was all insanely animalistic. Now as Alastor laid on top of you, still inside you, you felt the post nut clarity truly hit you. You were still in a lustful haze, however you’d never been that much with a man, nevermind one you haven’t properly met. Although you didn’t mind, as you dragged your fingers through his sweaty hair you reminded yourself he wanted to see you more, not just use you.

Taking a deep breath, Alastor enjoyed the smell of your skin and the doe pheromones you naturally let off. In the back of his mind twisted questions that he couldn’t bother trying to answer. His head laid under your chin, face between your breasts dazed and staring off into space. You cautiously traced your fingers up his ears, his antlers fell in size back to little sticks. His ears twitched but he made no remark as you gently played with them.

“Do you regret it?” You broke the silence with the nasty feeling of worry in your gut, worry that you messed up, worried you both made a mistake. Alastor let out a long hum, his radio frequencies back in action as he did. “No dear not at all. Lust or not I was certain about my decision. I had the strength to hold back when I heard you on the other side of the door but I didn’t want to.” Alastor admits still a little coy is his delivery.

Although he did a very good job at assuring you because any doubt you had vanished. It was a vulnerable time for the both of you, during mating season, that having the knowledge that he still could’ve kept control, kept himself on the other side of the door but instead choose to claim you, yeah made your heart and mind content.

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reiderwriter · 6 months ago

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💢 At Each Other's Throats 💢

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.

A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong.

Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot.

He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him.

“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.”

His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there.

“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-”

“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”

“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.”

Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him.

“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.”

The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight.

“Shall we get started?”

To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell.

Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation.

Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at.

He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.

Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0.

Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type.

You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2.

Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged.

You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground.

“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.

“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group.

While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you.

“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?”

“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.”

The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions.

“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended.

“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you.

Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship.

You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him.

You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well.

“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours.

A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind.

“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.”

“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.”

Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who.

You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit.

You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning.

You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was.

On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance.

You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything.

All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table.

You had a murderer to catch.

Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up.

Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.

“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.”

He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table.

“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”

“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”

“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."

“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’

With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight.

You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up.

“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in.

Probably to remove you from the room.

“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around.

“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.”

You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you.

Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you.

He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher.

“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room.

“What? How is this my fault?”

“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.”

You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.

“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”

His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it.

“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?”

His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward.

But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops.

You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you.

“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet.

“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced.

“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.”

With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath.

“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear.

“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth.

“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting.

“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds.

“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”

With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go.

His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more.

“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered.

“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further.

You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you.

You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again.

“Reid, Y/N,” Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other.

You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan.

“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened.

“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you.

“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave.

You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you.

“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office.

“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands.

“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him.

“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you.

You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood.

You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on.

Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.

You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other.

You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise.

In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad.

You'd given him the cold shoulder but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't.

Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation.

You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space.

The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry.

You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you.

“That's my seat.”

You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder.

“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.”

“But that is my seat-”

“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument. Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been.

“Spencer!”

“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly.

Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs.

“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight.

You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face.

“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep.

His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything.

You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement.

“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.

“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner.

You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.

Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.

“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.

The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed.

He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane.

“You're being slow today.”

“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone.

“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass.

“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.”

With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him.

Two could play at that game.

In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you.

“Y/N, cut it out.”

“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder.

He didn't wither.

Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass.

“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.”

“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition.

“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace.

“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there.

“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye.

“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”

“Long?” He smirked.

“And hard in your pants.”

He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear.

“That was my gun.”

“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid.

It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself.

And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie.

There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples.

But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him.

He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong?

Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk.

When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you.

It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer.

You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer.

There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case.

Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in.

The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels..

Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang.

It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves.

You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait.

The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore.

You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide.

“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss.

You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.

You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”

“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question.

“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again.

This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall.

“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.

“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.”

“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.”

“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees.

“What? Sp-”

In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat.

As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly.

Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat.

“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”

You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.

With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth.

You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him.

Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you.

He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave.

“Open,” he demanded.

You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.

He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom.

Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you.

“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.”

Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you.

Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard.

“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?”

“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock.

Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him.

And then he flipped you over so he was back in control.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in.

“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”

You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.

You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts.

Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.

You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex.

You screamed your pleasure.

Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours.

He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you.

He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder.

You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.

You didn't even know your body bent that way.

Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy.

He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore.

He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another.

“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still.

“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.”

You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you.

Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion.

“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.

“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough.

“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.

Anymore, at least.

“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling.

“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.

“You haven't left yet.”

“I haven't.”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”

“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body.

“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?”

“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”

“Exactly,” you said.

“Exactly,” he parrotted.

Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to.

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gghostwriter · 3 months ago

Text

A Series of Happenstance

Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first meeting

Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation.

He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team.

That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was.

The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in.

No, he needed to.

He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze.

In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers.

You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks.

You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him.

A genius, then.

A prodigy in your own field just like him.

“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on.

He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.

“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”

He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”

“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?”

He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.

“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.

“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”

You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”

He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions.

For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.

You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone.

A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.

“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”

His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”

“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.

The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that.

To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.

“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”

You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”

His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm.

A small smile graced his face. The time was up.

“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”

Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same.

As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.

“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”

He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”

There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over.

Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho.

The second meeting

There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door.

As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call.

It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI.

That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.

He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.

“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.

The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid.

With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team.

“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.”

Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”

A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.

A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.”

“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically.

You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.

Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?”

You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else.

His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.

Ah.

Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.

And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.

You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor.

“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.

Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone.

“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”

You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.

“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end.

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back.

Check.

He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”

Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake.

He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.

As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.

There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—

Everybody lies.

The third meeting

The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days.

This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.

The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.

Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.

A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.

You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”

“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”

A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.

“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”

He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”

You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.

“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.

A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.

Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be.

“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”

A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”

He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”

You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.”

“So, how do you know Spence?”

You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.

From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.

Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career.

A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

Water. It was water.

You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.

Checkmate.

“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger.

You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed.

“I graduated early.”

Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“

“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”

“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.

You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need.

The fourth meeting

A warbled hum roused you from slumber.

With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.

You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.

“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.

No answer.

You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.

“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”

There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t.

You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.

A deep groan answered.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.

It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.

Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time.

“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?”

A light rustle replied.

“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.

Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.

Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.”

“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.

You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”

There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.

Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.

“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”

And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door.

Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.

Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home.

The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.

“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.

No rise and fall of the chest.

And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three—

“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.

One. Two. Three. Four—

You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—

“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”

A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late.

Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”

You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.

Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle.

“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.

The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.

It was sad. It was hopeful.

It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.

You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.

Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.

“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.”

“But—”

“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.”

His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.

He was alive.

And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 1 month ago

Text

My Boss's Son

Y/N, an assistant to Anne Twist, forms an unexpected connection with her son, Harry, when he comes home for the holidays.

Word Count: 9,464

Content Warning: Mentions of alcohol, kissing.

Mostly fluff.

Part one of two.

The light filtered through the blinds, casting faint stripes of gold across the room. I blinked against the brightness, my eyes slowly adjusting as I stretched my arms out, feeling the tension in my muscles ease. A deep yawn escaped me, filling the quiet morning air. The world outside seemed to hum faintly, the distant chirping of birds blending with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

I sat up, letting the covers slide off my shoulders. The room was still, yet alive with the promise of a new day. The faint aroma of coffee from the kitchen teased my senses, nudging me toward the day ahead. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I let my toes press against the cool floor, a gentle reminder that today was mine to shape.

As I stood, a faint shadow danced across the wall—a tree branch swaying outside the window. Something about the movement caught my attention, a quiet insistence that the day held more than routine.

After finishing my coffee, I carried the empty mug to the sink, rinsing it absentmindedly as my thoughts drifted to the day ahead. The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, filling the space with a soft, golden glow. I grabbed my phone from the counter and headed upstairs, each step creaking faintly underfoot.

Back in my room, I opened the closet door, revealing a neatly arranged array of clothes. My fingers brushed over the hangers as I flipped through the options—crisp blouses, tailored trousers, and a few statement pieces that Anne had complimented in the past. Getting dressed in the morning was never a struggle. My wardrobe was curated with care, blending professionalism with a touch of personality and casualness, just as my job required.

Working as a personal assistant to Anne Twist, a celebrated children's author based in the UK and mother to global superstar Harry Styles, came with its own unique blend of charm and challenge. Anne’s world was a whirlwind of creative projects, book signings, and interviews, and I was the one ensuring every detail went off without a hitch. It wasn’t just about organizing her calendar or prepping her notes—it was about anticipating her needs, often before she voiced them.

I finally settled on a simple navy blue dress with a subtle floral pattern, pairing it with a cardigan and comfortable flats. Anne had a penchant for warm, approachable styles herself, and I liked to reflect that in my own appearance. As I slipped on the outfit, I glanced at the framed photo on my dresser—a candid shot of Anne and me at a book launch, her arm draped over my shoulder, both of us laughing.

Today’s agenda was packed. A meeting with Anne's publisher, a conference call with a charity she supported, and later, a brainstorming session for her next book.I grabbed my bag and took one last look in the mirror. Polished yet approachable—that was the goal. Taking a deep breath, I smiled to myself.

The drive to Anne’s house was peaceful, the winding country roads lined with lush greenery and dappled sunlight. I rolled the window down just enough to let the cool morning air fill the car, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. Anne’s home always felt like a retreat from the bustling world—a charming cottage with ivy climbing the walls and a garden that looked like it had been plucked straight from a fairytale.

As I pulled into the driveway, Anne was already at the door, her warm smile radiating the same comforting energy as her home. She waved enthusiastically, her auburn hair catching the sunlight.

“Y/N!” she called out, stepping onto the porch. “You’re right on time, as always. Come in, come in! I’ve just put the kettle on.”

I climbed out of the car, grabbing my bag from the passenger seat. “Morning, Anne!” I replied, smiling as I approached. Her energy was infectious, and it was impossible not to feel instantly at ease in her presence.

Anne pulled me into a quick hug as I reached the door. “It’s so good to see you. I hope the drive wasn’t too long. You know how these roads can be,” she said, ushering me inside.

The familiar scent of lavender and lemon greeted me as I stepped into the house. The kitchen table was already covered in papers—manuscript drafts, notes, and a plate of freshly baked scones. Anne was nothing if not prepared.

“I’ve got a lot to go over with you today,” she said, her tone cheerful but purposeful. “But first, tea. You can’t work properly without tea.”

I laughed, setting my bag down on a chair. “You know me too well, Anne. What’s on the agenda today?”

She poured steaming tea into two mismatched mugs, handing one to me. “Oh, the usual chaos,” she said with a wink. “We’ve got that call with the publisher at ten, and later I want to brainstorm ideas for the next book. Oh, and Harry might pop by later—he said he had something he wanted to drop off.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of the tea. “Harry’s stopping by? Should I be preparing for something out of the ordinary?”

Anne laughed, her eyes twinkling. “You never know with him, do you? But for now, let’s get through these notes. Come on, take a seat.”

I settled into the chair opposite her, notebook in hand, ready to dive into the day’s work.

As Anne and I worked through her notes, my mind kept drifting back to what she had said earlier. Harry might pop by. I hadn’t met him yet—despite working with Anne for nearly a year now. He was always away, either on tour or traveling, and our paths had never crossed. But today might change that.

“Anne,” I said hesitantly, setting down my pen, “so… about Harry. I guess I’m a little nervous to meet him.”

Anne looked up from her notes, her expression warm and understanding. “Nervous? Oh, Y/N, you’ve nothing to be nervous about! He’s a sweetheart. Truly.”

“I’m sure he is,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “But, I mean, he’s Harry Styles. He’s this global superstar, and I’m just… me. What if I say something awkward? Or trip over my words?”

Anne chuckled, setting her glasses on the table and leaning back in her chair. “Y/N, you have nothing to worry about. Harry’s as down-to-earth as they come. He’s more likely to be the one tripping over his words than you are.”

Her reassurance made me smile, but there was something in her tone—something playful—that piqued my curiosity. Before I could dwell on it, Anne leaned forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Actually,” she said, a little more thoughtfully, “I think it’s good you two are finally meeting. I’ve always thought you and Harry would get along wonderfully.”

I raised an eyebrow, my cheeks warming slightly. “You do?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, nodding with certainty. “You both have such similar energies—kind, thoughtful, creative. And you both love to laugh. I can already picture the two of you chatting away like old friends.”

I laughed nervously, unsure how to respond. “Well, I guess we’ll see. No pressure, right?”

Anne smiled knowingly, taking a sip of her tea. “No pressure at all, my dear. But sometimes, the best connections happen when you least expect them.”

Her words lingered in the air as we returned to our work, but my mind couldn’t help wandering.

The day passed in a flurry of productivity. Anne and I tackled everything on the agenda—the publisher’s call went smoothly, the brainstorming session brought to life some fantastic ideas for her next book, and even the smallest tasks seemed to fall perfectly into place. By late afternoon, the papers on the kitchen table were neatly stacked, the mugs washed, and the scones just a crumb-filled memory.

As I started gathering my things to leave, Anne stopped me, her warm smile ever-present. “Y/N, don’t rush off just yet.”

I glanced at her, surprised. “Oh, I thought we were done for the day?”

“We are,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder, her tone gentle and inviting. “But Harry should be here soon, and I think it would be lovely if you stayed for dinner. I’ve already got everything prepped, and I promise it’s nothing fancy—just a good, home-cooked meal. Besides, you’ve worked so hard today, and I’d love the company.”

I hesitated, glancing at the time. “Are you sure, Anne? I don’t want to intrude.”

Anne shook her head firmly, her expression softening in a way that reminded me of my own mother. “Y/N, you’re not intruding. You’re family—more than just an assistant to me. I don’t say that lightly.” She gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. “Now, stay. Let me spoil you a little.”

Her words warmed my heart, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. Anne had always treated me with such kindness, but hearing her say it so plainly made me feel truly appreciated. “Okay,” I said, smiling. “I’d love to stay.”

“Good,” Anne said, beaming. “You can help me set the table. And don’t worry, you’ll love Harry. He’s just like me, only taller and a bit scruffier.”

I laughed, the nervous flutter in my stomach returning. The idea of meeting Harry still felt slightly surreal, but Anne’s confidence that we’d get along eased my nerves—at least a little.

Together, we walked back to the house, chatting about everything from her garden to potential titles for her next book. Anne’s warmth and humor made the transition from work mode to relaxation seamless, and by the time we reached the cottage, I was already feeling at home.

As we stepped inside, Anne gestured toward the dining table. “You start on the plates, and I’ll grab the drinks. Harry should be here any minute now.”

I nodded, moving to set the table as instructed, but I couldn’t help the little flicker of excitement—and anxiety—that danced in my chest.

Moments later, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, followed by a familiar voice calling out.

“Mum? I’m here!” Harry’s voice carried easily, warm and slightly teasing.

Anne, busy at the counter pouring drinks, shouted back, “In the kitchen, love!”

I froze mid-step, clutching a plate in my hands. My pulse quickened as the reality of meeting Harry—Anne’s son and global superstar—hit me square in the chest. A part of me wanted to disappear into the background, but before I could even think to move, the sound of footsteps approached.

Then, there he was. Harry walked into the kitchen, his casual stride and easy grin instantly lighting up the room. He was dressed simply—jeans, a T-shirt, and a beanie pulled snugly over his brown curls—but his presence was anything but ordinary. His green eyes scanned the room before landing on me.

He stopped, his smile widening with playful confusion. “Well, you’re definitely not my mum.”

I blinked, caught off guard, before laughing nervously. “No, no, definitely not.”

Anne turned from the counter, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Y/N, meet my son, Harry. Harry, this is Y/N—my assistant, though I prefer to call her my second daughter.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Mum’s told me loads about you.”

I set the plate down carefully before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too. She’s told me a lot about you as well.”

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of humor in his eyes. “All good things, I hope?”

“Of course,” I replied, feeling my nerves ease slightly under the weight of his charm. “She’s very proud of you.”

Harry shot Anne a look, his smile turning fond. “She’s not bad herself, is she?” Turning back to me, he added, “So, you’re the one keeping her so organized. Must be a full-time job.”

“It is,” I said with a small laugh. “But I love it.”

Anne interjected, carrying the drinks to the table. “All right, enough chatter. Harry, help Y/N finish setting the table. And no teasing—you’ll scare her off.”

Harry chuckled, grabbing a stack of silverware. “Scare her off? I’m charming, Mum.”

Anne gave him a knowing look but didn’t argue. As Harry handed me the silverware, his smile was soft, his teasing replaced by genuine warmth.

“Don’t let her boss you around too much,” he joked quietly, leaning in just enough for only me to hear. “But I’ll warn you, she’s usually right.”

As we worked together to set the table, Harry struck up a conversation, his natural curiosity evident in the way he asked questions.

“So, Y/N,” he began, placing the silverware neatly beside the plates, “Mum says you’ve been working with her for about a year now. But I’m curious—how’d you end up here? Not many people just casually relocate to the middle of England.”

I smiled, stacking the napkins as I spoke. “Well, I’m originally from New York, but I came to England a few years ago to study abroad. It was supposed to be temporary, but I ended up falling in love with the country. Anne and I met while I was finishing up my studies, and things just kind of fell into place.”

“New York to England, huh?” he said, his tone thoughtful. “That’s quite a leap. What made you want to stay? Was it the tea, the rain, or Mum’s scones?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Definitely not the rain. But honestly, I think it was the pace of life here. It’s different from New York—slower, in a good way. Plus, I felt like I’d found a second home when I started working with Anne. She’s been amazing.”

Harry glanced over at his mum, who was busy fiddling with the oven, her back turned to us. His expression softened. “Yeah, she has a way of making people feel that way, doesn’t she?”

“She really does,” I agreed, my voice warm. “She’s been more than a boss to me—more like family.”

Harry smiled, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “That sounds like her. She’s always taking people under her wing. So, what were you studying before you decided to make the big move?”

“English literature,” I said, straightening one of the forks. “I’ve always loved books and writing, so it just felt like the right path. Meeting Anne was kind of serendipitous. She needed an assistant around the same time I was trying to figure out what to do next, and the rest is history.”

Harry nodded, his interest clearly genuine. “That’s brilliant. Sounds like it was meant to be. And now you’re here, working with Mum, dealing with her endless sticky notes and brainstorm sessions. She ever drag you out to the garden for ‘creative inspiration’?”

I chuckled, nodding. “Oh, plenty of times. But I don’t mind—it’s always an adventure with her.”

Harry’s grin widened. “I can imagine. And do you still write yourself, or is it all Mum’s projects now?”

The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated for a moment. “I try to write when I can, but it’s mostly little things—nothing serious.”

“Well,” he said, his tone encouraging, “maybe one day I’ll get to read something of yours. If Mum’s spoken this highly of you, I bet it’s brilliant.”

His compliment made my cheeks flush slightly, but I managed a smile. “Maybe. But for now, I’m happy helping her bring her stories to life.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But don’t forget about your own stories, yeah? Something tells me they’re worth sharing.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, but before I could respond, Anne interrupted, calling us to the table.

“All right, you two, enough chatter! Dinner’s ready. Harry, stop hogging Y/N’s attention and help me bring the dishes out.”

Harry smirked but obeyed, shooting me a quick wink as he moved to help his mum. “Guess that’s my cue,” he said, grabbing the serving tray. “But I’m not done with my questions, Y/N. Consider this round one.”

I laughed softly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement as I took my seat at the table. Round one, huh? This evening was shaping up to be much more interesting than I’d anticipated.

As Harry walked toward the kitchen to help his mom, I began fiddling with the edge of the napkin in front of me, still processing our earlier conversation. His natural charm and easygoing nature made him surprisingly approachable, and yet I couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in my stomach.

I was just settling into my seat when I heard his voice drift from the kitchen. It wasn’t loud, but the playful tone caught my attention.

“Mum,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for me to overhear, “you forgot to mention how pretty she is.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My heart began to race as I tried to process what I’d just heard. Was he talking about me? It was hard to mistake the sincerity in his tone, even laced as it was with a hint of teasing.

Anne chuckled in response, her reply warm but matter-of-fact. “I didn’t think I needed to, love. I figured you’d see that for yourself.”

The sound of clinking dishes followed, but I couldn’t focus on anything else. My cheeks grew hot as I stared at the table, trying to act like I hadn’t heard a word.

What did that even mean? Was he just being nice? Or was there something more to his comment? The idea made my chest tighten, equal parts flattered and overwhelmed.

Moments later, Harry and Anne returned to the dining room, each carrying a dish. His expression was as casual and easy as ever, as if he hadn’t just said something that was now on a loop in my head. He caught my gaze briefly as he set down a bowl of roasted vegetables, flashing me a small, almost knowing smile before turning back to his mom.

“Right, all set?” Anne asked cheerfully, glancing between the two of us as she placed the final dish on the table. “Let’s dig in!”

I forced myself to smile, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “Smells amazing, Anne. Thank you.”

As dinner began, Harry struck up conversation again, his questions lighthearted and easy, but I couldn’t help noticing the occasional glance he sent my way. Maybe it was nothing—or maybe Anne had been right all along. Whatever it was, one thing was certain: this evening was turning out to be far more eventful than I had expected.

After everyone had eaten their fill and the plates were cleared, I stood to help Anne gather the dishes, but she waved me off with a smile.

“Sit and relax, Y/N. You’ve done enough today,” she said warmly. “But if Harry’s volunteering, I won’t say no to an extra pair of hands.”

“I’ll help too,” I insisted, ignoring her gentle protest as I followed Harry to the kitchen with a stack of plates.

Harry grabbed a dish towel, tossing it over his shoulder as he started rinsing the dishes. He glanced at me with a grin. “Looks like it’s just us now. I’ll try not to scare you off with my terrible washing-up skills.”

I laughed, rolling up my sleeves. “Don’t worry—I’m no professional either.”

As we worked side by side, the atmosphere felt lighter, more relaxed. Harry, ever curious, turned to me with a playful tilt of his head. “So, Y/N, I feel like I barely scratched the surface earlier. Let’s dig a little deeper. Do you have any pets?”

I smiled, handing him a clean plate to dry. “No pets, unfortunately. Growing up in New York, we didn’t really have the space for them. But I’ve always wanted a dog. What about you?”

He nodded, his grin widening. “Mum’s got a cat—Dusty. Though I think she likes Dusty more than me most days.”

I laughed at his self-deprecating humor. “I doubt that. Anne talks about you like you’re her pride and joy.”

“Good to know I’m still in her good books,” he teased, then shifted gears. “Okay, next question. Favorite movie?”

I bit my lip, thinking it over. “That’s a tough one. Probably Pride and Prejudice—the Keira Knightley version. I’ve seen it a hundred times, and it still makes me swoon. What about you?”

Harry pretended to look thoughtful. “Hmm, Pride and Prejudice is solid, but I might have to go with The Notebook. Classic romantic drama.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Am I?” he said with a playful wink, taking another dish from my hands. “Okay, next one: Favorite bar in London?”

“That’s easy,” I said, sliding another plate toward him. “The Churchill Arms. It’s so cozy and covered in flowers—it’s like stepping into a storybook. What about you?”

“Great choice,” he said, nodding approvingly. “For me, it’s The Spaniards Inn. Proper old-school vibe and great music.”

“I’ll have to check it out sometime,” I said, filing the recommendation away.

He paused, glancing over at me with a curious glint in his eye. “I could show you, if you’re up for it. You know, give you the full Harry Styles bar tour.”

The suggestion caught me off guard, but his smile was so genuine, it was impossible not to mirror it. “Maybe,” I said, trying to sound casual despite the warmth spreading in my chest. “If I can keep up.”

“Oh, I think you’ll manage,” he replied, his voice light and teasing as he placed the last clean plate on the rack. “But don’t think you’re off the hook just yet. I’ve got plenty more questions.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Something tells me you’re not going to run out anytime soon.”

“Not a chance,” he said, his smile widening as he grabbed the dish towel to dry his hands. “You’re far too interesting for that.”

As the evening wound down, the cozy energy of Anne’s home lingered in the air. Harry leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, chatting with his mom while I finished drying the last of the dishes. His laugh filled the kitchen, warm and effortless, and I couldn’t help but glance his way more often than necessary.

But soon, it was time to leave. Harry had to fly out the next morning to start recording for his next project, and I knew my days ahead would be busy helping Anne finalize the manuscript for her latest book. It felt bittersweet—our paths had just crossed, and yet, they were already diverging.

As I grabbed my coat from the hook near the door, Harry walked over, slipping his hands into his pockets. “So,” he began, his voice casual but his eyes searching mine, “looks like it’ll be a bit before we see each other again.”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah, sounds like you’ll be busy.”

“Same for you,” he said, tilting his head. “Mum keeps you running around, doesn’t she?”

I chuckled. “She does, but I don’t mind. She’s worth it.”

Harry’s smile turned a little softer at that. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Well, seeing as I’m about to disappear for a while, how about we exchange numbers? Just in case Mum ‘accidentally’ forgets to pass along messages.”

The suggestion caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered, pulling out my phone. “Sure,” I said, feeling a flutter of nerves as we traded numbers. His fingers brushed mine briefly as he handed my phone back, and I wondered if he felt the same quiet spark.

“Now you’ve got no excuse not to check out The Spaniards Inn,” he joked, his voice light but his eyes holding something a little more serious.

“Guess I don’t,” I said, smiling.

Anne appeared then, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “All right, you two, no plotting mischief without me,” she teased. “Harry, don’t keep Y/N standing here all night—she’s got work in the morning.”

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “All right, all right. I’ll let her go. For now.”

We said our goodbyes, and as I walked out to my car, I couldn’t help but glance back. Harry stood in the doorway with Anne, waving, his easy smile still lingering even as I pulled away.

Weeks turned into months, and the holiday season crept closer. Between Anne’s projects and the quiet hum of my own life, I found myself thinking of Harry more than I cared to admit. We’d exchanged a few texts here and there—mostly casual check-ins or jokes—but nothing too deep. Still, every time my phone lit up with his name, it brought a smile to my face.

Then came Anne’s annual Christmas party. The cottage was aglow with warm lights, garlands, and a massive tree Anne had insisted on decorating herself. Guests milled about with glasses of mulled wine, laughter and conversation filling every corner.

I was in the kitchen, helping Anne plate some hors d'oeuvres, when a familiar voice made my heart skip.

“Surprise,” Harry said, leaning casually against the doorway, his signature grin firmly in place.

I turned, my breath catching slightly. He looked effortlessly stylish, dressed in a festive green sweater and black trousers, his hair tousled as though he hadn’t tried at all. “Harry,” I said, smiling. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted, stepping further into the kitchen. “But I couldn’t miss Mum’s party—or the chance to see you again.”

Anne smirked knowingly, handing me the last platter before excusing herself with a suspiciously cheerful “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

I rolled my eyes at her retreating figure but couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading through me. “So,” I said, turning back to Harry, “how’s recording going?”

“It’s good,” he said, his voice softening. “Busy, but good. Though I’ll admit, I’ve been looking forward to this party for weeks.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because of the mulled wine?”

He grinned, his eyes meeting mine. “Something like that. But mostly because I knew you’d be here.”

The sincerity in his tone made my heart flip. I wasn’t sure what to say, but before I could respond, he gestured toward the door. “Shall we? I think Mum would kill me if I didn’t mingle.”

The party buzzed around us, but Harry and I had found a quieter corner of the living room, where the lights from the Christmas tree cast a soft glow. He handed me a glass of red wine, his fingers brushing mine briefly, and leaned casually against the wall beside me.

“So,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass, “tell me—what’s been the highlight of your year? And if you say one of Mum’s scone-baking experiments, I’ll know you’re lying.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Well, those have been a journey, but I think meeting her in the first place takes the top spot. It’s been a whirlwind, but a good one.”

He smiled, his gaze warm. “That’s a solid choice. I’d say meeting you is up there on my list too.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the subtle sincerity in his voice, but before I could respond, Gemma’s voice rang out across the room.

“Oi, Harry!” she called, her tone dripping with playful mischief. “Do you two know you’re standing under the mistletoe?”

My eyes shot upward instinctively, and sure enough, the little sprig of green was hanging above us, tied neatly with a red ribbon. My cheeks flushed as laughter rippled through the room. I turned back to Harry, who had the audacity to look completely shocked.

“Mistletoe?” he said, feigning innocence as his eyes darted upward. “Would you look at that? What a coincidence.”

I narrowed my eyes, catching the faintest flicker of amusement in his expression. “Coincidence, huh?” I asked, my tone skeptical.

Gemma smirked from across the room. “Well, rules are rules!”

The guests around us were clearly entertained, their chatter fading into encouraging murmurs. Harry turned back to me, his grin widening as he leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“Guess we’ve got to follow tradition,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze steady. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint everyone.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart pounding as he leaned closer. His lips brushed mine softly, the warmth of the moment washing over me despite the playful shouts and applause in the background. It was sweet, unhurried, and—dare I say—perfect.

When he pulled back, his grin was back in full force, but there was a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

“Merry Christmas,” I managed, my cheeks still flushed as the room erupted in laughter and cheers. Gemma gave us a knowing look, and Anne, from the kitchen, was clearly trying not to look too pleased with herself.

As the night went on, the party blurred into a haze of warmth and laughter, but that moment under the mistletoe stayed crystal clear in my mind.

The party continued, the festive atmosphere filling every corner of Anne’s home, but I couldn’t shake the giddy feeling in my chest. Every so often, I’d catch Harry glancing my way, and each time, his warm smile made my heart skip a beat. It felt as if the mistletoe moment had shifted something between us—something unspoken but undeniably present.

After the laughter and teasing died down, Harry and I found ourselves back in the cozy corner of the living room, wine glasses in hand. This time, the conversation felt lighter, more natural, as if the small barrier of formality had finally fallen away.

“So,” I teased, swirling my glass, “did you actually plan that mistletoe stunt, or was it pure luck?”

Harry smirked, not even bothering to deny it. “What can I say? I might have noticed where Mum hung it earlier and thought it’d be a good spot to stand. But in my defense,” he added, leaning in slightly, “I wasn’t sure you’d go along with it.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he said with a wink, his grin softening as he studied me. “But honestly, I’m glad it happened. I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you.”

His words caught me off guard, and I found myself searching his expression for any sign of teasing, but there was none—just quiet sincerity. “You have?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

“Of course,” he said, his tone genuine. “You’re… well, you’re amazing. Mum’s always going on about how much she adores you, and honestly, I get it. You’ve got this way about you—calm, funny, kind. It’s refreshing.”

I felt my cheeks heat under his gaze, unsure of how to respond. “Harry, that’s… really sweet of you to say.”

He shrugged, his smile turning a little sheepish. “Just being honest. And, well, I guess I should probably thank Mum for hiring you and convincing you to stay in England.”

I laughed softly, the nerves I’d felt earlier slowly fading. “She is very persuasive.”

“Isn’t she?” he said, laughing along. “So, what about you? Are you glad you stayed?”

I took a moment to think about his question, the warmth of the room and the sound of soft music in the background making the moment feel surreal. “I am,” I said finally, meeting his eyes. “I’ve built a life here I never expected, and it’s been… wonderful.”

Harry’s gaze softened, his smile easy but full of something deeper. “I’m glad to hear that. And, for what it’s worth, I hope I can be part of what makes it even better.”

Before I could respond, Anne appeared, beaming as she handed us a tray of leftover mince pies. “You two look cozy,” she said with a knowing smile, clearly pleased with herself. “Don’t let me interrupt, but someone has to make sure these don’t go uneaten.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Harry said, chuckling as he took the tray. As Anne walked away, he turned back to me, his smile lingering. “What do you say? Mince pie and more conversation?”

I nodded, feeling my heart flutter again. “I’d like that.”

And as the night wore on, surrounded by laughter and the glow of Christmas lights, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something special.

Guests filtered out one by one, their laughter and goodbyes echoing softly through Anne’s cozy home. I slipped into the hallway to grab my coat, the frosty chill of the night visible through the windows. Snow was falling in gentle flurries, blanketing the ground in a soft, sparkling white.

“Thanks for everything, Anne,” I said, hugging her tightly. “The party was wonderful, as always.”

Anne smiled, her arms warm and motherly around me. “It’s not the same without you, my dear. Stay safe getting home, all right?”

“I will,” I promised. “I’ll call an Uber.”

Before I could pull out my phone, Harry appeared, shrugging on his own coat. “Don’t bother with an Uber,” he said, his voice casual but insistent. “I’ll drive you.”

“Harry, you don’t have to do that,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s late, and it’s snowing—”

“All the more reason not to let you sit around waiting for a car,” he cut in, flashing me that easy smile. “Come on. Let me play chauffeur.”

Anne smirked knowingly from the doorway, but she said nothing, simply waving us off with a cheerful “Drive safe, you two!”

The snowflakes danced in the headlights as we drove through the quiet streets. The world outside felt still, the kind of calm that only came with late winter nights. Harry hummed softly along to the radio, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

“So,” he said after a moment, glancing over at me, “did you have fun tonight?”

“I did,” I admitted, smiling. “Your mum really knows how to throw a party.”

“She does,” he agreed, grinning. “But I think the mistletoe was her favorite part.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m sure it was.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need filling. Then, as we turned a corner, Harry suddenly slowed the car, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

“That’s it,” he said, pointing to a warmly lit building just ahead. “That’s the bar I told you about—the one I wanted to take you to.”

I followed his gaze, taking in the charming old-fashioned pub with its twinkling lights and ivy-covered sign. “It looks amazing.”

“Good,” he said, shifting the car into park. “Because we’re making a pit stop.”

I blinked in surprise. “What? Now?”

“Now,” he said firmly, already unbuckling his seatbelt. He turned to me with a playful grin. “Come on. You’re not getting out of this one.”

Before I could protest, he was out of the car, circling around to my side to open the door. The cold air rushed in, but his outstretched hand and infectious enthusiasm warmed me more than my coat ever could. Smiling, I took his hand, letting him help me out of the car.

The snow crunched softly beneath our feet as Harry led me to the pub’s entrance. The wooden door creaked open, revealing a cozy interior filled with warm lighting, laughter, and the soft hum of music. He held the door for me, his eyes sparkling as he followed me inside.

“This,” he said as we found a quiet corner table, “is one of my favorite spots in the city. Figured it was about time I shared it with you.”

I smiled, taking in the quaint charm of the bar. “I’m glad you did.”

Harry leaned back, his grin softening as he looked at me. “So am I. Now, what are we drinking?”

I glanced at the menu briefly before setting it down with a grin. “I’ll start with a shot of Fireball,” I said, glancing at Harry for his reaction.

He raised an eyebrow, laughing. “Straight to Fireball, huh? You’re full of surprises.”

“What can I say? It’s festive,” I replied with a shrug. “What about you?”

“I’ll take a whiskey neat,” he said, flagging down the bartender.

As our drinks arrived, I picked up the small glass, holding it up in a toast. “To impromptu pit stops and good company.”

Harry clinked his glass against mine, his smile warm. “To that.”

I knocked back the shot, the cinnamon burn spreading warmly through my chest. Harry watched, clearly amused, before sipping his own drink. The atmosphere in the bar was cozy and alive, the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter adding to the charm.

After a few moments of quiet, Harry set his glass down, his fingers fidgeting with the rim. “Y/N,” he began, his tone more serious now, “I owe you an apology.”

I tilted my head, surprised. “For what?”

“For not texting much while I was recording,” he said, meeting my gaze. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. Quite the opposite, actually.”

I stayed silent, giving him space to continue.

“It’s just… I felt drawn to you, and I didn’t know how to handle it,” he admitted, his voice softer. “I didn’t want to make things harder for either of us if I couldn’t be around, or if our schedules didn’t line up. It felt unfair to pull you into something when I couldn’t guarantee how often we’d see each other.”

His honesty caught me off guard, but in the best way. I leaned forward slightly, my elbows resting on the table. “Harry, I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate, and it’s not like I expect constant texts or updates. But… I appreciate you telling me that.”

He let out a small breath, his shoulders relaxing. “I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t interested. Because I am. Very much.”

My cheeks warmed, and I took another sip of my drink to buy myself a moment. “Well, for what it’s worth, I thought about you too. A lot.”

His smile returned, soft and genuine, as he leaned forward. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, laughing softly. “I just didn’t know if it was mutual or if I was imagining things.”

“You weren’t,” he said, his voice steady. “Not even for a second.”

The weight of his words settled between us, the unspoken feelings finally taking shape. The noise of the bar faded into the background as we held each other’s gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Good,” I said finally, breaking the silence with a small smile. “Because I’m not imagining this either—this pit stop? Definitely worth it.”

He chuckled, raising his glass to me again. “Here’s to more pit stops, then.”

I clinked my glass against his, the warmth of the moment spreading through me.

Harry waved down the bartender and ordered himself one more drink, a smile playing on his lips as he looked over at me. “You go ahead, though—order another if you want. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

His words, coupled with the warmth in his voice, made me feel completely at ease. I grinned, raising my hand to flag the bartender. “All right, two more for me, then.”

As we chatted and finished our drinks, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Harry’s wit and charm kept me laughing, and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so at ease with someone. When the bartender cleared away the empty glasses, Harry glanced at me with a teasing grin.

“Ready to call it a night, or do you want to take over the jukebox and turn this into a dance party?” he joked.

I laughed, shaking my head. “As tempting as that is, I think I’m ready to head home.”

He stood, offering his hand to help me up. “Then let’s get you back.”

The snow had lightened as we drove through the quiet streets, but it still sparkled in the streetlights, blanketing everything in a serene white glow. I leaned back in my seat, the warmth of the car lulling me into a calm state as I watched Harry. He looked focused yet relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested casually on his lap.

After a moment, as if sensing my gaze, he reached over and placed a hand on my thigh. The gesture was simple, but it sent a warm jolt through me, grounding me in the moment. His touch was light, reassuring, and yet it carried a weight that made my heart race.

I looked at him, smiling softly. “You know, you’re really beautiful.”

He turned to glance at me briefly, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Beautiful, huh? Don’t let the lads hear you say that—they’ll never let me live it down.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m serious. You are. Inside and out.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against my leg in an almost absentminded motion. “Thanks, love. But you should know—it’s not every day I get called ‘beautiful.’ Pretty, maybe. Gorgeous, occasionally. But beautiful? That’s new.”

I laughed again, warmth blooming in my chest. “Well, you should hear it more often.”

He glanced at me again, his eyes soft and filled with something I couldn’t quite place. “I think I like hearing it from you the most.”

The car fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the faint crackle of snow beneath the tires. I found myself wishing the drive could stretch on forever, the intimacy of the moment something I didn’t want to let go of.

When Harry pulled the car into the small lot outside my flat, he turned off the engine and stepped out, circling around to open my door before I could even reach for the handle. His gentlemanly gesture brought a small smile to my lips as I stepped out, the cold night air brushing against my cheeks.

“I’ll walk you up,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“You really don’t have to,” I started, but he shook his head, giving me a pointed look.

“Not up for debate,” he said, his grin softening any potential protest. “Come on.”

We walked together toward the building, the snow crunching softly beneath our feet. The tipsy warmth in my chest made everything feel slightly dreamlike—the glow of the streetlights, the way Harry’s shoulder brushed against mine, the sound of his laugh when I nearly slipped on a patch of ice but caught myself.

When we reached my door, I turned to thank him, but he stepped closer, his expression both amused and fond. “You’ve got a little something,” he said, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, his touch soft and deliberate.

The simple gesture made my heart flutter, and he noticed. His grin turned playful. “Still feeling a little tipsy, are we?”

“A little,” I admitted with a laugh, leaning back against the door for balance. “But I’m good. Thanks for making sure I got home.”

“Well, someone had to,” he teased, his voice light but his gaze steady. Then, after a pause, his tone softened. “I’m really glad we did this tonight.”

“Me too,” I said, my voice quieter now.

Harry stepped just a fraction closer, his hands resting lightly in his pockets. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower, “I’ve been thinking about that kiss earlier. I’d really like to kiss you again.”

His words sent a thrill through me, and without even stopping to think, I reached for his jacket, pulling him toward me. His hands instinctively found my waist, steadying me as I leaned up and pressed my lips to his.

This kiss wasn’t like the one under the mistletoe—this one was deeper, more purposeful. His lips moved with mine, warm and unhurried, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The cold air, the snow, the late hour—none of it mattered.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested lightly against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, his voice laced with both amusement and something deeper.

I smiled, my cheeks flushed from more than just the cold. “Goodnight, Harry,” I whispered, unlocking my door.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his tone soft and lingering.

When I woke up the next morning, the soft light of a snowy winter day filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. My head felt light—not from drinking too much, but from the events of the night before. As I stretched and reached for my phone on the bedside table, a small smile spread across my face when I saw a text from Harry.

Harry: Morning, love. What are you doing for Christmas? Are you seeing your family?

I stared at the screen for a moment, my chest tightening slightly. My family was back in the States, and with everything going on, traveling wasn’t an option this year. I had already come to terms with spending Christmas alone. It wasn’t ideal, but it was fine—I’d planned a quiet day at home.

I typed out a response, my fingers hesitating briefly before hitting send.

Y/N: Good morning ☺️ No big plans—just staying home this year. My family’s in America, so it’ll be a solo Christmas. But I don’t mind.

Setting the phone down, I shuffled out of bed to start my morning routine. By the time I returned, Harry had replied.

Harry: Home alone? That doesn’t sit right with me. Come to ours—Mum would love to have you, and so would I.

The offer tugged at something in me, his kindness shining through even in a text. But as much as the idea of being surrounded by his family sounded wonderful, I didn’t want to intrude. Christmas was their time to be together, and I didn’t want to take away from that.

Y/N: That’s really sweet of you, but you should spend Christmas with your family. It’s their day with you, and I wouldn’t want to interrupt. I’ll be okay, I promise.

His response came quickly, and I could almost hear the concern in his tone.

Harry: You wouldn’t be interrupting. You’re part of the family now, you know.

I smiled at his words, warmth spreading through me, but I stayed firm in my decision.

Y/N: You’re lovely, but I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer, though—it means a lot.

Harry: If you’re sure… but I’m still not entirely convinced you’re okay with it.

His care made my chest tighten, but I knew this was the right choice.

Y/N: I promise, I’m okay. Have a wonderful Christmas with your family.

As I set my phone down, I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, knowing someone cared enough to ask. While Christmas would be quiet this year, the warmth from Harry’s offer lingered, making me feel less alone than I’d expected.

The day passed slowly, but pleasantly. I spent the morning baking cookies, letting the warm, sweet scent fill my flat. It was cozy, and for a while, I didn’t mind being alone. After tasting one (or three) cookies to make sure they turned out right, I curled up on the couch for a nap, letting the peaceful quiet of the day lull me to sleep.

When I woke, the snow outside had thickened, blanketing the world in a soft white hush. I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, grabbed a blanket, and put on a Christmas movie, letting the cheerful music and festive scenes brighten my evening.

I was halfway through the film, laughing softly at the antics on screen, when a sudden knock at the door startled me. My brow furrowed in confusion. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my neighbors rarely stopped by unannounced.

I set down my mug, tightened the blanket around me, and went to the door. When I opened it, my mouth fell open in surprise. There, standing on my snowy doorstep, was Harry, grinning mischievously, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he said, his tone light. “Santa’s here, and he’s traded in the sleigh for a Mini Cooper.”

I blinked, too stunned to respond at first. Finally, I laughed, shaking my head. “Harry, what are you doing here? I thought you were spending the day with your family.”

He shrugged, his grin softening into something warmer. “I was. But it didn’t feel quite right, knowing you were here alone. So, I figured Santa could make one more stop.”

My heart swelled at his words, and I stepped aside to let him in, the cold air rushing in briefly before I closed the door behind him. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” I said, smiling.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he teased, slipping off his coat and placing the bag on the counter. “I brought some things—thought we could make Christmas a little less solo.”

I glanced at the bag, curious. “What’s in there?”

“Just a few essentials,” he said with mock seriousness, pulling out a bottle of wine, a small box wrapped in festive paper, and a Tupperware container. “Cookies from Mum. She insisted.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I watched him. “You really didn’t have to do this, Harry.”

“I know,” he said, meeting my eyes. “But I wanted to.”

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the cookies or the hot chocolate. Christmas, it seemed, had just gotten a whole lot better.

As Harry set the bag down on the counter, he pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box and handed it to me. The paper was simple but elegant, with a festive bow on top, and it made my heart flutter.

“What’s this?” I asked, looking between the gift and him, my brow furrowing in surprise. “Harry, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “I know I didn’t have to. But I wanted to. Go on—open it.”

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers brushing over the smooth wrapping paper. With a small smile, I carefully tore it open, revealing a beautiful hardback book with an embossed cover. My breath caught as I realized what it was.

A special edition of The Great Gatsby.

The gilded details on the cover shimmered in the soft light, and the pages had the kind of crispness that only came with a brand-new book. I traced the cover with my fingertips, momentarily speechless.

“You… remembered,” I said softly, looking up at him. “This is incredible, Harry.”

He smiled, his eyes warm and slightly amused. “Of course, I remembered. You told me it was your favorite. Plus, you lit up when you talked about it that night at Mum’s party. I figured it might be something you’d like.”

“Like?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “I love it. This is… it’s perfect.”

Harry shrugged, though the grin on his face told me he was pleased. “Good. I wasn’t sure if you already had this edition, but I figured even if you did, a backup wouldn’t hurt.”

I hugged the book to my chest, still marveling at the thoughtfulness behind the gift. “Thank you, Harry. Really. This means so much.”

He stepped closer, his expression softening. “You’re welcome, love. Merry Christmas.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the cozy warmth of the room and the quiet snowfall outside wrapping around us like a blanket. I couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, this was exactly where I was meant to be.

I clutched The Great Gatsby to my chest, still basking in the warmth of Harry’s thoughtful gift, but a pang of guilt crept in as I realized I hadn’t gotten him anything in return.

“Harry,” I said, biting my lip. “This is so thoughtful, and I feel terrible—I didn’t get you anything.”

He shook his head, his grin easy and reassuring. “You don’t have to give me anything, Y/N. Seeing you smile like that is enough.”

Still, I wanted to do something for him, no matter how small. My eyes lit up as I remembered the cookies I’d made earlier. “Wait! I do have something.” I rushed over to the kitchen counter, grabbing the plate of freshly baked cookies. “Okay, maybe it’s not as fancy as a special edition book, but these are homemade, and I promise they’re pretty good.”

Harry’s eyes lit up as he took one from the plate. “Homemade cookies? Now, this is a proper Christmas gift.”

He bit into one, his expression immediately shifting into mock seriousness before he let out a low, exaggerated moan. “Oh, my God,” he said around the bite. “Y/N, this is… ridiculous. These are so good.”

I laughed, watching his dramatic reaction. “Are you being serious, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

He swallowed the bite and held up the cookie like it was a rare treasure. “Dead serious. These are unreal. You’ve been hiding this talent from me? What else are you secretly amazing at?”

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop smiling. “They’re just cookies, Harry.”

“No, no,” he said, grabbing another one. “These aren’t just cookies. These are a masterpiece. Like, I’m calling Mum tomorrow and telling her to step up her game.”

I couldn’t help but laugh again, his infectious humor and over-the-top enthusiasm making the moment feel so much lighter. “Well, I’m glad you like them,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll have to bake more if it means getting this kind of reaction out of you.”

Harry grinned, crumbs on his lips as he reached for yet another cookie. “Deal. But fair warning—I might show up at your door every time I get a craving now.”

“Good,” I said, surprising myself with the ease of my response. “You’re welcome anytime.”

He paused, his grin softening into something more genuine as he looked at me. “I might just take you up on that.”

The way he said it made my chest tighten in the best way, and as we stood there, sharing cookies and laughter, I couldn’t help but think that this Christmas, though unexpected, was quickly becoming one of my favorites.

As we stood there, the room cozy and filled with the faint smell of cookies, my eyes wandered to Harry. His sweater sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, leaving his tattoos exposed, a striking contrast to the softness of the moment. The intricate designs on his arms seemed even more captivating in the warm light of the flat, and I couldn’t help but notice the way they moved slightly as he reached for another cookie.

I felt a wave of warmth rush through me, one that had nothing to do with the heat of the oven still lingering in the air. My gaze flicked to his face, his lips curved into an easy smile as he chewed, oblivious to the way he had completely stolen my attention. Something about him—the way he looked at me, the way he was simply here—felt too perfect to ignore.

Before I could overthink it, I leaned forward, lightly pressing my lips to his. It was soft, almost tentative, but enough to make my heart race.

Harry froze for just a moment, clearly caught off guard, before he set the cookie down and reached for me, his hands resting gently on my waist. He pulled me closer, deepening the kiss with a passion that made my knees feel weak. His lips moved with mine, slow yet deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second.

When we finally broke apart, I stayed close, my forehead resting lightly against his. His green eyes searched mine, his expression soft but tinged with a flicker of something playful.

“What are your plans for New Year’s?” he asked, his voice low and warm, his breath still mingling with mine.

The question caught me off guard, but I managed a small smile. “Nothing planned yet,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

He grinned, his fingers brushing lightly against my sides. “Because I think we should make some cookies. Together.”

I felt my heart skip a beat, the thought of spending New Year’s with him lighting up something inside me I hadn’t expected. “I think I’d like that,” I said, my voice steady despite the nervous excitement building in my chest.

His grin softened, turning into something more sincere. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

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nasa · 1 year ago

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NASA Inspires Your Crafty Creations for World Embroidery Day

It’s amazing what you can do with a little needle and thread! For #WorldEmbroideryDay, we asked what NASA imagery inspired you. You responded with a variety of embroidered creations, highlighting our different areas of study.

Here’s what we found:

Webb’s Carina Nebula

Wendy Edwards, a project coordinator with Earth Science Data Systems at NASA, created this embroidered piece inspired by Webb’s Carina Nebula image. Captured in infrared light, this image revealed for the first time previously invisible areas of star birth. Credit: Wendy Edwards, NASA. Pattern credit: Clare Bray, Climbing Goat Designs

Wendy Edwards, a project coordinator with Earth Science Data Systems at NASA, first learned cross stitch in middle school where she had to pick rotating electives and cross stitch/embroidery was one of the options. “When I look up to the stars and think about how incredibly, incomprehensibly big it is out there in the universe, I’m reminded that the universe isn’t ‘out there’ at all. We’re in it,” she said. Her latest piece focused on Webb’s image release of the Carina Nebula. The image showcased the telescope’s ability to peer through cosmic dust, shedding new light on how stars form.

Ocean Color Imagery: Exploring the North Caspian Sea

Danielle Currie of Satellite Stitches created a piece inspired by the Caspian Sea, taken by NASA’s ocean color satellites. Credit: Danielle Currie/Satellite Stitches

Danielle Currie is an environmental professional who resides in New Brunswick, Canada. She began embroidering at the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic as a hobby to take her mind off the stress of the unknown. Danielle’s piece is titled “46.69, 50.43,” named after the coordinates of the area of the northern Caspian Sea captured by LandSat8 in 2019.

An image of the Caspian Sea captured by Landsat 8 in 2019. Credit: NASA

Two Hubble Images of the Pillars of Creation, 1995 and 2015

Melissa Cole of Star Stuff Stitching created an embroidery piece based on the Hubble image Pillars of Creation released in 1995. Credit: Melissa Cole, Star Stuff Stitching

Melissa Cole is an award-winning fiber artist from Philadelphia, PA, USA, inspired by the beauty and vastness of the universe. They began creating their own cross stitch patterns at 14, while living with their grandparents in rural Michigan, using colored pencils and graph paper. The Pillars of Creation (Eagle Nebula, M16), released by the Hubble Telescope in 1995 when Melissa was just 11 years old, captured the imagination of a young person in a rural, religious setting, with limited access to science education.

Lauren Wright Vartanian of the shop Neurons and Nebulas created this piece inspired by the Hubble Space Telescope’s 2015 25th anniversary re-capture of the Pillars of Creation. Credit: Lauren Wright Vartanian, Neurons and Nebulas

Lauren Wright Vartanian of Guelph, Ontario Canada considers herself a huge space nerd. She’s a multidisciplinary artist who took up hand sewing after the birth of her daughter. She’s currently working on the illustrations for a science themed alphabet book, made entirely out of textile art. It is being published by Firefly Books and comes out in the fall of 2024. Lauren said she was enamored by the original Pillars image released by Hubble in 1995. When Hubble released a higher resolution capture in 2015, she fell in love even further! This is her tribute to those well-known images.

James Webb Telescope Captures Pillars of Creation

Darci Lenker of Darci Lenker Art, created a rectangular version of Webb’s Pillars of Creation. Credit: Darci Lenker of Darci Lenker Art

Darci Lenker of Norman, Oklahoma started embroidery in college more than 20 years ago, but mainly only used it as an embellishment for her other fiber works. In 2015, she started a daily embroidery project where she planned to do one one-inch circle of embroidery every day for a year. She did a collection of miniature thread painted galaxies and nebulas for Science Museum Oklahoma in 2019. Lenker said she had previously embroidered the Hubble Telescope’s image of Pillars of Creation and was excited to see the new Webb Telescope image of the same thing. Lenker could not wait to stitch the same piece with bolder, more vivid colors.

Milky Way

Darci Lenker of Darci Lenker Art was inspired by NASA’s imaging of the Milky Way Galaxy. Credit: Darci Lenker

In this piece, Lenker became inspired by the Milky Way Galaxy, which is organized into spiral arms of giant stars that illuminate interstellar gas and dust. The Sun is in a finger called the Orion Spur.

The Cosmic Microwave Background

This image shows an embroidery design based on the cosmic microwave background, created by Jessica Campbell, who runs Astrostitches. Inside a tan wooden frame, a colorful oval is stitched onto a black background in shades of blue, green, yellow, and a little bit of red. Credit: Jessica Campbell/ Astrostitches

Jessica Campbell obtained her PhD in astrophysics from the University of Toronto studying interstellar dust and magnetic fields in the Milky Way Galaxy. Jessica promptly taught herself how to cross-stitch in March 2020 and has since enjoyed turning astronomical observations into realistic cross-stitches. Her piece was inspired by the cosmic microwave background, which displays the oldest light in the universe.

The full-sky image of the temperature fluctuations (shown as color differences) in the cosmic microwave background, made from nine years of WMAP observations. These are the seeds of galaxies, from a time when the universe was under 400,000 years old. Credit: NASA/WMAP Science Team

GISSTEMP: NASA’s Yearly Temperature Release

Katy Mersmann, a NASA social media specialist, created this embroidered piece based on NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies (GISS) global annual temperature record. Earth’s average surface temperature in 2020 tied with 2016 as the warmest year on record. Credit: Katy Mersmann, NASA

Katy Mersmann is a social media specialist at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Md. She started embroidering when she was in graduate school. Many of her pieces are inspired by her work as a communicator. With climate data in particular, she was inspired by the researchers who are doing the work to understand how the planet is changing. The GISTEMP piece above is based on a data visualization of 2020 global temperature anomalies, still currently tied for the warmest year on record.

In addition to embroidery, NASA continues to inspire art in all forms. Check out other creative takes with Landsat Crafts and the James Webb Space telescope public art gallery.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

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joelsrose · 1 month ago

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Good Neighbours: Chapter 1

NEW SERIES!!! i know yall are still waiting for the next chapter of guns and roses its still in the worksss

no warnings, slow burn - reader is 24, joel is in his mid 40s

The apartment was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that presses heavy against your chest. The space that had once been your sanctuary now feels cold and lifeless, stripped of everything that made it yours.

Boxes are stacked against the walls, their edges frayed from too much tape and too little care. The bare floors creak under your steps, each sound echoing like a reminder of how empty this place has become. Your eyes linger on the window by the fire escape, the view of the city you used to love now feeling distant, like it belongs to someone else entirely.

Chicago had been your dream. The bustling streets, the never-ending noise, the late nights at cramped bars with friends, and the early mornings at the publishing house, fueled by coffee and ambition. It was everything you’d wanted—until it wasn’t.

Your life here didn’t fall apart all at once; it unraveled slowly, piece by piece. The first crack was the breakup, a betrayal that still feels like a sucker punch every time you think about it. Three years with someone who looked you in the eye and lied. Someone who had the audacity to cheat on you with your ex-best friend.

That revelation shattered something deep inside you, leaving a hollow ache you couldn’t quite fill. You cried for weeks, the kind of crying that leaves your chest raw and your pillow soaked, until eventually, even your tears gave up. When that ended, it took more than just your relationship—it took the version of yourself who believed in happy endings.

Then came the job. Or rather, the lack of it. Months of feeling distracted and unsteady after the breakup led to a mistake on a project too big to recover from. You were let go with a sympathetic smile and a box of your things, the kind of professional pity that only makes the sting worse. With no savings to fall back on and no one to catch you, you were forced to face the one option you had left: starting over. Somewhere far away from all of this.

That’s how you ended up on the phone with Uncle Ray, the one steady, no-nonsense presence in your life. When he offered you a place to stay in Texas, you hesitated at first—what did you know about small towns, about fixing cars and country music and people who knew your name before you even introduced yourself?

But you didn’t have much of a choice. A fresh start sounded like the only thing that might save you from drowning in everything you’d lost.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You stood outside the airport, feeling entirely out of place as sweat clung to your skin. You hadn’t expected it to be this hot, the kind of heat that seemed to cling to you, making the air feel heavier.

Tugging at the hem of your shirt, you scrolled through your phone mindlessly, the notifications blurring together as you tried to distract yourself from the awkwardness of waiting. Then, you heard it—a low rumble that grew louder with every second, the unmistakable sound of a truck’s engine.

Looking up, you spotted it, an old Ford pickup that had seen better days but still rumbled along with purpose. Uncle Ray was behind the wheel, his grin wide as he pulled up to the curb. He climbed out, his arms open as he approached you.

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted warmly, pulling you into a hug that smelled faintly of motor oil and aftershave. He felt solid, familiar, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax into it.

"Hey," you returned, your voice softer than you intended.

"You ready to head home?" he asked, leaning back to give you an appraising look.

Home. The word felt foreign, strange on your tongue, but you nodded anyway, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I’m ready."

The truck’s interior was worn and weathered, the seats cracked in places—a surprising sight considering Uncle Ray was a mechanic. Yet, it carried a charm all its own, a lived-in feel that spoke of countless miles and stories etched into every scuff and tear. As you settled in, pressing your back against the sun-warmed vinyl, Uncle Ray climbed in beside you, his fingers deftly adjusting the stubborn air conditioner until it rattled to life with a sigh.

The scenery outside was nothing like Chicago. Gone were the towering buildings and chaotic traffic, replaced by open stretches of land that seemed to go on forever. Fields of green, the occasional barn, and roads that seemed to shimmer under the weight of the heat. The town came into view slowly, a scattering of small businesses, a diner with a flickering neon sign, and houses spaced far enough apart to feel lonely.

You thought about the last time you’d seen Uncle Ray. Years ago, he’d taken you fishing on one of his rare visits up north. He’d been the same then—chill, a little chubby, always ready with a story that had you laughing until your stomach hurt.

"You holding up okay?" he asked, his eyes darting to you briefly as the truck slowed to take a turn.

"Yeah," you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

When you finally reached his neighborhood, you leaned forward, taking it all in. The houses were modest but well-kept, each with a wide porch and a patch of green that looked as though it had been freshly mowed. Kids played on the sidewalks, their laughter echoing in the warm air. It was the kind of neighborhood where people probably knew everyone’s name and said hello every morning.

Uncle Ray pulled into the driveway of a double-story house with faded blue shutters and a swing on the front porch. The lawn was dotted with a few wildflowers.

"Here we are," Uncle Ray announced, cutting the engine. "Home sweet home."

You stepped out of the truck, the scent of freshly cut grass and something sweet—maybe honeysuckle—filling the air.

As you reached for the first overstuffed suitcase, your gaze drifted to the houses next door. Neatly trimmed lawns, colorful flowers in hanging baskets, and wide porches with rocking chairs. It was idyllic, picturesque even—a world away from Chicago's cramped apartments and noisy streets.

Your new neighbors.

It was strange being back in suburbia, where people probably waved over fences and borrowed sugar like a scene straight out of an old movie. In Chicago, you hardly saw the people next to you.

Sure, you’d hear them: the clattering of keys as they stumbled in after a late night, the thud of their running shoes as they left for an early workout. But no one lingered for niceties or exchanged cheerful "good mornings" like they probably did here.

You were lost in your thoughts, trying to reconcile this new reality, when you heard a low chuckle from the front of the truck. Uncle Ray was leaning against the hood, talking animatedly to someone.

His laughter carried easily in the warm, sticky air, a sound you’d always found comforting. Curious, you craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of who he was talking to.

That’s when you saw him.

He stood tall, broad shoulders casting a shadow that stretched over the gravel driveway. His hands rested on his hips in a way that made him look like he owned the space around him, completely at ease. He wore a plain t-shirt, faded from too many washes, stretched just enough to hint at the strength beneath.

His jeans hung low on his hips, worn at the knees, and scuffed boots completed the look. He wasn’t trying—God, he wasn’t even trying—but the way he carried himself made it hard to look away.

He had to be in his mid-40s, the faintest streaks of silver catching in his dark hair, but that only made him more handsome. Ruggedly so, in a way that felt deeply unfair.

"There she is," Uncle Ray called, catching you staring. He waved you forward, his grin wide. "C’mere, kiddo. Meet our neighbor."

Reluctantly, you abandoned your luggage and crossed the driveway. Every step felt heavier under Joel’s gaze—or Mr. Miller, as Uncle Ray had introduced him—but when you got closer, you noticed his eyes. Warm, earthy brown and piercing all at once, like he could see straight through you.

"This is my niece," Uncle Ray said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "She’s staying with me for a little while. And this here," he motioned toward the man, "is Mr. Miller. Lives right next door."

"Nice to meet you, darlin’," Joel said, his voice low and smooth, with a Southern drawl that seemed to settle into your bones.

Oh, right. The pet names. Sweetheart, honey, darlin’—you’d heard them at least fifteen times since your plane landed, each one dripping with charm. But coming from him, as his hand reached out to envelop yours in a firm, calloused grip, it felt different. Better. You liked it more than you cared to admit.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller," you replied, your voice softer than you intended. His hand was rough and large, making yours feel almost laughably small.

He shook his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Call me Joel, please. Mr. Miller makes me feel like I oughta be signing up for a retirement home."

You couldn’t help it; you laughed. A genuine laugh that bubbled out before you could stop it. He smiled at that, a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips, but it was there. You noticed.

Uncle Ray, ever the social one, leaned in conspiratorially, a sly grin on his face. "Hey, Joel, how’s Sarah? She’s what—23 now? Same age as this one," he added, nudging you lightly with his elbow, as if you were part of some inside joke you hadn’t been let in on.

"I'm 24," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. For some reason, you thought it might make you sound more mature in front of the very much older man standing before you. Immediately, you regretted it—like he needed to know or cared about the one-year gap.

"Same difference," Uncle Ray said with a wave of his hand, completely unbothered.

But Joel raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement passing through his dark eyes.

"She’s good," Joel said, "Working over at the diner, keeping herself busy."

You must have furrowed your brows because Joel caught it immediately. "Sarah’s my daughter," he said, clarifying before you had to ask.

"Oh," you said, feeling a little silly.

Of course, he had a family. He probably had a wife, too. Your gaze drifted toward his house, half-expecting to see her step outside—a vision of blonde hair and a warm, effortless smile. The kind of woman who bakes cookies from scratch, smells like vanilla and sunshine, and waves cheerfully to the neighbors. Maybe there was even a golden retriever named Benji, lounging inside on the couch, completing the perfect picture.

"I’d love to meet her," you offered, trying to mask the pang of disappointment you didn’t fully understand. "I don’t really know anyone here yet."

Plus, my ex-best friend kinda betrayed me by sleeping with my boyfriend, so I could really use some new friends, you thought bitterly, the memory flaring for a moment before you shoved it back down.

"Course, she'd love that" Joel replied easily, his tone warm. "Y’all are coming over tomorrow for the barbecue, right?"

"Course," Uncle Ray said, already moving toward the house as his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. "Wouldn’t miss it. Joel makes the best ribs in town," he called over his shoulder with a quick smile.

Then his expression shifted as he glanced at the screen. "Sorry, it’s work—I gotta take this," he muttered, answering the call with a distracted wave before disappearing inside.

And just like that, it was just you and Joel.

You stood there, awkward and unsure, while he seemed entirely at ease, hands still resting on his hips. He had a way about him—calm, confident, charismatic.

"You need help with your bags?" he asked, tilting his head toward the suitcases you’d abandoned.

"Oh," you blinked, realizing you’d completely forgotten about them. "No, I should be fine."

Joel’s gaze shifted to the two enormous suitcases that were clearly over the weight limit, and he raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a laugh. "You sure about that?"

Before you could protest, he was already moving, lifting one suitcase with ease and hoisting it into his arms like it weighed nothing. You couldn’t help but notice the way his bicep flexed, the fabric of his t-shirt pulling taut as he carried the weight effortlessly. It was distracting, the kind of subtle strength that you knew he wasn’t showing off—it was just there, in every deliberate movement.

"You pack bricks in here or somethin’?" he asked, his tone light and teasing, as he glanced back over his shoulder. That faint smirk tugged at his lips, like he’d caught you in the act of staring, though he didn’t say it outright.

Your cheeks burned instantly. "No, I just—uh, I guess I overpacked," you stammered, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

He chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head as he grabbed the second suitcase, hefting it just as effortlessly as the first. "Just teasin' darlin" he said simply, his voice steady, but something about the way he said it—calm and self-assured—left your stomach fluttering.

This was going to be a problem.

Your cheeks burned, and you hoped the heat of the day would mask the blush creeping across your face. "Thanks," you mumbled, biting back a smile.

He carried the second suitcase up the porch and set it down with a satisfied nod. "There. Easy enough." He turned back to you, his gaze holding yours for a second longer than necessary.

"Well," he said, his voice low and steady, "Welcome to Texas." Your name rolled off his tongue in that unmistakable drawl, each syllable slow and deliberate, like he was tasting it.

It settled in the air between you, making your knees feel just a little weaker, your chest tightening in a way that you refused to acknowledge.

You swore he gave you a once-over before he strode back toward his house, his boots crunching against the gravel. Just before he reached his door, he glanced over his shoulder and tipped his head.

"See you tomorrow," he said, and then he was gone, leaving you standing there with your heart doing something entirely inconvenient in your chest.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

After dinner—a greasy but satisfying burger and fries from the local diner—you finally settled into your room. It was modest, with a bed tucked into the corner and walls painted a soft beige. A worn wooden dresser sat against one wall, and the faint scent of lavender lingered in the air from a small sachet tucked into the bedside drawer. It wasn’t much, but it was cozy enough.

What caught your attention, though, was the window. It faced the backyard, and as you peered out, you realized it looked straight into Joel’s. The same backyard you’d be standing in tomorrow night for the barbecue.

The space was neat, with a patio table and chairs under a faded umbrella, a small grill parked in the corner, and string lights dangling above. You could imagine it already—laughter, the smoky scent of ribs, and Joel moving easily through it all, a beer in hand and that rugged smile.

Shaking off the thought, you flopped back onto the bed, the mattress letting out a soft creak under your weight. With your phone in your hand you unlocked the screen and hesitated for a moment. Your fingers opened Instagram hovering over the search bar before typing: J-o-e-l M-i-l-l-e-r.

You weren’t a stalker—you told yourself that twice as you pressed search. You just wanted to know more about him. Maybe seeing his wife, his family, would yank your head out of the ridiculous fantasies that had started creeping in since the moment he’d carried your suitcase like it weighed nothing.

Nothing.

The results came up empty, just a scattering of people who were very obviously not the Joel Miller you were looking for. You sighed, biting your lip, and switched apps.

Facebook. He was older—he probably wasn’t on Instagram anyway.

Jackpot. There it was—a profile with a photo that looked like it had been taken years ago. Joel stood with a much younger girl, who you assumed was Sarah, all teeth and curly hair, her arms flung around his neck as he smiled faintly at the camera. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was sweet—simple. A glimpse of him you hadn’t expected.

You scrolled further, the glow of the screen lighting up your face in the dim room. There were more photos: Joel and Sarah on vacation by a lake, Joel in construction gear with a hard hat tucked under one arm, Joel standing next to what looked like an old truck, his hand resting on Sarah’s shoulder as she beamed up at him.

But there was no wife. No wedding photos, no anniversary posts, nothing to suggest she existed. Huh, you thought to yourself, your brow furrowing slightly.

You locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed beside you, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was just private, or maybe…

You tried to push the thought from your mind, but it lingered, the possibilities swirling in your head far longer than you wanted to admit.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"You ready, kid?" Uncle Ray’s voice boomed from downstairs.

"Yeah, just one sec!" you called back, turning to the mirror one last time. You smoothed your hands over the fabric of the white halter dress you’d chosen, the hem brushing mid-thigh. It was simple, breezy—perfect for the Texas heat—but there was a part of you that wanted to look good. Not over the top, but enough to feel confident. Enough to catch someone’s attention.

As you descended the stairs, Uncle Ray was balancing a platter of meat and a case of beers, muttering something about forgetting the tongs.

"I’ll take these," you offered, grabbing the beers from him before he could protest.

"Thanks, kid," he said with a grateful smile.

The short walk to Joel’s house felt longer than it should have, anticipation bubbling under your skin. You weren’t sure why you were nervous. Maybe it was the thought of finally seeing inside Joel’s house, the place he lived.

Maybe even meeting his wife. If he has one, a voice in your head whispered, though you tried to ignore it.

Uncle Ray knocked on the door, the sound heavy against the wood. Moments later, Joel’s unmistakable voice called, "Comin’!"

When the door opened, your breath caught in your throat.

If it was possible for him to look even better than yesterday, somehow, he managed it. His hair was slightly tousled, damp at the edges, and there was a sheen of sweat glistening on his tanned skin—no doubt from working outside at the barbecue. He wore a faded gray t-shirt that clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath and a pair of jeans.

Your gaze lingered a second too long, and as if sensing it, his eyes flicked to yours, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You swallowed subconsciously, the motion betraying you. He noticed.

"Ray," Joel greeted warmly, clapping your uncle on the back. "Just through there to the kitchen," he said, nodding toward the hallway for the meat Uncle Ray was carrying.

"Got it," your uncle replied, brushing past him and leaving you standing awkwardly in the doorway, the beers still in your hands.

Why did you feel so out of place? Why were you so... flustered?

"Hey, sweetheart," Joel said, his voice dropping into that low, his arm leaning against the doorframe, his familiar drawl sending warmth cascading through you. He motioned to the beers in your arms. "These for me?"

It took you a second to process what he meant. "The beers?" you asked, dumbly, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

"Yeah," he said, amused, his lips curving into a faint grin. "The beers."

"Oh. Yeah," you said quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

"Here, I’ll take ’em off your hands," he offered, stepping closer. As his fingers brushed yours, a spark zipped through you, quick and unbidden. You glanced up, catching his eyes just as they shifted—flickering down for the briefest moment.

That’s when you realized where he was looking. You followed his gaze instinctively, and your heart stuttered. The condensation from the beers had soaked into your dress, dampening the fabric over your chest. You could see the faint outline of your pink lace bra through the thin material.

Joel murmured something under his breath, so quiet you couldn’t make it out. His jaw tightened as his gaze snapped back to your face, his expression carefully neutral.

Your cheeks burned, your entire body flushing a deep crimson. But Joel—ever the gentleman—pretended not to notice. His eyes didn’t stray, not once. Instead, he made steady eye contact, his tone smooth and unaffected as he said, "Hey, come on in. You can meet Sarah. I’ll introduce you two."

He stepped back, holding the door open wider for you to enter. His voice remained calm, his movements composed, but there was a tension in his posture, a stiffness that hadn’t been there before.

You ducked your head, mumbling a quiet "thanks" as you stepped inside, the air-conditioned coolness of his house brushing against your overheated skin.

Joel’s voice followed you, steady but quieter now. "She’s out back helpin’ with the food. You’ll like her."

You nodded, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that Joel Miller had just seen far more of you than you’d intended—and that the way he handled it, with his quiet restraint and piercing eyes, somehow made it even worse. Or maybe better. You weren’t sure anymore.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ Sarah was incredible—her energy was infectious, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke made you feel like you’d known her for years. She had Joel's kind eyes and smile. Conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating every other sentence as you sat in the shade of the patio, the warm buzz of music and mingling voices filling the air.

"So, you moved from Chicago?" Sarah asked, taking a sip of her beer, her head tilted curiously. You nodded, but before you could answer, she grinned. "What gives? I’d do anything to get out of Texas, but I think my dad would have a heart attack if I tried."

You laughed softly at her playful tone, but inside, your heart clenched, the real reason for your move bubbling to the surface. The betrayal of the two people you had trusted most in the world—your boyfriend and your best friend—still stung like an open wound. For a moment, you thought about answering with one of the rehearsed lies you’d been telling people since it happened. Something casual, vague, easy.

But there was something in Sarah’s eyes—kindness that felt so effortless, so genuine—that made you hesitate. She wasn’t prying; she just seemed... safe. Your lip caught between your teeth as you glanced down, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

"Well, uh, my boyfriend cheated on me," you said quietly, the weight of it easing slightly as you said it aloud. Sarah’s eyes widened, but before she could respond, you added, "With my best friend."

Her gasp was immediate, her beer nearly slipping from her hand as she leaned forward. "Oh my God. Are you serious? What fucking assholes!" she said, her voice sharp with indignation.

You managed a small, sad smile. "Yeah. So, uh, here I am, trying to figure out what to do with my life. Honestly, I don’t have a clue."

Sarah’s expression softened, and without hesitation, she reached over to rub your shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. "Hey," she said firmly, "they’re both idiots for doing anything that got you out of their lives. I’ve known you for, like, an hour, and I can already tell how stupid that was."

Her words hit you harder than you expected, a warmth spreading in your chest as the corners of your mouth lifted into a genuine smile. "You’re too sweet," you murmured, your voice soft but sincere.

"I’m serious," she insisted, her eyes narrowing slightly as if daring you to argue. "If they couldn’t see what they had, that’s on them, not you."

For the first time in a while, you felt something shift—just a little—a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you were in the right place to start over. "Thanks, Sarah," you said, meaning every word.

"Anytime," she said, raising her beer with a grin. "And hey, if you need someone to curse them out over the phone, just say the word. I’m really good at it."

You laughed, a sound that felt lighter than it had in months. "I’ll keep that in mind."

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You sat by yourself now, nursing a drink as you watched the scene unfold around you. Sarah had disappeared into the kitchen to help with something, leaving you to take in the warm buzz of conversation and laughter that filled the air.

People were scattered in groups, mingling, sharing stories, and you couldn’t help but smile at how… nice it all felt. Like being part of a community, even if only for a little while.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by you—the absence of a partner in Joel’s life. No photos, no affectionate glances exchanged with a woman across the yard, no lady hanging off his arm.

You’d been looking, admittedly more than you should have. And you’d noticed another thing, too: his left hand. Bare. No wedding ring, no tell-tale tan line suggesting one had been there recently.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed movement, and when you glanced up, Joel was walking toward you, his figure outlined by the afternoon sun. One hand lifted to shield his eyes from the glare as he stopped in front of you, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Hey," he said, his voice low but carrying easily over the noise around you.

"Hey," you replied, sitting up a little straighter.

"You havin’ fun?" he asked, his tone casual but his gaze steady, like he genuinely wanted to know.

"Yeah," you said, nodding. "Sarah’s the best. She’s been really great."

His lips twitched into a grin, one of those subtle ones that made you feel like you’d earned it. "I figured you two would hit it off."

There was a brief pause, a flicker of something in his eyes as he seemed to consider his next words. Finally, he nodded toward the grill. "Hey, you, uh… wanna help me out with the grill?"

"Oh," you said, caught off guard but smiling nonetheless. "Yeah, sure." You stood quickly, brushing your hands on your dress. "I don’t know how much help I’ll be, though."

"That’s alright," he said, already turning to walk back to the grill, his voice carrying a hint of teasing warmth. "I’ll teach ya."

You followed him, the scent of charcoal and smoked meat growing stronger as you approached. When you reached the grill, Joel handed you a pair of tongs, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he did.

"Alright," he said, stepping beside you, his shoulder close enough to brush yours if either of you moved even a little. "First rule: don’t flip ’em too much. Just let ’em sit there for a bit. You flip too early, you lose all the good stuff."

You nodded, gripping the tongs tightly. "Got it. No premature flipping."

He chuckled at that, low and warm. "Exactly." He reached over, his hand lightly covering yours to guide the tongs. "Here, like this. Just slide it under real careful, and then—" He helped you flip one of the ribs, his movements steady, deliberate, his voice low in your ear.

"See? Easy," he said, stepping back but not too far, his hand lingering on the edge of the grill.

"Sure, when you’re helping," you replied with a small laugh, turning to glance up at him.

"You’ll get the hang of it," he said, his eyes meeting yours for just a beat longer than necessary before he looked back at the grill. "Soon enough, you’ll be the one teachin’ me."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "I don’t think I’ll ever reach your level of grill mastery."

"Mastery, huh?" he teased, his grin widening slightly. "You’re just sayin’ that ’cause you’re tryin’ to get on my good side."

"Didn’t realize you had a bad side," you said before you could stop yourself, the words slipping out light and teasing.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized how they sounded.

This was so not you—flirting? With Joel? .You immediately regretted it, your stomach twisting as you replayed the words in your head. You made it weird, you thought, biting the inside of your cheek. He probably thinks you’re a freak.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours, his grin softening into something quieter, almost contemplative. Then, as his gaze lingered, something shifted—something darker, deeper that wasn’t there before. His eyes traveled, not overtly, but enough to make you feel the heat of his attention, before they settled back on yours, steady and unreadable.

"Guess you’ll have to wait and see," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the kind of tone that felt like it carried a secret meant only for you. It was so quiet, so deliberate, that if the laughter and hum of conversation around you had been any louder, you might have missed it entirely.

Your breath caught for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty threading through your thoughts. Was he—? No, he couldn’t be. Could he? The weight of his gaze, the subtle shift in his demeanor, it all felt different now. Like the casual, teasing banter had taken a step into something else—something charged.

You blinked, trying to shake the thought as your heart gave a traitorous thump against your ribs. Joel’s expression shifted back to something lighter, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small, almost amused smile, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Before you could say anything—ask, deflect, do something—Sarah’s voice called from the patio, pulling both of your gazes away. And just like that, the moment dissolved, leaving you standing there, wondering if you’d imagined the whole thing.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The rest of the evening unfolded like a whirlwind. Sarah had pulled you into the fold of her hometown friends, introducing you to a group of easygoing, lively people who made you feel like you’d known them for years.

They shared stories of growing up in the small town, teasing one another in a way only lifelong friends could, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. It was lovely, and for a while, you let yourself forget everything that had driven you here.

You hadn’t seen Joel. Not since your brief moment at the grill. Uncle Ray had left earlier, muttering something about an emergency at the shop—a customer with car trouble that couldn’t wait until morning. He’d pressed the extra house key into your hand before he left, telling you to stay as long as you liked.

But now it was late, and most of the guests had filtered out. The once-lively backyard was quieter, the string lights casting soft, golden halos over the empty tables and half-finished drinks. You hugged Sarah goodbye at the door, a plate of leftovers in your hand that she’d practically begged you to take.

"Seriously, come over anytime," she said, squeezing you tightly. "It was so nice meeting you."

"You too," you replied, genuinely meaning it as you hugged her back.

As you pulled away, you glanced around one last time, hoping to spot Joel, but he was nowhere to be seen. You shifted the plate in your hand and opened the door, stepping out into the cooler night air. The distant chirp of crickets filled the quiet, and you felt the weight of the day settling into your shoulders.

"Leavin’ without sayin’ goodbye?" a familiar voice drawled, stopping you mid-step.

You turned sharply, startled, to see Joel leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed and his gaze fixed on you. His shirt sleeves were rolled up slightly, and his hair was mussed like he’d run a hand through it more than once. The soft glow of the porch light caught the sharp line of his jaw as he tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"What, I work you too hard?" he teased, his voice low and laced with that easy humor that made your stomach flutter.

You let out a surprised laugh, adjusting the plate in your hand. "I didn’t know where you went," you said, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his gaze.

"Had to clean up a bit," he replied, straightening from the doorframe. "Didn’t think you’d sneak out on me, though."

"I wasn’t sneaking," you countered, smiling despite yourself.

Joel’s smirk widened slightly, his eyes catching yours in a way that made your pulse skip. "Good," he said simply, stepping closer until he was just a little too near, the space between you shrinking in a way that felt intentional. He glanced at the plate in your hand. "Sarah guilt you into takin’ that?"

"Of course," you said with a small laugh. "I didn’t stand a chance."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, before his gaze flicked back to yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, the quiet night wrapping around you like a cocoon. His expression softened, the teasing edge fading just slightly as he said, "Glad you came, though."

The way he said it—low, steady, and deliberate—made something in your chest tighten. You nodded, your voice quieter now. "Me too."

You turned toward the driveway, ready to head home, when Joel cleared his throat behind you. "I’ll, uh, walk you home," he said, his voice calm but steady enough to make you stop in your tracks.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Joel, it’s like three steps," you pointed out, gesturing toward your house practically next door.

"I know," he replied, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "But here in Texas, us gentlemen protect our ladies."

Our ladies. The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been, and you felt a sudden warmth rush to your cheeks. You knew he didn’t mean it like that—not like you were his—but still the idea made your stomach flip all the same.

"Okay," you murmured, the word barely audible as you started walking, Joel falling into step beside you.

You both walked slowly, the kind of unhurried pace that almost felt like stalling. Joel’s hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, his gaze flicking around the quiet neighborhood before landing back on you.

"So," he said, his voice easy but laced with curiosity, "how long you here for?"

You sighed softly, your fingers brushing the plate of leftovers Sarah had given you as you considered your answer. "I don’t know," you admitted, glancing at him briefly. "I’m here until I figure my shit out, pretty much."

Joel nodded, his expression thoughtful. The light from your porch illuminated the edges of his profile as he turned toward your house, his next words slipping out low and steady. "Well," he said, "let’s hope that takes a while, then."

Your breath hitched, his words landing like a soft knock against your chest. He said it so easily, so casually, but something about the way his voice dipped made it impossible to ignore. You felt the blush creeping up your neck, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Joel stopped just short of following you up, rocking back slightly on his heels. He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the warmth in his gaze sent your heart into a full sprint.

"Good night," he said, his voice softer now, before turning on his heels. He walked away slowly, his hands still in his pockets, and you couldn’t help but watch him until he disappeared into the shadows of his own porch.

You stood there for a moment, breathless and still, your mind replaying his words on a loop. The weight of them lingered, warm and undeniable, leaving you leaning against your door long after the night had fully settled around you.

Tag List:

@pedritospunk @ickearmn

526 notes · View notes

lulu-fic · 19 days ago

Text

𝚂𝚄𝙻𝚃𝚁𝚈 𝚂𝙴𝙳𝚄𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

Synopsis: Your boyfriend just cheated on you. But you can't just let him get away with that, can you?

Warnings: Cheating ( not by y/n), swearing, sfw, mdni

Wc: 2.1k

An: My first published work. Genuinely nothing too crazy just dipping my toes in water but dw next chapter will be something 👀 also the ending is a bit rushed because I was sleepy 😛

Aggressive typing sound echoed through the walls of a dingy restroom, accompanied by someone's sobbing hiccups. That certain someone was you. Who would have thought your so-called lovely evening would end up with you crying in a stall of a dirty restroom? When you thought your life was finally rainbows and sunshine, god had to give you a reality check.

Flashback

"Here's your order, sir! That'll be $6.80." You said with your fake polite voice to the customer. The said customer took his coffee and fished in his pocket for cash. He finally handed you the required amount and exited the cafe. "Huff god today is draining me." You say. You check the cafe's clock and see it's 2:00 pm. "*Sigh* Still couple of hours to go." You think. But you did not let that bother you.

You are in your most optimistic energy today. Well, today is your most awaited date with Nick, your boyfriend of one year. Your experience with dating him has been nothing but nice. And you believe he's the one. You're finally going to propose him today.

"Y/n! Give me a hand here!" You're pulled out of your day dreaming when your co-worker calls for you. "Yeah, coming right away." You yell back. "*Sigh* life is good." You thought and smiled, resuming with your day.

Time skip

It's 5:13 pm. Your shift is almost over. God, was it a busy day today? You never had such a hectic shift. "Well, my shift is finally finished." You think. You were about to start packing up for the day when the bell jingles, indicating someone had entered the cafe. It was a man.

He was intimidatingly tall and it kind of scared you. His jet black styled hair fell on his face, covering some of his features. He wore a overcoat over a three-piece suit. Perfect attire for the chilly weather. Even though he looked like a gangster. When he finally looked up, it seemed like the time has stopped.

He looked enthernal. He had sharp features- somewhat neck-to-shoulder length hair, strong jawline, siren eyes straight nose, high cheekbones- everything about him was breathtaking. He also had light eyebags, giving signs of late night work. And his lips, god his lips. He had thin, soft looking lips, like rose petals. As if the Adonis himself craved his face. If you weren't so much of a loyal partner, you would have definitely shoot your shot. But he seemed oddly familiar to you.

"What would you like to order, sir?" You ask with your most professional voice, making sure there is no tinge of emotion. "A black coffee and a chocolate muffin, please." He said. And god if you already didn't thought he was attractive, now you definitely do. His voice sounded mature, rich and gravelly. His voice was a little rough too, it felt like he spent years smoking through his stressed moments.

"Y-yeah, right away, sir." You nervously replied. Yep, now you're definitely cursing your whole existence for stumbling in words just because you thought a guy's voice was hot. Seriously, what's wrong with you?

You turned around to make his order, which wasn't some rocket science. It's just a plain black coffee. But it actually felt like that. The man just kept watching you, observing your every move. How you ground the roasted coffee beans, how you brew the coffee, how you pour the coffee into the cup. No matter how much you tried to ignore the staring, it felt like he was boring into your soul. God damn, you didn't feel this nervous even on your first day of work. Ugh!

But you forgot to ask him a crucial question, will he takeaway the coffee or drink the coffee in here? You turned around to see him...still staring at you. "Will you takeaway or drink it here, sir?" You ask. He didn't reply at first. He just kept looking at you. Okay, now you're creeped out. "Sir?" You call out again. This time he's finally out of his whatever dreamland he was in.

"Will you takeaway or drink it here?" You ask again. "Um, takeaway." He replied. You nod your head and kneel down to take out the chocolate muffin from the freezer. Genuinely, he didn't seem like a guy who would like sweets. But oh well who are you to judge someone's taste bud? You take out a white cupcake box and put the sugary treat in it. When you're finally ready with his order, you extend it to him on the counter.

"That'll will $9 dollars. Also I'll be needing your name for the bill." You say. He still just kept looking at you. Okay, now he's starting to annoy you. Why he's looking at you like you're some kind of piece of meat? "Sir?" You call out again. He still didn't reply. "Hello, Earth to sir?" You wave your hand in front of him to grab his attention, which you finally did.

"Oh, yes?" He politely ask, while blinking twice. "Your name?" You ask back with a irritated voice. He chuckles at something.

"Colter Hunt."

God, Even his name was hot. You quickly write down his name, to make it seem like you weren't just fangirling on his name. Suddenly a black card comes in front of your vision. You look up to see him holding it out with his index and middle fingers. Your attention averts to his wrist which is adorned with a silver Cartier bracelet and Rolex watch. "Damn," you think, "so he's rich rich." You add after.

You take his card and inserting it quickly in the card swip machine, telling him to punch in his passcode. He type in his passcode and takes out his card after the transaction was completed.

"Have a good day, sir!" You say, back with your professional voice. He takes his order and was just about to exit the shop when he turned around to look one last time at you, and then finally leaves.

Huff, a hectic day it was.

At the Restaurant...

You are finally at your most awaited destination for the night. You open the gate to the restaurant and are greeted by the receptionist. "Good evening, sir. How can I help you?" She asked. "Uh I have a table reserved for two under my name. Hong it is." She checks her computer real quick and give you your table number with a polite smile. You thank her and go inside.

You see Nick already seated and waiting for you. You quickly take your seat. "Sorry for being late. I had a customer last minute who was taking some time." You quickly apologize for being late. "So, what should we order, huh?" You ask while picking up the menu. "Well I wanted to try the main course of here for long time. I saw the review online and they said it's very good, even the customer service. Oh and the dessert choices are also-" You stop with your rambling in the midway when you notice Nate not responding to any of your babble. He seemed to zone out. "Hey, Nick? What happened baby?" You ask. He breaks out of whatever dreamland and finally looks at. "Huh? What did you say?" Ugh why's everyone seemed to zone out today?

"I asked did something happened. You seemed lost." You repeat. "Oh um no- I mean yes- uh I don't know." He babbles. You make a puzzled face. "What do you mean?" You ask. "Did something happened at work?" You ask again. "Uh yes- I mean no but it was someone from so technically yes but no." He again keeps puzzling his word. "Nick what are you even talking about? I don't get it." You say in a baffled voice.

"Ugh, y/n I don't know how to say this but I have been wanting to say this, but it's just I never got a chance." He explains a bit. "It's okay. You can say now." You say. "Maybe he will be the one who's going to propose me." You think with a happy voice.

"I-I...I sleptwithsomeoneonemonthagoatHalloweenparty."

"What? What did you say?" You ask not understanding his "explanation".

"I-I...y/n I slept with someone. A month ago. And I-I just feel more attracted to her." He finally says it.

"What." You depanned. "Y/n, I'm sorry! I tried to tell you this multiple time but never got a chance and-" he tries to explain but you raise a hand to make him stop. "When was it?" You ask trying to keep your temper at bay.

"At halloween party of my office." He nervously admits. "So someone from office then, huh?" You interjected. "Yes." He confirms, not trying to make eye contact with you. "Who is it?" You finally ask. "Huh?" He looks up at you baffled. "Who. Is. It." You grit your teeth.

"Rachel." He breathes out. You exhale a breath of air you didn't know you were holding. The chair makes a screeching sound as you slowly get up. "Y/n I-" He tries to utter something but you beat him to it by splashing a glass water on his face.

"Do. Not. Tell. Me. Your. Filthy. Excuses!" You yell grabbing the attention of other customer. You finally leave that place, ignoring the calls of your name from behind. You stop at your pace and take a turn and make your way towards the the restroom door that had "Staff Only" written with bold letters.

End of flashback

Tears are flowing down your face as you type out the message to your bestfriend, basically explaining the situation. You're not hurt about the fact he cheated, you're just angry on the fact that he cheated on you? Hong Y/N. You remember thinking how guys used beg for a chance to even let them take you on a date. And when you finally decide to settle down, this happens?

No, you cannot let a man control your emotions like this. Nope. You reject the fact that you are crying over a man.

You get up from the toilet seat and go outside to quickly wash your hands. You make a quick text to your bestfriend saying that you'll be late and call for a uber.

You go outside the restaurant and breath in the cold air of the chilly weather, finally feeling at peace a little. Your uber quickly arrives at your destination. "Square Town Club, please." You quickly inform the driver as you take a seat. Tonight it'll be all about you. Not someone cheating asshole.

The uber driver reaches at your said address after 10 minutes and you pay him the amount required as you get out of the taxi.

When you enter the club, it seemed like you stepped into another world. Neon red and green lights blinding your sights, party music booming through speakers, people making out or even having sex in the middle of the dance floor. "Ew, disgusting." You think. But that's main goal of tonight, only stuff like these can take your mind off that bitch.

You go over to the bar counter. You knew the bartender , Ricky, through social media. Also the reason how you got to know about this place. He looks over at you and asks, "The usual?" "No." You answer back. "Give me anything. But 10x stronger." You add. He raises his eyebrows but says nothing. As he was preparing your drink, you felt a little uncomfortable. It felt like someone was boring their eyes into you. Yes it's a club, of course you will grab attention.

But this one seemed a little off. A little familiar.

As you looked around to catch the supposed person, you attention is caught by a person sitting at the most secluded place of the club. It was a very dark corner. You try your best to ignore him. Keyword: Try.

Because the moment you look away a scary looking bodygaurd comes up to you with a drink and says, "Sir, this drink is offered by our master with the small note." Turns out the said master is none other than the guy you tried to take a good look at before.

This time you trun around and squint your eyes to take a good look at him. And this time, by some miracle, you're finally able to get a good look of him. But Oh. My. God.

It's the cafe guy.

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