#and had to grab them so i could point out and ramble at SOMEONE about those doubled threads

[cuddlytogas]

yesterday some friends and i went to the special ancient egyptian pharoahs exhibit at the ngv, and i got so utterly entranced by a linen funeral shroud, i think i saw god and/or went completely insane for about fifteen minutes

the fibres were so fine. and not just fine, they were uniform. it was from the roman period, so only (only!) 2,000 years old, but the fibres were still so fine and uniform

i'm not good at identifying weft and warp on a piece of fabric - i think i got it wrong while i was looking at it - and obviously it's very hard to know what's inherent to the fabric and what's the product of degradation over time or mishandling, but there was this long, thin tear right down the middle, and i thought it was maybe a seam that had come apart, but the painting alignment didn't quite fit that, and there were a few threads crossing through it that i could see, so i wonder if maybe one or two weft threads had degraded or torn or been pulled loose. but the tear was so straight and exact, and held together at one end by the other fibres, it was so incredible to see

and there were a couple of places where i thought there were slightly chunkier threads - it happens all the time in modern linens - but when i looked closer, i could see that actually it was two threads in the same part of the weave (warp threads, i think?)

and again, okay, could be a product of the degradation, or damage - but also... it could so easily have been a slight fault in the manufacturing, and i don't know the first thing about ancient egyptian weaving techniques, or what kind of loom they did or didn't use, or any of that - but still, it was so easy to imagine these two warp threads being set slightly too close together on a loom, and being caught together by the weft, and leaving this slightest bulge, this perfect imperfection in the cloth

it was beautifully, intricately, colourfully painted, too, yes - but underneath that, i can only imagine that lovely dun, beige colour was unbleached and undyed; and yet again, yes, of course it would've darkened with age and use - it was a funeral shroud, there was a corpse under it once - but to look at this linen and see the colour of the flax two thousand years ago, it's just - absolutely mind-boggling

the whole exhibit was deliberately structured around highlighting the craftsmanship behind the artefacts, as well as the power, social structures, and cultural significance they represented, which was fairly well done. I watched that video after seeing the exhibition, and in hindsight, yeah, I did notice that many of the labels highlighted the detail and excellence of the items, and they had things like jewellery moulds and scribe's tools, as well as the big impressive statues and murals. at least a couple of the room introduction wall texts made sure to mention craftspeople; and there were a few places dedicated to both the bureaucratic structures, and working people and villages, that created and kept up the temples and palaces.

but there was also definitely a slight lack of information, i felt, in regard to the crafts, especially if that was their goal. i might also just be underestimating the general public, but there were a few times where we were wondering what something in an image was, but found nothing in the label; and it would've been cool if they, perhaps, had images or recreations of craftspeople in the period showing how the items would have been made.

like, obviously i'm biased towards the fabric, because that's my craft - and to be clear, the shroud was part of the room on jewellery and adornment, with the label pointing out the jewellery worn by the painted figure, rather than the craft of the item itself. but it would've been cool to have, in this example, either a contemporary image or a recreated one of what tools would have been used for the spinning and weaving of this cloth, and by what groups.

there were many parts of the exhibit where you could see on the glass where people had pressed their hands or noses or foreheads to try and get close, to see the intricate work on tiny rings or murals or votive items, the engraving and carving and painting done with such incredible skill. and again, they had those scribe's tools, and jewellery moulds, a few weapons, and (iirc) both ritual and functional builder's tools. which i DID VERY MUCH appreciate!

but fibre arts are already often devalued in our culture, and with industrialisation, we've really lost sight of the work and skill that, for thousands of years, went into making fabric. i would've loved to have seen them highlight not just the image of jewellery on this shroud, but the shroud itself.

because, yeah: this linen was beautiful. and to see this cloth, with these fibres that are finer and more uniform than many modern fabrics... like, obviously it's very good linen - the label only said it was for a woman called Isetweret, not what her status was, but i think it's a safe bet she wasn't the proletariat - but still.

just. i really fucking love history, oh my god

[leonspretty]

“slut!”

spencer had never told the team he had a girlfriend, never mind what her job was

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x reader

tags: fem! reader, no y/n, reader is a stripper (not explicit), based on a tiny scene but idk what ep or season, fluff!

notes: i was watching spencer clips and i saw the scene of him from i think season 6 where he and Emily were in a strip club asking questions. Then I was listening to slut! by taylor and thought i could make this work somehow. this isnt me calling strippers sluts btw!!! i just know some guys who have called them sluts and i love the chorus of this song and figured i could make it into something.

wc: 1,468

“And if they call me a slut, You know it might be worth it for once” — Taylor Swift's "Slut!" (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault)

He honestly hadn't meant for his team to find out about you through him spilling about your job. He also hadn't meant to keep you as a secret but with the continuous cases recently, he hadn't had much chance to tell them about you.

Spencer asking the witness if her boyfriend had a problem with her job wasn't judgemental, it was a question they needed to ask, and he knew how some men reacted to finding out their girlfriends were strippers, you had told him enough stories from your own experiences to support this.

"It's how we met, so no. Why? Do you have a problem with it?"

"No I don't, actually my girlfriend is in the same line of work and also I'm from Vegas so-" He stopped his ramble early at Emily's pointed look. He had assumed it was because he was starting to ramble, but her look of, 'we need to talk' told him it was because of this new fact about him that she didn't know. Luckily, she dropped it for now and the rest of the talk went smoothly. The subject of a girlfriend wasn't brought up until they were back at the precinct.

"Got anything for us?" Morgan asked as Spencer and Emily walked in.

"Yeah, did you know Reid has a girlfriend?" Emily questioned, not giving Spencer a chance to say anything about the case. Morgan's face shot up in surprise as did JJ's, but Emily continued, "And get this, she's a stripper!"

Ignoring the looks he was getting, Spencer turned to Emily, his tone accusatory. "You say that like it's a bad thing." Immediately, Emily corrected herself.

"No, of course it's not, it's just-"

"We didn't expect someone like that to be your type." JJ said.

Before Spencer had a chance to say that they had never even met her so how could they know, Hotch and Rossi walked in, forcing a subject change.

It wasn't until they were on the jet home and Spencer was reading a book waiting for your reply to him asking to come over for the night that the topic of his mystery girlfriend was brought up again.

As Emily took a seat across from him she asked what they had all been wanting to know. "So how come we've never met your girlfriend? Or even heard of her?"

"I did want to tell you all but it was still relatively new and then we had a long string of cases and I wanted her to meet you when I told you so I just didn't mention it." As he was talking, his phone pinged with a text to which he immediately picked up to read.

"So now that we know, do we get to meet her?"

"I will ask her. You guys were thinking of going out tonight right? I'm going straight to her apartment so I can see if she's off tonight to join us."

That seemed to be enough for Emily as she nodded and gave Spencer a smile, walking back to her seat from before.

You could tell Spencer was hiding something. When he arrived at your apartment he was quiet and it seemed like he wanted to talk but he hid it by practically devouring you and keeping you moaning for over an hour.

Deciding you wanted to find out what it was right now, you took action: grabbing his book from his hands and placing it page down on the table behind you, straddling him on the couch. His hands instinctively went to your waist as he gave you a kiss, despite his questioning look.

"Hi." He said, to which you replied the same. "As much as I do love you on me, we decided to rest for a while. Realised you actually can't resist me after all?" He joked.

It was true. To resist Spencer was torture but your pride refused to let you go back on your statement from earlier so quickly. In your break earlier Spencer had called you insatiable when he got up to get you some water. To this you denied and said that you could easily resist him, you just never wanted to and so Spencer challenged you.

"No... but I can tell you want to say something and I'm just curious to find out what it is."

Spencer had been holding off on asking you to go out with him tonight. He couldn't understand why he was so nervous but he took a breath and asked you anyway.

"It kind of slipped during the last case that I have a girlfriend and also what your job was and now my team wants you to come out with us tonight." Spencer spoke quickly in hopes to not stumble over himself.

Your head filled with questions like why was he scared to tell you this? what prompted him to tell them? was he meaning to keep you a secret? Instead you replied with one single "Yes," throwing Spencer completely off guard. He was expecting at least a question about why he had only just told them when you had been together for nearly 3 months now.

"Oh, that's great, um, we're going to a bar not too far from here actually and we can leave in about 2 hours?"

You nodded and internally decided against bombarding him with questions, instead going in for a kiss, all pride and challenge from earlier forgotten.

The nerves only hit you when you were walking to the bar hand in hand with Spencer. Your face must have displayed these nerves, prompting Spencer to pull you closer and ask if you were okay.

"Yeah, I am, I'm excited to meet your team, but you told them about my job right? They're not all weird about it?" Usually, you didn't care about what people think about you, but you really liked Spencer, and the way he spoke about his team proved that he cared deeply for them and you just wanted them to like you too. From the way Spencer had spoken about them, they didn't seem like the type to judge people for doing what they needed to for money, as long as it was legal of course, but still, you'd had your fair share of encounters with boyfriend's friends that have lead to you being dumped all because they've seen you on stage.

"They would never. They're nice people, truly. And I can tell you right now, Emily will be all over you for how you look tonight."

His words lifted your nerves and by the time you were walking through the bar doors, you were eager to meet them. It took not a minute for Spencer's hand to be at the small of your back leading you to a booth full of people. You took a deep breath saying to yourself that even if they called you a slut, it might be worth it for once, as long as you were seen on Spencer's arm.

Getting to the booth you noticed four people sat, watching as you guys approached. You could feel their eyes on you but to your surprise, they didn't feel judgemental or disgusted - they were kind and eager.

Before Spencer had a chance to introduce you to anyone, a woman was in front of you offering her hand. "Hi, I'm Emily, you are so hot!" Her enthusiasm made you giggle as you shook her hand and replied with your name and "So are you!"

As you got acquainted with the team, Spencer left to the bar to buy you and him a drink, smiling to himself as he saw your own smile from across the bar.

The rest of the night ran smoothly with you quickly realising just how true Spencer's words were. None of his team even cared about what kind of job you had, all they cared about was if you were a good match for their youngest team member.

As you parted ways from Penelope's hold, promising to go out with her and the other girls alone again, Spencer watched with a smile.

"You really love her, huh?" Derek's voice startled Spencer slightly, but he nodded anyway, giving you his biggest grin as you came closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his chest.

"Yeah, I really do." Spencer replied, putting his arm around your waist and saying goodbye as he began to lead you back to your apartment. You didn't even need to have heard what Derek had said to him because you could see it in Spencer's eyes. Because in a world of boys who judged you and called you a slut for doing what you're good at, Spencer was a gentleman who would never let those boys anywhere near you.

this one took me a little longer to finish up than i had intended cause work was draining the past few days but i finally got it done. i have more ways to lengthen it but then id feel like it drags on and i just wanted to get it out so i apologise for the semi-rushed ending. i actually dont mind this one so i hope you enjoyed and please send requests, the people i can write for are in my masterlist!

dividers by @cafekitsune

thank you for reading!

[6esiree]

Jokingly Breaking Up With Them (Sad Ending)

Imagine jokingly breaking up with Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, Vox, and Adam? No happy ending this time, as requested ❤️‍🩹

Alastor:

When you jokingly told Alastor you wanted to break up, his body stiffened and his ears fell back against his head, shocked. Sure, he was inexperienced when it came to the whole romance thing, but to make him believe that you felt unsatisfied to the point that you’d rather leave him than try to fix whatever went wrong was just…awful, the distant feeling of loss and rejection enveloping his heart in a painfully tight embrace.

“I’m sorry?” Alastor said, his voice crackling as he slowly turned to look at you, his brows knitted together in confusion. “Am I really that insignificant, that…easily disposable to you?” He continued, “Tell me, dear, what did I do to make you deem our relationship unsalvageable?”

Regret immediately consumed you as you watched the smile he religiously wore threaten to fall, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards. What a stupid thing you’d done—the many long, grueling months of getting to know each other for him to even entertain the idea of dating at all flying out the window. You briskly approached him, reaching up to tenderly cradle his jaw, looking at him apologetically.

“Oh my goodness, Al, I’m so sorry,” You started, balancing yourself on your toes, fixing to peck his cheek. “It was a really shitty joke—I’ll never do it again, okay? I love you.” He turned his head away from you, however, your lips grazing his hair as he dodged your kiss.

Alastor partly blamed himself for missing the jesting tone behind your words, but at the same time, you had unintentionally reminded him what it felt like to lose something, or someone—like his mother—and he couldn’t forgive you for that. So, he grabbed your hands and pulled them away from his face, staring down at you with a distant look in his eyes as he stepped back. You mentally cursed at yourself, dread settling in your stomach.

“Perhaps we should spend some time apart,” Alastor said, unaffected by the pain that flashed across your features at his words. “Al, please—“ He held out a finger in front of you, immediately shushing you. “Save your breath, dear. You’ll need it for when we discuss our relationship later.”

Lucifer:

Oh, Lucifer immediately sunk onto his knees in front of you, a yelp escaping your throat as he clutched your hands in his, a pleading look on his face. For someone who frequently loved to joke around with you, you definitely felt rather stunned that he had somehow missed the unserious tone behind your words. But after Lilith just up and left him, he couldn’t handle the thought of losing the love of his life, not again.

“Wait, what? No, no, you can’t do this to me,” Lucifer said, bringing your knuckles in for a kiss, your heart plummeting into your stomach as you saw tears prick at his eyes. “I have no idea what I did wrong, honey, but believe me when I tell you that it wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

He continued to ramble on about how much he loved you, and that he’d do anything to make up for whatever had prompted you to suddenly want to end the relationship, your guilt growing stronger with every word that shakily seeped past his lips. You snapped out of it when Lucifer started to panic, joining him on the ground and grabbing his face, shutting him up with a kiss; but instead of calming him down, you confused him.

“Oh, Luci, I didn’t mean that,” You said after you pulled away, an embarrassed blush creeping up his neck as you ran your thumb across his cheekbone, wiping away his tears. “Huh?” Lucifer stuttered. “I’m so sorry, I’ll never joke with you like that again—it wasn’t even funny. I love you.”

Lucifer pulled away from you, shaking his head in what you could only assume was disbelief. Now it was your turn to panic, your eyes widening as he stood up and stared down at you with furrowed brows. You tried to reach for his hands, but he quickly clasped them behind his back, pain and betrayal etched onto his usually cheerful features. While he wanted to forgive and forget your poor attempt at a joke, he just couldn’t do it.

“I don’t even know what to tell you,” Lucifer said, refusing to look at you in fear that he would fold at your pleading expression. “I didn’t mean to hurt you—what can I do to make this right?” Your voice wavered as you stood up, but for once in his life, he couldn’t come to a decision.

Husk:

You wanted to what? Break up with him? Husk chuckled, until he started to wonder if he’d said or done anything to you in one of his drunken stupors—or maybe that was the issue, his heart sinking into his stomach as he looked up at you. Before you, his love life had practically been nonexistent, far too gone into his addictions to provide somebody the proper amount of love and care, but then you came into his life.

“Did I, uh, do sumthin’ to upset you?” Husk asked, trying to appear calm and collected, but his ears betrayed him by falling back against his head. God, he hated his stupid body. “Is it the drinkin’? ‘Cause I drink a little bit less since you and I, ya know, but if that isn’t good enough—“

You blinked, surprised that the wise old bartender hadn’t seen straight through your bullshit. He was so good at reading people, but as you watched him subtly blame himself for whatever it was you wanted to break up over, you realized Husk was secretly afraid of not being good enough for you. You leaned over the counter with a ‘Hey, Husker baby,’ placing a hand over his, your thumb soothingly running across his knuckles.

“It was a shitty joke, trust me,” You started, but that didn’t comfort him at all, a frown overtaking his features. “Oh, and I did notice that you’ve toned down on your drinking since we started dating. I love you—thank you for trying for me, seriously.”

Husk scoffed and offered you a half-hearted ‘You’re welcome,’ pulling back his clawed-hand from yours. Your heart plummeted into your stomach as he wordlessly picked up a dirty glass and a rag, resuming his job. ‘I’m so sorry,’ You said, and he would have happily forgotten your joke if you hadn’t opened your mouth again, almost shattering the glass as he slammed it down onto the counter, making you flinch.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to lose my temper,” Husk mumbled, dropping his head before eventually asking you to give him some space. “Like, for how long?” You tentatively asked. “I don’t know, doll. We’ll talk about it after my shift is over, alright?” You sighed in resignation, getting up and leaving.

Vox:

No, you couldn’t leave him, not when you knew what to expect when you started dating the media tycoon. Vox completely brushed over the fact that you weren’t being serious, patting his thigh and inviting you to sit on his lap with a stern ‘Come here,’ believing that you had made such an awful joke because deep down, you were unhappy with how little time he spared you with his hectic work schedule. But that wasn’t the case at all.

“You know, sweetheart, you don’t have to resort to crappy jokes to tell me that you’re unhappy,” Vox said, his claws affectionately caressing your hipbone, eyes trained on his monitors. “We’re both adults, aren’t we?” He used his other hand to tauntingly boop your nose.

Because of Vox’s nonchalant attitude, you couldn’t help but feel bothered. You folded your arms and narrowed your eyes at him, expressing your displeasure, but that didn’t sway him at all. Rather, he rolled his eyes at your childish display, pinching your skin through the fabric of your shirt and eliciting a yelp from you, a toothy grin spreading across his face. You grabbed his screen and made him look at you.

“Hey, asshole, can you at least pretend to care?” You sputtered, feeling utterly humiliated as he tossed his head back with a laugh. “Alright, fuck you,” You huffed, hopping off of his lap and fixing to leave his office, but he just couldn’t let you leave without getting the last word.

Vox manifested in front of you, a displeased look on his face as he leaned down to your level, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Did I say you could leave?’ He asked, your nostrils flaring and your face flushing in your state of irritation. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then his assistant suddenly knocked at his office door with a, ‘Sir? I don’t mean to bother you, but something important just came up.’

“I’ll be there in just a second!” Vox called back, standing up at his full height and straightening his shoulders. You visibly relaxed at that. “We’ll continue our…discussion after this,” He said, and with a snap of his fingers, he zapped you into your room. You sat on the bed, crying in frustration.

Adam:

A laugh—that’s what you received in response to jokingly breaking up with Adam. But when you stood there, staring up at him with a serious expression, he awkwardly coughed and turned his head to the side. He tried to recount your most recent interactions, desperate to figure out what had prompted you to want to leave him all of a sudden, feeling himself spiraling when he came up with nothing but petty little arguments.

“Uhhh, well, are you gonna fucking elaborate or…?” Adam sputtered, turning back to look at you, gesturing wildly with his hands. While he managed to keep himself composed for the most part, his heart was rapidly beating against his ribcage. “Come on, babe, I can’t read your mind!”

You dropped your facade as soon as he started to rapidly blink, guilt immediately enveloping your heart at the thought of him tearing up. Yeah, Adam could be an asshole, but he was still your partner. ‘Oh, fuck,’ You said, reaching for his hands and bringing him in for an embrace. He jumped, confused, but he didn’t push you away. You buried your face in his chest, your arms wrapped firmly around his plush waist.

“I’m so sorry, baby, it was a shitty joke,” You admitted, a ‘What!?’ seeping past his lips. Adam grabbed your face and made you look up at him, squeezing your cheeks. “I love you, I was just trying to get back at you—“ He cut you off with a scoff, making you flush in embarrassment.

Adam was absolutely livid. He had already dealt with losing Lilith and Eve to the same individual, and now you? The thought pained him, and he couldn’t help but wonder why on God’s green earth you’d make such a joke knowing that. He relinquished your face, turning on his heel and looking for his mask, angry tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. You started to panic, dread filling your heart as you followed after him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Adam exploded when he felt you grab his wrist. “I’m sorry—it’s just—“ He struggled to express himself, feeling apologetic for making you cower beneath him. “I’m gonna go stay with Lute,” You tried to protest, but he stormed out before you could.

Taglist:

@cosmiiwrites @pumppkinlynn @spookieroz @gxstiess @polyo-nym-y @vvzhyxx @shinynewboots @freakyfrye @leonotlara @angelicribbons

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Alludes to Miguel bring depressed, usage of alcohol.

Thinking about heartbroken baby daddy!Miguel O’Hara who spent the next week rotting in bed whenever he could, curtains drawn shut and sad music playing from his phone as he scrolled through all your old photos together. Feeling exactly how he did when you two had split 9 years ago.

Heartbroken baby daddy!Miguel who started to reply the last 12 years over and over in his head, from the moment he sat next to you during his first stats lecture to the moment he found himself in front of your front door in an attempt to ask for a second chance only to find out it’s too late form the smirk on your new boyfriend’s face. To the point of him getting distracted during everyday activities, like over serving his coffee and sitting at a greenlight until someone honked at him.

Heartbroken baby daddy!Miguel who starts to have trouble keeping up with his physical appearance. The same man who could get the asscrack of dawn to go on a run or to the gym, always clean shaved, hair always slicked back, never in his pjs unless need be, started to walk around with a 5 o'clock shadow, starts to drop off or pick his daughter up in his sweatpants and tank top he sleeps in, eyes more sunken in they they usually are.

Heartbroken baby daddy!Miguel who has a silent breakdown everytime you post something while out on a date with your new boyfriend.having to grip his phone so hard to the point his knuckles turn white to stop himself from bursting into tears while Gabriella is eating dinner in the next room.

Heartbroken baby daddy!Miguel who had a few too many drinks while Gabri was at a sleepover, calling up first his younger brother then his best friend. Rambling about how he should have seen the signs sooner, how he should have never let you go in the first place, because now you were in the arms of another man, and considering that it’s been over 3 months it looks like he’s there to stay.

Heartbroken baby daddy!Miguel who thought he was hallucinating from drinking too much when you showed up at his place at 11:30 at night

—

“I-I just, if… if I knew that I still loved-“ he interrupted himself to hiccup before continuing to speak to Peter over his phone, placing down another empty beer bottle on his living room coffee table. “I still loved her, I wouldn’t have let-let her get a new boyfriend in the first place ya know?” He slurred, hearing Peter’s response but none of the words registering. His mind calmed from the temporary haze the alcohol provided.

Knock knock.

Miguel rolled his eyes with a groan as he slowly got up from his seat on the couch. “I thought I told you I didn’t need you to come over Peter.” Miguel said as he grabbed the empty bottles and quickly placed them in the kitchen, his friend on the phone expressing his confusion as Miguel made his way to the front door with his phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Huh? I’m not at your door-“ The rest of the sentence turned into background static, not noticing Peter’s calls for him and asking if he was listening. Miguel was too busy being in shock. He blinked once, twice.

You were still there.

Bloodshot eyes, runny nose, rosey and tear stained cheeks, your shoulders shaking a bit as you hugged yourself. He didn’t even get a chance to ask what was wrong before you spoke.

“Can I come in?” You croaked, throat tense as you attempted to keep your voice from wavering.

He opened the door wider.

—

Part 4<

Part 5.5<

Not proofread.

Word count: 600

Taglist: @ginnysculture @mishaglass @wusyanamee @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @bunnibitez @miguelzslvtz @migueloharastruelove @dahehow @sinners-98-world @othersideoftheparadise @toyfortoji @yeshajane @yvesbi @strawberryjuice9 @hanjisgf @deljojeisbackagain @safixiovi @emmalandry @maxinemus3 @lauraolar14 @aaaaslaaaan @kenz-ee @esmedelacroix @whattheshock @lauraolar14 @migueloharasoulmate @famouscattale @loser-alert @maomaimao @syler-griffin @comeonatmebruh @xwonderlandresidentx @m4dyy @mcmiracles @the-pan-liquid @lilbrababe99 @jxstanemo @badbitchhour @freehentai @sillysillygoofygoose @nj452896 @jadeloverxd @faretheeoscar @miguelsfavwife @ce3stvu @scorpihoooe @blossomofbismuths

[merlieve]

bibliophile :: jess mariano

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢���𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 & 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬

𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 | 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 ��𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Note: i wrote this while listening to “si tu m’aimes demain’ by iliona + the intro is inspired by 500 days of summer, so that’s basically the vibe of the story 😋 Ik there isn’t a market for GG fics but I just love me some Jess.

SUMMARY | Jess says something about how it’s a shame that people arent as beautiful and interesting as books, but he looks at [Name] and realizes that she could be the only person who could be compared to the books he loves.

The soft glow of Luke’s Diner’s sign casts a warm ambience onto the quiet street, the last remnants of daylight as it settles to the night sky.

Inside, the diner was practically buzzing with people, the sounds of plate clattering and a few conversations filled the air.

Ring. The sound of someone coming inside alerted Jess but he didn’t bother to stand up from the bar stool.

“The Old Man and the Sea? I love Hemingway!”

Jess was so caught up in his world that he failed to notice the girl seated next to him at the diner countertop. “Excuse me?”

“I said I love Hemingway,” She repeated, now gaining Jess’ full attention. “You have good taste in books.”

“Thanks, uhh?” — “[Name]” The girl said with a smile. ‘A pretty name for a pretty face’ thought Jess, looking at the girl beside him up and down.

“If you read Hemingway, I’d suggest Bukowski if you’re into poetry.” She recommended, looking down at her nails as she was slightly nervous by the way the boy was looking at her.

“I take it you like classics.” Said Jess, putting down his book.

“Oh, I like any genre! Mystery, historical, sci-fi… you name it.” Smiled [Name] as she rambled about her interests.

Jess found it adorable. “Quite the bibliophile, aren’t ya?”

“Guess you could say that, stranger.”

He was just about to ask for her number when someone came behind the counter.

“Jess, your break’s over.” Said Luke, glancing over the teenagers in front of him.

“Well, duty calls.” Sassed Jess, grabbing his book by the counter but not without giving the girl a wink. “Bye, stranger.”

Ever since that day, Jess couldn’t seem to get [Name] out of his mind and it didn’t help that she was everywhere; the quaint bookstore, at school, the library, even at the Walmart he works at, and that’s at Hartford!

If Jess had learned anything by being [Name]’s friend is that he knew that the way to her heart was to challenge her.

The two could make a conversation about just about anything, whether it was debating the end of The Bell Jar or trying to find the best coffee place in New Haven.

When she talked about her favourite books, Jess had the time of his life listening to the passion in her voice. And it wasn’t only him. Whenever Jess talks, [Name] sounds like she’s actually interested in whatever he’s talking about.

They’d exchange books, they’d lend each other books and return them fully annotated with their own opinions. They’d have study dates after school, which skyrocketed Jess’ grades by a ton and he even helped [Name] out with her AP classes. They’d go to each other’s houses to have movie nights, [Name] would pick some kind of chick-flick and he’d be “mad” at first and then grow on to love it.

Every time he spent time with her, his blooming crush would only grow and grow. At some point, he realised that his feelings for [Name] went beyond simple platonic attraction and not only did that scare him from having a genuine friend at Stars Hollow but it was how he couldn’t contain it.

Not to mention, Luke started to get sceptical when Jess said he was going to school. Since when did Jess actually go to school?

“I’m leaving!” Shouted Jess with a book bag slung across his shoulder as he closed the door.

Luke’s curiosity got the best of him and he followed Jess to a house. He knew it, Jess was lying, again. But right before he was about to reprimand him, a girl who seemed about Jess’ age walked out of the house, she looked a little familiar.

The two seemed to talk to each other for a bit before walking back… in Luke’s direction.

Luke had no choice but to hide in the prickly bushes to remain hidden from his nephew’s sight… ouch.

Later that Day

“Why’d you got a bandaid on your nose?” Asked Jess, referring to Luke’s earlier injury.

“It’s nothi- just shut up.” Challenged Luke as he walked over to refill a few coffee mugs.

A few hours passed until closing time and the diner was starting to get empty. Just when Luke was about to clean the countertops, the front door opened. It was the same girl Jess was with before.

She approached the counter with a friendly smile, the kind of smile Luke hadn't seen in a while.

"Hi, is Jess here?" Asked [Name], her eyes wandered around the diner.

Almost on cue, Jess walks out of the kitchen and greets the girl with a smile. “Oh, great. Are we throwing a fiesta or organising a pity party? 'Cause, you know, I'm just on the edge of my seat here.” Babbled Jess.

"Jess, I got a 95 on AP Bio!" The girl excitedly says, holding a paper in the air. "Really? Let me see," he replies, walking over to her.

“What, you don’t believe me? Well, it’s there and it’s in a big red mark with the words ‘Fantastic’!” She eagerly hands it over, her eyes shining with pride.

“Look at that, Ms. Fantastic,” Smiled Jess as he looked over her paper. “You hungry? It’s Danish day. C’mon it’ll be my treat.”

After hearing the news, [Name] gasped, “It’s like the stars were aligned” She giggled, taking a seat at the nearby table.

Once Jess walked over to the counter to grab a freshly cooked Danish, Luke cornered the boy.

"So, what's the deal with you and that girl?” he asked, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Jess shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Just helping her out with her AP classes. Turns out, I’ve got a brain in this pretty little head of mine."

Luke raised an eyebrow sceptically. "And since when did you become the tutor type?"

Jess rolled his eyes, “I like her, she reads Hemingway.” He said as he looked at [Name] who was still walking on cloud nine.

Luke nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "She’s a good influence on you, kid. Don’t screw this one up, okay?"

Jess scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, well, don't go spreading that around. I've got a reputation to maintain."

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: friends to lovers, pussy drunk mingyu (metaphorically), smut, f reader, dry humping, pining, sub!reader, etc.

wc: 840

masterlist

bestfriend!mingyu who's been crushing on you since you met but you were dating someone at the time so he pushed his feelings aside and befriended you instead

now that you had been broken up for a while, mingyu had a constant feeling in his chest urging him to make a move or at least try to get with his pretty best friend. the only problem was he was terrified of ruining your friendship.

little did he know the reason you broke up with your ex was because you couldnt stop thinking about mingyu. his sweet personality, the way he treated his family (he was always so so nice to his parents and sister), how caring he was with his friends, how respectful he was to his staff, how tall and handsome he was, how tenderly he always held you, how much you'd love for that tenderness to turn into something more.

you and mingyu were both stuck in a catch 22, unknowingly waiting for the other to make a move despite being completely incorrectly certain that the other did not like them back. until the dam finally broke.

"jesus christ" he exhaled against your ear, bare chest pressed up against yours.

it had been a regular hang out with completely innocent intentions (he swears !!) but you just looked so pretty that day and you were sitting so so close to him, he couldnt help but be a little extra drawn to you today.

it started with sitting a little closer than usual. now that you were single, the touchiness between you had gone up quite a bit, allowing for mingyu to finally indulge in your touch as he'd always wanted.

having been sitting closely on the couch, gracing each others hands at times, it was easy for mingyu to wrap his arms around you, and much easier for you to scoot and take a seat on his lap (after all, you were besties, right?).

you're not sure who started it, but you had found yourself guiding his hands under your loose shirt, allowing him to run his fingers up and down your abdomen, clearly warming up for something more.

in a very predictable turn of events, his hands ended up groping your bare breasts under your shirt, making you exhale at the warm and gigantic touch of his hands.

one thing led to another and you'd found yourself in your current position. almost completely bare with a six foot tall mingyu in a matching lack of apparel on top of you as he dragged the last clothed part of his body against you, rutting right against your clit, causing you to mewl as his head remained glued to your neck, licking and biting softly at it.

"jesus christ," he had exhaled against your ear a moment ago.

"baby, is this okay? are you sure?", he questioned, showing no signs of stopping his movements, even increasing the force behind them.

"y-yes. fuck. more please," you begged fruitlessly, half-aware that mingyu would give you anything you wanted anyway.

as he sped up, you wrapped your legs around his back, attempting to grind against him, obsessed with the drag of his massive size against you.

your high quickly approached. and with this knowledge mingyu sped up, grabbed your legs and wrapped them more securely around his waist as he rutted against you maniacally.

"do you know? do you have any idea how long i've waited?", he rasped against your ear.

'there wasnt a single day where i went to sleep without thinking of you first', he continued. "wishing i could drag this pussy up and down my cock and have you crying as you feel how much i want you."

"is this enough?", he questioned. "it'll never be enough for me. i need you again and again. need to be inside you. need you in my tongue. need to take care of you in every way. gotta take care of my pretty girl, right?", he rambled, rutting harshly against you as you almost reached your breaking point.

moaning and crying under him, you clawed at any part of him you could reach, feeling insanely euphoric at his words and at the heavy drag of his cock against your most sensitive parts.

"g-gyu- fuck pl-please dont stop. fuck. fuck please!", you begged, knowing your end had arrived.

"i wont. fuck. never. im gonna make you cum. and then im gonna bury my face between your legs and make you cry again. gonna make you come over and over so you can be ready to take me. gonna treat you so so good, my pretty thing. gonna love you so good," he sounded exasperated as he himself reached his end inside his boxers, feeling like a horny mess knowing he had much left in him to give.

as you both fell from your highs, mingyu got off the bed and swung your legs around his head, getting ready to give you yet another orgasm that would have you regretting not leaving your ex the moment you met your best friend.

a/n: uhhh once again not proofread im running on fumes atp. if theres any inconsistencies im so sorry </33

[azzo0]

Summary: Bakugo Katsuki, your childhood best friend, your guard and the man you love most. You're aware he harbours the same feelings for you. Unfortunately, he doesn't deem himself worthy of your love because all he has to offer is his heart and soul. He can't have you, not when there are men far richer and caring than him, waiting to give you the life you deserve.

Pairing: Bakugo x f!reader

Warnings: mild nsfw, angst with happy ending, bakugo is a little insecure, reader and Bakugo are from a tribe and are 20, half-assed in some places because I lost motivation to finish this four months ago. Idk where I was going with this one.

wc: 4.9k

song: Here with me- by d4vd

Bakugo Katsuki's been by the chief's daughter's side for as long as he can remember. His father was the chief's personal guard, so he was trained to guard the chief's daughter, you. Before he was too young to start training, he played with your silly wooden dolls, took baths in the lake with you, played dress up and whatnot. He was your first best friend. Someone who wasn't afraid to interact with you just because you were the chief's daughter.

Once he was a little older, his father started training him, but that didn't stop him from visiting your tent before curfew and spending time with you. You guys were too old for toys and playing house now. Instead, he listened to you read a book for him or tell him about your day and why you find everyone in the tribe so annoying. After you were done with your ramble, he'd tell you about how his training was going. Each time, he vowed he'd be the one selected as your guard and replace the 'shitty' one you currently had. His ears and cheeks went rosy whenever you giggled and told him you were sure he'd win the competition. He rolled his eyes at it, but on the inside, he was a mush. It pushed him to train harder because he wanted to defeat all the men who would compete to be your guard. 

He's everywhere you are once he absolutely destroys everyone in the competition. Outside your tent as you're deep asleep, accompanying you when you go to the other tribes with your father or when you go hunting. He knew your habits and nature like the back of his hand by now.  He loves his job, but he really hates how distracted he is by the person he's supposed to be protecting. 

Even now, his eyes kept trailing to you, studying you for a few seconds too long before returning his attention to the surroundings. He reminded himself that he was here to protect you, or he could lose his position by your side to someone else. He can't help it when you look so damn beautiful sitting on a cloth by the lake, reading some stupid book. Since when did he start looking at you like that? He brushed away the fact that you've always made his heart race. Even when you guys were kids. You've always had this effect on him.

He has to remind himself to not let these feelings out. He keeps them caged inside of him. What's the point of letting them out when you will one day get married to a man far wealthier and caring than him? He was just your guard. Nothing more.

He sneaked a glance at you again—one last time—only for his heart to leap out of his chest when he saw you already looking at him. His face heated up when your lips tugged up on the sides in a smile. You waved at him and motioned for him to come over. 

"Yes?" He questioned, towering over you with the spear on his side. You felt your chest swarm with butterflies as you looked up at the man you spent your entire childhood with. 

"Sit with me, Katsuki. Don't you ever get tired of standing and glaring at nothing?" You said, patting the empty space beside you. 

"No, It's my job," he replied, "And no, I can't sit with you."

"Oh, come on," You grabbed his hand and roughly pulled him down, "Don't worry about father, no one's going to see you here." 

"But-"

You put an index on his lips, the blush on his pale cheeks not going unnoticed, "Hush, Katsuki. You're not losing your job. If you do, I'll shed a few tears and get it back for you." 

He gave in and sat beside you, his back rigid. You two sat in silence with the sun shining down, the only sounds being the rustle of the leaves, birds chirping, and the lake flowing by.

He allowed himself to look at you again. Cardinal eyes took their time exploring your features, basking in the sun. From your hair to your forehead, where an elegant diadem sat, to your nose and your lips, he so desperately wanted to brush with his. 

You closed the book with a snap, almost startling him and shooting him a bright smile. He listened to you tell him about how annoying your father was being these days as he tried to convince you to meet your suitors. His heart sank to his stomach. Of course, many men were waiting for you to choose them. You guys are at that age now, after all. He was going to watch you get married to some chief's son, leave the tribe, and live your own life. You'd never look back at him because he was just a stupid guard. He convinced himself there were men far richer and more handsome than him, waiting to take your hand and treat you to the best life you deserved. But that man wasn't him. He made a move to leave, freezing when he felt a heavy weight in his lap. 

He looked down to see you had put your head in his lap, your eyes already closed. Despite the sorrow in his chest, he smiled. He knew you liked napping in the afternoons. He stayed for a few minutes longer, aware he could have his head chopped off if one of the chief's men found him like this. He removed the diadem from your head so you were more comfortable and got up, taking off his red fur cloak and folding it. He put it under your head as a makeshift pillow. He sat on his knees, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers as you slept, so ethereally beautiful. 

He picked up his spear and stood guard again to protect the woman he loved most, unaware she dreamt of being in his arms as she slept.

It was another sunny day when Bakugo stood outside the chief's tent with two other guards while you were busy inside with your father. His heart felt so heavy. He wanted to throw up. This morning, the tribal chief and his son from a neighbouring land had come to ask for your hand. He knew he'd lost you the moment he saw the chief's son. He stood weary, doing his job, aware that the moment you walked out of that tent, you'd never glance back at him again. Not when you had that annoyingly handsome man by your side. A man who could give you the world you deserved.

What he didn't expect, however, was you running out of the tent with the roaring voice of your father demanding you to get back inside. Your eyebrows were knitted together as you stomped down the wooden stairs, hurling curses at all the men in the tent. Bakugo sprang to your side instantly, concerned for what had happened inside, almost jogging after you as you sped to your tent. 

He stepped inside after you, watching you fall into your bed of blankets and furs, head buried in a pillow. He kneeled by your bed and put a hand on your back. 

He forgot how much he hated seeing you cry, "Y/n," how long had it been since he last used your name? It was only 'my lady' or a sarcastic 'princess' ever since he was selected as your personal guard, "What happened?"

You peeked at him from the pillow. His forehead was free from creases, and his eyes were soft. 

You sat up, sniffling, "Father wants me to marry that stupid chief's son to strengthen ties," You wiped your eyes, spoiling the kohl that had been applied to your lids this morning with precision, "He won't take no for an answer. I don't want to ruin my life just for strengthening some stupid ties."

There was thick silence. Bakugo gulped as he looked into your eyes. His heart was joyous with your answer, but there was still an empty pit deep within him, "Why?" he asked.

"I just told you why," You frowned, "I'm not marrying some random man I feel nothing for."

You stared at Katsuki, searching for a reaction on his face. You almost wanted to shake him by the shoulder and scream at him, 'I don't want another man when I have you.' Your face flushed when you saw his eyes dart down to your lips for a split second. 

Katsuki looked away from your face, eyes settling on your knees instead, "He's perfect for you."

"No, he's not," you scoffed.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" He raised his voice, "Don't you get he's going to take great care of you? He's going to give you everything you deserve."

"What's the point if I don't love him?" 

"You're the chief's daughter, Y/n. You knew this had to happen sooner or later." He stared into your eyes as if he was trying to knock some sense into you. You didn't get why he was being so pushy about the matter in the first place. It was unlike him.

"You sound like father right now. Stop it." You snapped, "Why are you being so pushy, huh? You think I don't know what you actually want to say?"

Bakugo's eyes hardened and narrowed at you defensively, "I don't know what you're talking about."

You put a hand on his shoulder and forced him back on his knees again when he tried to stand up. You grabbed a handful of the fur on his red cloak, the one he'd let you borrow countless times when it was raining outside or when the breeze was too chilly, "You think I don't notice the way you look at me? Do you think I don't see the blush on your face when we talk? I'm not dumb. You like me. So stop spewing shit that goes against what you feel."

Bakugo was dumbfounded as he glared at you with cheeks and ears as red as his eyes. He wanted to deny you. He wanted to tell you you were delusional, but his throat betrayed him. 

"What does that have to do with your proposal?" He scowled.

"It has everything to do with my proposal, for fucks sake!" you yelled, "I like you too, but you're too busy thinking you're not worthy of being by my side!"

His poor heart couldn't take the attacks you unleashed on him one after the other. You liked him too? Even though he had nothing but his heart and loyalty to offer you? You were right about the last bit of your confession. He wasn't worthy of being by your side. Not as your lover. 

"You're right," he mumbled, standing up. He turned around and went to the entrance to your tent, raising the flaps, "I ain't worthy of bein' by your side. You deserve a man that spoils you rotten and gives you the world. That man ain't me."

"Katsuki..."

"I'm fine with just being your guard. So put your feelings away 'cause I'm not the man you're meant to be with." With that, he stepped out of your tent to stand guard again, and your father's men begged you to go back to his tent again. 

With no fight left, you half-heartedly agreed to their pleas. You stopped to glance at Katsuki before going after the men. His eyes were set straight ahead of him with a stone face.

He wouldn't look at you.

Bakugo's heart ached as he trailed a little distance behind you and your soon-to-be fiancé, Keiji. You had signed the papers without a word after the fit you threw over the proposal a week earlier, and now your engagement ceremony was only four weeks away. He wanted to chop off his own head with the sword when you let out a sweet laugh at a joke Keiji made. 

He hated the way the stupid man's hand rested on your waist. He hated the way he looked down at you with hungry eyes. He hated his flawlessly handsome face you were smiling for, but Bakugo was in no position to intervene. He chose this. He chose to let you out of his grasp for someone better. 

You and Bakugo had not spoken to each other since the confessions in the tent. If your eyes happened to meet his, he'd look away like he never saw you in the first place. He simply stood still as a statue and did his job like the other guards. You almost wanted to beg him to talk to you just so you could hear his raspy voice again, but being the stubborn woman, you were, you refused to talk to him first and went and signed the damn papers even though you absolutely hated this man blabbing your ear off as you took a walk around the perimeter of the tribe.

Bakugo watched you giggle and accept a flower Keiji had plucked from a bush. 'She hates that flower, you dickhead,' Bakugo wanted to screech. 

He clicked his tongue and forced himself to look away from you two. At least you were warming up to that stupid man. Or so he thought. He kept telling himself he'd be okay as long as you were happy. 

You were on the verge of tears as you crept through the woods with an archery bow and arrows. You wanted your horse to kick Bakugo with her hind legs. You had signed the papers in hopes Katsuki would change his mind, and now there was only one week till the engagement ceremony. You guys still hadn't uttered a word to eachother. The only reason he was following you here was out of obligation. 

You went still when you spotted a deer. Slowly, you took out an arrow from the quiver strapped to your back and took aim, hoping to land the shot this time. A twig underneath your foot crunched, and the deer's head snapped towards you before it jumped away. Frustrated, you threw the arrow down. You heard a snicker behind you and glanced back, giving Bakugo a glare to make him shut up. 

"You've wandered too far in," He stated. His voice felt foreign.

"Now you've decided to talk?" You snorted, stomping up to him and snatching the reigns of your horse. 

"It's time to head back," he said plainly. 

"You don't get to order me around," You mounted your horse and went deeper into the woods, completely ignoring him. 

Bakugo ran a hand down his face and followed you. You could be really childish at times. He was going to be the one getting in trouble if you got back home late. You were usually exemplary at hunting, but he could tell you were distracted today. He knew the reason for your distraction, too. His chest felt hollow when he thought of you being finally betrothed and taken away. He was questioning his choices now, but it was too late. He was sure you already liked your fiancé by now. 

He felt a drop of water fall on his nose and wiped it away. After a few more drops fell, he looked up at the sky, partly covered by the thick canopy of leaves. It was raining. 

"Oi," He called, "It's rainin'. Get back here."

By the time you steered your horse towards Bakugo's, the rain had grown heavier. The clouds had made it difficult to move through the forest due to the lack of light. Bakugo tried to navigate his way through the darkness and failed. There was no point in trying to start a fire because the rain would put it out anyway. He heard you let out a small curse. He hopped off his horse and took off his cloak, throwing it at you. 

"I don't need it." 

"Shut the fuck up and put it on," Bakugo rolled his eyes. You gave him an ugly stare and wrapped his warm and furry cloak around your shoulders. You wished he'd stop doing things that made your heart swoon so you could hate him.

He took your horse's reins and hopelessly tried to look for a way out. It was of no use, "Well, fuck." he sighed.

"Katsuki, look at that!" He followed the direction of your finger and squinted, trying to look through the rain. It was a shelter cabin and a stable, "Finally. Let's stay there till the rain stops."

You nodded in agreement and left your horse beside his in the stable. Luckily, it had doors, so the horses wouldn't get cold. Bless whoever built this shelter. Katsuki climbed up the logs stacked on top of eachother as makeshift steps and opened the door to complete darkness. You followed after him, leaving the door open as he fumbled with the fireplace, trying to start a fire. After a few tries, the cabin lit up in orange and red hues. You finally closed the door. 

You watched him get up, your eyes falling on his white shirt, now see-through from being wet. It clung to his skin, giving you a fine view of his muscles. The rain had made his wheat blonde hair droop down. He noticed your flustered state and strode up to you cocking his head, "Something the matter, princess?"

You held his scarlet gaze as he undid his buttons, his lips tugged up on one side in the smallest smirk, well aware of the effect he was having on you. He took off his shirt and put it on a chair in front of the fireplace to let it dry. You had no intentions of taking off your clothes, even if they made you squirm in irritation. 

"Oi, come sit here," Bakugo pulled another chair in front of the fire, "You'll catch a cold." 

"Why do you care?" You felt bad for being snappy, but you were also mad at him for ghosting you for three whole weeks and then talking to you as if nothing happened. Bakugo bared his teeth in a snarl and took slow steps towards you, making you back away into the door. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you need to snap at every damn thing I say?" He growled. 

"What the fuck is wrong with me? I should be asking you that question!" You yelled, trying to push him away, "Katsuki, you can't just not talk to me for three whole weeks and then expect everything to be normal!"

"Well, what else do you want me to do? Cheer for you and that fucking Keiji?"

"That's why you're not talking to me?" You sneered, "You did this to yourself, Katsuki."

"But you're happy, ain'tcha? Then go kiss his ass, and don't fucking worry about me." He turned around to lay in the furs, stopping when you spoke again. 

"Do I look happy to you, Katsuki?" You said, your voice small, "What made you think I'm happy with the fact I'm going to be betrothed to him? I signed the papers so you'd come back to me, you fucking idiot."

He slowly turned around to see you tighten his cloak around your shoulders, "I'm not marrying him." 

"Why are you like this?"

"How can I marry another when you're here with me, Katsuki?"

"I have nothing to give you, Y/n. I'm just a guard with a little tent and my heart to offer. Keiji-"

"I'm sick of hearing that name. Stop. I'm not after your treasures or luxuries. I want you. Why don't you see that?! Why do you keep comparing yourself to other men like that? I love you for who you are, not for what you have." 

He took quick steps towards you and slammed his lips against yours. Your eyes widened at the feeling of his rough lips pressing on yours. He pulled away for a few short seconds to see your reaction. You wasted no time throwing your arms around his neck and connecting your mouth to his again. 

His body pressed against yours, pushing you onto the door behind you. Your lips were warm. So warm and soft. He pushed his mouth further onto yours, your teeth clashing with his. His cloak fell off your shoulders, pooling around your feet. You tried not to gasp when his warm and wet muscle slipped into your mouth and danced around.

"Fuck," His hands travelled down your back and behind your thighs to lift you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and he buried his nose under your jaw, lips brushing your skin, "I fucking love you," He confessed against your jugular. 

He didn't wait for a reply and stole the air out of your lungs again. You pulled away, gasping with your head thrown back as he gave all his attention to your neck, "I love you too, Katsuki." His mouth was on yours again, kissing you like you were the very oxygen he needed to survive. 

"I don't want to see you with another," He panted in between kisses, "I can't let you marry someone that isn't me."

"You're such an idiot," You grinned, "If you would have said that before, I wouldn't have to sign the papers."

"Signed 'em for my attention, eh?" He smirked, brushing his nose with yours. You kissed him again, this time more fiercely. Your legs tightened around his torso, and you moaned into his mouth. 

"Oi," he warned. 

You put your feet on the ground and steered him towards the furs piled up like a bed, almost tripping a few times. You pushed him down and straddled his lap, leaving a trail of kisses along the length of the scar on his shoulder. 

"Desperate, huh?" He smirked when he felt you grind against him, frantic for friction. He flipped you to the other side so he was the one towering over you. He teased the buttons of your shirt, still soaked from the rain. 

"You're testing my patience," You gritted your teeth, slapping away his hands playfully and undoing the buttons yourself. Bakugo was left star-struck as he gaped at the sight of you laid out so beautifully in front of him. He went beet red, all his cockiness running down the drain. He wasn't sure of what to do with himself now. Noticing his daze, You giggled and pulled him down into you. 

You two made love with the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof and the sounds of crackling thunder. Neither of you seemed to notice the storm raging outside, so engrossed in each other's warmth and desire. The world around you seemed to have been blurred, with the only focus being you, him, and the chants of 'I love you' he murmured into your ear.

"Where were you two?" Your father demanded the next morning, his nostrils flaring when he noticed the bruises on both of your necks. The clothes you wore covered very little of the artwork you guys had made on eachother last night. 

"We got caught up in the storm," you explained. "We found a cabin in the woods and stayed the night."

"Stayed the night to betray your fiancé?" You held your father's stern glare, narrowing your eyes at him. "Do you realise what you have done? And you, Bakugo Katsuki. What made you think you could pounce on my daughter the minute you had an opportunity?"

Katsuki remained on the floor on one knee, head low out of respect. He dared to look up at the chief, who was already staring at him murderously. Katsuki cursed internally and looked at the carpet again. You guys were in so much trouble. 

"Katsuki did nothing," You said, trying to keep your cool, "And I haven't betrayed Keiji because I am not betrothed to him yet."

"Your engagement ceremony is in six days!" Your father's voice boomed, "And you gave yourself away to a useless guard?"

"Katsuki is not a useless guard!" You snapped, "He's saved me from an assassination attempt twice if your rotten old brain can remember."

"You are talking to your father and to the chief." He seethed, "Mind your language. What he did was nothing impressive. Protecting you is his job," his eyes shifted to Bakugo, a muscle in his jaw flickering, "not sleeping in bed with you."

Bakugo looked up with guilt flooding his chest. He hadn't thought of the consequences last night, "Chief-"

"Silence!" He stood up, looking down at Bakugo. Your heart sank when he called for the guards outside the tent to take Bakugo away. 

"Father, no!" 

"This is what's best for you."

Two guards held Bakugo by his arms as he attempted to get out of their grip. You pushed away the guards with tears in your eyes, trying your best to free him. 

"Sit down, Y/n." Your father commanded. You ignored him and swung your fist at one of the guard's noses, taking him by surprise. Your fingers tightened around Bakugo's arm, and you pulled him up, having him stand by your side. You scowled at the guards, "Stay away."

 "Don't be stupid. That man isn't worth your time." Your father said, "Let the guards take him away. I'll punish him as I see fit."

"No one's taking him away, and you're not punishing him," You said firmly, "You're calling off the engagement ceremony with Keiji because Katsuki's the one marrying me."

Despite the situation, Bakugo couldn't help it when his ears flared red. You were serious about him. He allowed himself to look at the chief in the eye and straighten his back. He dared to let his hand rest on your waist as your father burned with rage.

"Keiji is a rich man, far better than a guard you happen to be in love with. Marrying him is best for you as it will help strengthen ties with-"

"You're marrying me off to him because it will strengthen ties with his tribe. How is that the best for me? That's the best for you. And I don't care about how rich Keiji is because I want to marry Katsuki, and I'll have it no other way."

"Y/n-" He started, but you cut him off.

"Besides, didn't you marry Mom despite your parents wanting you to marry someone else?" You reminded. You watched your father's fists clench, "Then why are you trying to force me?"

There was dead silence in the tent as you and Katsuki stared at the chief while the guards stood there awkwardly. At last, your father took a step towards you, putting his hands behind him, "I suggest you think about it again."

"I've already made my decision."  

Your father's eyes shifted to Bakugo beside you, "How can I be sure you'll take care of my daughter?"

"I'm ready to sacrifice my life for her, Chief," Bakugo's head lowered slightly, "My heart and soul, they're all hers. I might not be as wealthy as her suitors, but rest assured, I'm still very capable of taking care of her."

You could see the uncertainty flash in your father's eyes. You lowered your voice, "Please, father."

After a few moments of hesitation, he let out a long exhale and put his hands on your and Katsuki's head, "You have my blessings. The engagement ceremony will still be held in six days but with you and Bakugo instead."

Bakugo's heart raced, and his hands pooled with sweat. It felt like a dream. He went on one knee and bowed, "Thank you, Chief."

"Keep her happy, Bakugo Katsuki." 

"I will," Bakugo nodded and stood up.

"Thank you, Father." You beamed. 

You watched your father's lips tug up on the smile in the faintest smile. He turned his back to you, "You may leave."

You broke out into a wide grin and took Bakugo's hand to leave the tent. Bakugo had to keep himself from laughing out loud as you almost hopped towards his tent. You turned around and faced him with wide eyes once you guys were inside, "We're getting engaged, Katsuki!"

"Yeah, we are." He smiled. 

"Are you crying?" You asked, noticing his eyes go glossy. 

"Shut up, I'm not!" He exclaimed, looking away from you with a sniffle. You giggled and hugged him tight, mushing your cheek on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his nose in your hair. You could feel your neck get wet, but you made a point not to mention it, letting him hold you for as long as he wanted instead. 

You were finally his. 

Roughly a year later, you sat on the bed of your and Katsuki's shared tent, thinking back on the day's events. You guys had gotten married just this morning. You toyed with the necklace around your neck, the one he'd given you a few hours ago after he said his oaths. You laughed to yourself, thinking of how he almost cried again when he lifted the veil from your head. You looked to your side when he sat beside you. 

"Ya good?" He asked. You nodded, and he took your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist. 

"I'm just so happy, Katsuki."

He shifted closer and cradled your face gently. "Yeah? I'm happy, too." He tucked some hair behind your ear and rested his forehead against yours, "I'll be happy for as long as you're here with me."

You couldn't help but smile when he brushed his lips with yours, "Me too, Katsuki."

[strawhbrrries]

domestic frank seeing his girl after she’s just come back from a girls night out and she’s a little tipsy and giggly rambling about how much she loves him and how happy she is with him whilst he’s trying to help her get ready for bed :’)

screaming and crying and throwing up, im so glad someone else had these thoughts <3 lots of sweet frankie under the cut!!!!

You weren’t sure who called him or when he showed up, but god he smelled good. He big, strong arms supporting about ninety percent of your weight as he walked the two of you from the car and into the house.

“Frankie!! You smell so good.” Your words were soon followed by a hiccup and some other things neither of you could quite understand.

“C’mon baby, in the house.” Is all he responded, lifting you up the stairs of the porch and avoiding any falling that may have occurred if he let you climb them yourself.

He took your purse and any other accessory he could find and set it on the kitchen counter, grabbing a glass of water and a small snack to help counter, what he was sure was, an empty stomach.

“Missed you so much.” You slurred, clumsily taking off your shoes and smiling up at him proudly when you didn’t fall in the process.

“I missed you too, come drink this water for me, okay?” Frank motioned for you to come over, the space between you and the island counter wasn’t that far so he trusted you enough to make it over there.

“M’kay.”

He stood there and watched you drink the entire glass and eat the entire snack he set out, making sure you swallowed it all and didn’t choke, he felt like a father. He loved you too much to risk you choking on a fucking cracker because you forgot how to swallow, in your inebriated state.

When he had gotten the phone call from you about how much you loved him and how glad you were to have him, he knew it was time to pick you up. He knew how much you loved girls night but at some point, your old man, had enough and wanted you back.

“Let’s go get changed for bed, you need to take your meds too.” He grabbed your hand softly and led you to the bedroom, yet again supporting most of your weight but he didn’t mind.

“Can we have sex?” You blurted out, slapping your hand over your mouth and bursting into a fit of giggles. “That was supposed to stay in my head.”

He smiled softly at you and sat you down on the bed, placing a kiss on your forehead before changing you into your pajamas for the night. He disappears momentarily before coming back with a paper cup of water and your nightly meds, taking the cup away once you had taken the meds.

“C’mere funny girl, let’s rest.” He climbed into the bed and pulled you into his chest, rubbing your arm softly as a way to coax you into sleeping.

[miley1442111]

stalker- s.reid

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: spencer saves you.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: general criminal minds topics, gore and brief descriptions of harm, mutual pining, heavy topics, stalking, reader if from Texas

Spencer sat at his desk, a less than pleasant expression on his face. His glasses had slid down his nose, his usually perfectly gelled hair was messy, and a frown played at his lips. 

“If you stare any longer you’re going to end up with your face stuck like that,” Jj joked as she placed herself in his eyeline. Spencer’s frown deepened and Jj chuckled. “Come on, we have a case.”

Spencer got up, falling into stride with you as you left your desk, hanging up the phone.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked, trying to make small talk. You were new to the team, an old contractor Strauss had hand-picked, you were smart (smarter than him), beautiful, and you were so polite and dutiful that Spencer couldn’t tell if you were actually his friend. You just had an air of coolness that seemed so unreachable for Spencer. You and Derek had worked together in Chicago, you two made sense as friends, Penelope, Emily, Jj, and you all got along well, that made sense. David and you had a shared love of cooking, something SPencer couldn’t even begin to understand. You even made Aaron laugh on the worst of days with some witty comment or sarcastic joke. 

Had Derek just asked you to befriend Spencer for the team's sake? Why would you be interested in him? It made no sense.

You smiled. “My friend from home.”

“Where are you from?” He asked as you two sat in the conference room, Aaron shot you two a look that Spencer clearly didn’t see so you didn’t answer. 

“Tell you later,” you whispered as the briefing began. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking into the sweltering heat of Texas from the lovely air-conditioned plane was quite the shock to the body. 

“Fuck it’s hot,” you sighed, pulling off your hoodie to reveal a tight black top beneath. Yes, it was work-appropriate and completely within regulations, but Spencer’s eyes all but popped out of his head like he was in one of those cartoons. 

“You’re drooling,” Derek joked from beside him, pretending to wipe his chin. Spencer pushed his hands away with a shy smile, trying to recover from his embarrassing moment. 

“Ok, Spencer and Derek you two go to the latest crime scene, Y/n, Jj and I will go to the precinct, David and Emily you two will go talk to the deceased family,” Aaron gave out jobs. “Oh and Y/n, I want you with someone at all times, this unSub is going after women with your exact description and our team is a definite hit for him. He’s made contact with the police asking specifically for you and me,” Aaron explained. 

You all dispersed into your separate cars and began working the case. The precinct was full of slimy cops who all promised to ‘protect you’, just not from themselves.

“We want you to wear this,” Jj handed you a bulletproof vest and you rolled your eyes. 

“Seriously? I’m not a porcelain doll, I can handle myself-” You tried to reason with them but the look on Aaron’s face made you stop. He, himself, was wearing one too. “Fine.”

“Good,” Jj smiled. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer was worrying himself sick at the crime scene, rambling about all the ways the unSub could get to you and how you shouldn’t even be in the state.

“Spencer!” Derek exclaimed. “Go to your girlfriend, send Jj back after you. You’re no help when you’re like this.”

Spencer didn’t take kindly to the small jest, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed the keys and drove down to the precinct, finding Jj immediately and making up a poorly executed lie about feeling sick. She saw right through him.

“Hope you feel better Spence,” she smirked. “Y/n is with Hotch interviewing a suspect here,” she pointed it out on a map. “See you later.”

After grabbing the keys to Emily and David’s vehicle (they’d just come back from the crime scene) and driving there, anxiety ran through him as he found the door to the farmhouse open. He turned the corner, finding three figures. One was on the floor, shouting in agony, the other was standing, hands above their head. The third was holding a gun.

He turned back, dialling Derek’s number. 

“We need back-up, we’re at 34 Terrace Avenue! Agent down!” He spoke quietly into his phone. 

“We’re on the way kid, don’t go in without back-up,” Derek told him. Spencer didn’t respond. “Spencer?”

“She’s dying,” he reasoned and hung up, walking in. “FBI! Put your weapons down!” 

The unSub, Mitchell O’Hara had been obsessed with you since high school, you’d rejected him in senior year when he’d asked you to the prom since you already had plans with friends. All over the farmhouse, there were photos of you from every stage of your life. Childhood to teenage years, to college years, to your various positions before joining the BAU just a few months ago, including your CIA and covert Ops positions. 

Spencer could see you on the ground, multiple knife wounds in your exposed torso, he’d made you take off your vest, Spencer thought. You groaned in pain on the floor. “Spencer?” You asked hazily. Spencer kept his gun trained on Mitchell. 

“Yeah?” He was stalling, waiting for Aaron to get his own gun or for back-up to arrive. 

“Good,” you were slipping out of consciousness. “I’ve always liked you,” you smiled hazily. Spencer would be elated at those words if the circumstances were different. 

“This is your dream guy Y/n?!” Mitchell shouted. “Him?!” 

“He’s nice,” you managed. “He’s funny.”

“I’m nice! I’m funny!” Mitchell screamed. 

“You’re not Spencer,” you mumbled as everything went dark. 

SWAT suddenly filled the room and Spencer ran to you, trying to stop the bleeding. Thank god Derek had ordered for an ambulance to follow them to the scene.

As Aaron cuffed Mitchell, Spencer went with you in the ambulance. He watched as they attempted to treat your wounds, needing to cut open your shirt. Spencer was shocked to find what looked like 50 different scars. Some from bullets, others knives, others things he couldn’t name. He knew you’d been in the CIA and on a Cover Ops team, he never thought you would’ve been hurt this many times and still have the strength to go on. The ambulance pulled up to the hospital and you were brought straight into emergency surgery. 

He waited for hours there just pacing, nervously biting at his nails, or attempting to sit there as no one told him a thing. He lied, saying he was your boyfriend. Technically it wasn’t a lie, you liked him, he liked you. He just hadn’t asked. 

“Dr. Reid?” A nurse called out. He stood immediately. “She’s stable and should be waking up soon, you can see her.”

Spencer nodded a ‘thanks’ her way and entered your hospital room. 

You were alive. You were here. You were awake. 

You smiled at him. “Hey.”

Your voice was hoarse, tired from the shouting you’d done. 

“Hi.”

“Thanks for saving me Spencer,” you smiled. “And about what I said… if you don’t feel the same I’d totally get it. I just thought I was… y’know dying so…”

Spencer shook his head and smiled. “I like you a lot too.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He leaned down, a sudden surge of confidence ran through him and he kissed you softly.

“I’m from Texas by the way,” you smiled against his lips. 

“I actually guessed that, yeah,” he joked, making you laugh. God, he loved your laugh. 

He loved you. He just wouldn’t tell you that yet.

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

[stormsandfoes]

Thomas Hewitt/ Reader

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱? 𝔑𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔯?

Written in third-person limited POV, focusing on Thomas. Content tags: Neurodivergence, Cannibalism, mentions of rape, Canon typical violence, self harm, Mommy issues, child abuse (mentioned), good vs. evil with nothing in between, religious trauma. Author notes: I honestly intended this to be short and to the point- but here we are. I read a lot of Thomas/Reader stories where Thomas is portrayed as neurotypical and I don't know why it bothers me so much- it's just fanfiction after all, but I wanted to write a short "love" story where Thomas is violent and scared and lonely. He's nonverbal, he's mentally disturbed but not 'slow'. His world is very black and white and full of violence, so that got me wondering- what would love look like for him? What would happen if this man, who has only ever known darkness, met someone who was nice to him? Fair warning, lots of rambling ahead. I also just want to say that I am Autistic and that influenced a lot of this story- from the way that I write, to how I portray characters, to certain interactions. So if anything seems weird to you, I apologize- my mind works in weird ways. If I need to clarify anything, just shoot me a message. I would love to talk about the writing process and why I included certain things. Important: This is about 15k words and NOT even half of it. I had to cut it into pieces, will update the rest in another post.

Thomas brings the axe above his head, his breath ragged as he swings it down and cuts the piece of firewood in half with a low grunt. He’s hot, even though it’s the middle of winter- the weather low even with the sun that hid behind the clouds- and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably, the sweat doing nothing to cool him down.

He lodges the axe into the tree stump, grabbing the two pieces of wood and throwing them in the wheelbarrow before he wipes his forehead with dirt covered hands. It was the last chore of the day, and he was tired and sore- a tightness in his shoulders that seemed to spread all the way down to lower back and made him want to get in bed. His mask is damp and tight against his face, the skin underneath irritated. He wants to go inside and change, the thought of taking a shower was frustrating but he knew that he needed one. He could smell himself- bitter with sweat and the slightly suffocating scent that seemed to stick to chickens now clinging to him from when he had cleaned out the chicken coop. His nails were lined with dirt- hands and arms caked in grime. It made him feel heavy and slow.

Uncle Hoyt would drag him to the back and hose him off if he saw him, and he hated that more than he hated cleaning himself off- the feeling of water on his skin something he had never got around to liking. He could handle other things- blood never seemed to churn his stomach, or when Momma or Uncle Hoyt used to ask him to go clean out the pig pen- back when they could afford to have pigs, they were empty now, the whole farm seemed to get emptier and emptier as the months passed- he hadn’t thought that shoveling pig shit into a bucket was all that bad. But he had trouble smelling sometimes, especially with the leather pressed so tight against the place his nose had once been.

He takes the handles of the wheelbarrow, filled with enough dried out wood for the weekend- maybe Monday, if the weather stayed where it was at- and began to haul it towards the house. Momma would need some in the kitchen, to boil water and heat the ovens for Supper when she got back from town. He’d have to check the fireplace on the main floor- sometimes even on the coldest days of winter that room stayed warm enough that if they were to turn on the fireplace it’d be too uncomfortable to sit in. He would wait until Uncle Monty asked for more- he didn’t like it when any of them made decisions for him, more so now that he was stuck in that wheelchair.

There were no fireplaces upstairs, just piles of blankets to layer and hope they did enough to keep them warm. Sometimes it would be enough for him, but there were nights that even with two or three of the ones Momma sewed together for him; he would still lay awake, teeth chattering from the cold. It’s why he hated the cold- he could manage the heat, but winter was unpredictable even in the deep south of Texas.

Uncle Monty is in the living room, asleep in his chair as the TV keeps playing, almost as loud as his snoring. He walks past him, noticing the almost empty fireplace. His footsteps are heavy and loud from the metal on his shoes as he carries an armful of wood into the kitchen. He sets it down on the dining table, right on the white plastic cloth momma had set out before she had left, dirt falls onto the floor and he makes a low, grumbling noise of frustration, hoping that she didn’t see it when she got home.

He had forgotten the plastic mat last time and gotten her favorite tablecloth dirty -the mud staining the light blue cotton forever. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal, Momma had once told him that life was messy, that’s how one knew that they were living it, but she had been so angry at him then- sending him out with the bucket and soap, shouting about the mud he had tracked inside their house. Supper had come late that night- Hoyt growing angry at him. He liked it when it was ready and waiting for him when he got home- shouting at momma that working men weren’t supposed to wait for food.

He had gotten into an argument with him that night- he didn’t like it when people were mean to momma. Uncle Hoyt had called him a bad name- making his blood boil.

He didn’t want that to happen again. He didn’t like how badly he had wanted to hurt Uncle Hoyt at that moment. Momma said that family fought all the time, but he had to be careful not to do anything that he would regret. Maybe he would regret it when his blood stained his clothes, but part of him wasn’t so sure. He liked him better when he was Uncle Charlie. Uncle Hoyt reminded him of the bad men.

He tries not to think about it anymore when he heads back outside to grab a few more pieces of wood for the living room. He didn’t like thinking back on the things that made him angry, sometimes he couldn’t come back from them, and he’d end up doing something bad.

By the time he’s pushing past the double front doors, Momma’s car is pulling into the dirt path off to the side of the house. It’s an old one- rusting from the heat of too many summers, but momma didn’t mind it.

 The car comes to a stop as he picks up another armful of wood and takes it inside.

Ever since Hoyt became Sheriff of the town, things had gotten better for them. There were never days where they went to bed hungry, the meat freezer down in the basement always seemed to have enough for them. If it ever ran low, a Hoyt always seemed to find a way to get it restocked. Momma had taken over the shop in town after the owner had passed away and Hoyt made sure that his son- one of the bad men- went right along with him. He had filled the bellies of those who still stayed in town, too hungry to care enough to question them. Sometimes she brought back what didn’t sell that day and they’d have themselves a little feast. There were days Uncle Hoyt brought a guest with him- always a woman-, other times he’d ask momma to bring his food up to his room- the muffled screaming drowned out by Monty’s TV show.

He liked to stay in the basement on those days. It was harder to hear the pleading and begging as Hoyt played too rough with them. He would always get stuck with getting rid of them afterwards and he was starting to dislike the chore.

By the time he finishes stacking the wood, Momma is calling out for him, the front door swinging open. He freezes- his shoulders squaring and his breath suddenly heavy as he looks up at the hall, hidden between a wall and the fireplace. There was someone with Momma. He could hear the footsteps- Momma walked with a purpose, heavy and loud like him. She said that she did it so God would hear her better, but he wasn’t so sure that God was with them anymore. The ones that came after her were lighter, nervous.

He didn’t like guests. Didn’t like that Momma and uncle Hoyt had developed a habit of taking in strays that would just end up in the basement with him later. They would scream when they saw him- call him those names that made the anger come. Some of them liked to hurt him, momma taking him to the bathroom afterwards and stitching him up.

“You’re going to love my Tommy. He’s a little bit shy but he’s got the sweetest heart.” Momma says and he hears the other person laugh. It’s a soft noise- gentle in a way that manages to make his heart race faster as he tries to crawl deeper into the tiny space. “He’s here around somewhere… but let’s get you set up in your room then you can come down and help me with supper, okay?”

Another laugh, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want Momma to find him, he was already so tired.

“Of course,” the stranger says, and she- the thought of a woman in the house irritates him- doesn’t talk like Momma or Hoyt or Monty. Her voice is quiet, it doesn’t drawl out. He’s heard it before- she must be from out of town. “I would love to!”

For a moment, he feels bad for the woman as he hears them go up the stairs. He always feels bad for them at first. Momma said that his heart was too kind. Hoyt called him a pansy boy, in need of toughening up. He doesn’t know why he feels bad, the guests were never good people- he’d always come to learn that, but it never seems to do anything to make the twitch of guilt go away from his heart. The steps grow quieter the farther up they go- until he hears Momma’s muffled voice and then her footsteps coming back down.

She spots him, curled into himself in that tiny, dark space and she sucks her teeth, shaking her head. “Thomas Hewitt, what in the lords name are you doing there?”

He feels embarrassed all of a sudden, getting caught like this. He makes a low noise in his chest, pointing to the firewood.

“Come on and get on out of there if you’re done then, we’ve got company.” She comes down the rest of the steps and makes her way towards him. When she holds out her hand he takes it, a comfort that has his heart slowing down.

 “I need you to go and grab the rest of her stuff from the car- poor girl don’t got no power in her home.” She says with a shake of her head as she pulls and helps him to his feet. “She’ll be staying with us until her electricity gets put back up.”

He shakes his head, this time the noise he makes is in protest, a deep groan of anger. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want her in his house.

Momma frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now listen here Thomas, not everyone is as lucky as we are. Sometimes we have to help those in need.”

He wants to believe her- Momma wasn’t one for lying, after all- but this isn’t anything new. He knew how this would end; with the woman in their bellies and her screams in his head, keeping him awake at night. She would make a mistake and then she’d end up in the basement, begging for her life.

It was like Momma had set her up to fail, like a game that promised a prize that would never come, and Thomas didn’t want to play. Not this time. He shakes his head again, his way of telling her no.

Momma and Uncle Hoyt have a lot in common, no matter how sweet and gentle Momma tried to be, her anger was almost as bad as his. He doesn’t like it when she gets angry at him- everyone was always angry at him- and he can see it in her eyes, making him bend his chin against his chest as he let out a whine, glancing down at the ground. She never hit him, but she would ignore him and that hurt a lot more.

“Then you go on upstairs and tell the poor girl that she’s got to leave. I won’t be the one to break the bad news.” Momma huffs, stomping over to the kitchen. “Tell her you would rather see her freeze than offer a small kindness.”

There it is, that harshness in her voice that makes him tremble, his heart picking up its pace until he feels like he can’t breathe. He shakes his head again, digging his fingers into his arm. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the woman. Didn’t want to be forced to deal with her later but if this is what Momma wanted, then he would do it. He would make her happy.

He lets out another noise, smaller this time and turns towards the door. Part of him is angry- angry that he wasn’t allowed to be angry without being punished. Angry that sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t allowed to have a say when it came to things. He felt as if momma sometimes liked to hurt him on purpose- pushing and pushing until he snapped.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels the guilt settle in his stomach, hot and suffocating. Momma wasn’t like the bad people. She wouldn’t hurt him. Sometimes he just made her so angry- he knew that. He knew that he was difficult and stubborn and sometimes she got tired of dealing with him.

It wouldn’t be long before the woman disappeared anyways- Hoyt will see her at supper and he’d take her upstairs. The screaming will start, and everyone will act like they couldn’t hear it; Momma would knit, and Monty would turn the volume on the TV up until it was too much. He’d end up sleeping in the basement again, picking at his skin until it was raw and bleeding- the crying twisting his stomach and threatening to swallow him whole.

He just had to wait until then. He would be good until then.

The trunk of the car was left open for him, and he finds the woman’s things waiting for him. It’s not much- a simple backpack, filled with so many things that it ballooned uncomfortably. He grabs it, grunting at the fact that it was heavier than he thought, and slams the trunk close. The car shakes and squeaks at his aggression as he carries the bag inside. He doesn’t like the fact that he’s touching the stranger’s things.

He’s dirty- his fingers staining the bag- but he’s also dirty inside. Rotten from the anger, the bad he’s done. The bad he was going to do. He can feel himself soiling the items inside- turning them just as dirty as him as he walks into the kitchen and sets the bag down on the floor. Momma had taken the firewood he had left and put away the mat. He could feel the warmth of the fire even from where he stood across the oven- filling the room with the scent of smoke. He grunts, wanting Momma to turn around and see that he had done what she asked. He wanted her to smile at him- to ease the way his heart still hammered in frustration.

She turns, but the softness in her eyes isn’t directed at him- she barely looks at him and his heart sinks further down into his stomach, tension building in the back of his neck. He can hear her footsteps now- the creaking of the staircase as she came downstairs. He’s standing in front of a wall, the staircase on the other side. For now, he was hidden- but it wouldn’t be long until she stepped into the kitchen, and he couldn’t hide anymore.

“We’re in here dear,” Momma calls out to her. “Tommy here’s got your bag for you.”

He sees her for the first time out of the corner of his eye- spotting her before she spots him, her eyes on Momma. She’s short- shorter than momma by a bit, and clean and well dressed. Her sweater is thick and colorful, the cuffs of her sleeves neatly folded against her wrists. Something there catches the soft yellow light of the kitchen- a thin golden bracelet halfway hidden beneath the fabric. Her jeans look like they’ve been around for a long time- a different shade of fabric stitched into one of the knees. Her boots are old and worn out, reminding him of his own.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this feeling that runs through him as he inspects her.

“I really like your house!” she says- voice light and full of excitement that made his mood worsen. “Its-” whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as she turns her head to the left and spots him for the first time.

He doesn’t let her look at his face- turning his head to the side as he folds into himself, chin against chest. He doesn’t like this- doesn’t like that she stares at him without saying anything. He can feel her eyes on him- inspecting him- an animal on display. His chest rises and falls painfully, his breathing hard and loud in the silence. He can feel his hands twitch- his thumb nail grazing along the length of his finger.

“This is my son,” Momma’s voice is tight as she talks. “Tommy this here is our guest. Don’t you want to say hello?”

He shakes his head, his hands trembling. Something wet lands inside the sink and he startles. He hears Momma suck her teeth and he can see her in his mind- shaking her head like she does whenever he does something she doesn’t like.

He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like that Momma is getting mad at him, that the woman still stands there, watching him tremble in fear. He could already hear it- her laughing as she called him an idiot. They always called him something. They always laughed at him.

“It’s okay,” her voice shakes a bit as she breaks the silence, and she coughs and clears her voice. “I, um, I’m a little shy myself so I know how hard it can be sometimes.” She speaks slowly, her voice almost a low whisper. She tells him her name. Tells him that it’s nice to meet him.

He doesn’t say anything- not that he can, he’s never spoken a single word- but he nods his head, his eyes quickly glancing over at her. She’s still looking at him and his heart almost beats through his ribs. He expects her to be looking at him like they always look at him- filled with disgust and hatred, looking for any excuse to leave, to get as far away as possible from him- but he doesn’t find that in her face.

He finds her mouth twisted downwards and her eyebrows pushed together just a tiny little bit, her eyes gentle and wide. She looked at him as if he was a dog out by the side of the road on a hot summer afternoon refusing help and she had been chasing him with a bowl of water.

She looks at him like there was nothing scary about him. Like he was a man, dirty from a long day at work and not a freak- poor and disfigured- a monster. He had never seen that look from anyone who didn’t live in this house, and it scared him. It terrified him that someone would decide to look at him like that.

But as soon as he met her eyes she looked away, towards Momma- a smile in her voice.

“What are we making for dinner?” she asks, stepping farther into the kitchen and pushing her sleeves up towards her elbows- ready for whatever Momma tells her to do.

The tension disappears just like that, Momma laughing lightly as she places her hand on the woman’s back and pulls her close. “You’re such a darling, helping me out like this. How about you start getting out the pots and pans? They’re over there by the pantry.” She pointed to the cupboards by the fridge and the woman nodded and went straight towards them.

With her back to them- Momma turned and looked at him finally. He could still feel his heart hammering away at his chest, but this was more manageable. He was still waiting for the names to come, for the screaming and the disgust to appear in her eyes. Sometimes when Momma was around people hid it a bit better, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long until they couldn’t hide it anymore.

He expects Momma to still be mad at him- blue eyes dark with anger- but instead she sighs and puts her hand on his shoulder, a silent apology that has his muscles relaxing. The woman pays them no mind- bending down to inspect the cupboard down there.

“Go on and take her bag up to her room and get yourself cleaned up, okay?” She tugs on the collar of his shirt before fixing his hair out of his face. It’s damp from his sweat, but she doesn’t flinch. “She’s a good girl- try to handle her with care, alright?” Her voice is a low whisper- something the woman wasn’t supposed to hear. It unsettles him as he nods along with Momma- not quite understanding what she meant. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to nod along with her or shake his head, but Momma doesn't wait for an answer, patting him on the cheek before she turns her head and calls out to the woman.

“Honey, Tommy is going to take your bag up to your room- is that alright?”

The woman rises from the ground, two pots neatly stacked in each other in her hands. “Yes,” she says softly- her eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Tommy.”

She smiles at him shyly and his heart begins to hammer against his ribs again. He feels his skin begin to burn- his flesh raw and exposed to her. Even underneath his mask he can feel himself heating up as he looks away, scrambling to grab the bag.

He needed to get away from her- from Momma and her words that he couldn’t understand. He felt like he couldn’t breathe with her here. He stumbles up the steps- feet so heavy against the wood that he swears he can feel the house tremble underneath him.

Momma gave her the room across his- the empty one where she liked to keep the extra bed sheets and towels. But it’s cleaner now as he turns the knob and goes inside, the curtains pulled open to let in the bit of light that still shone from outside- the sun close to setting. The piles of blankets that were on the bed are gone- the sheets neatly tucked into the space between the mattress and the boxspring. There’s a jacket thrown on top- red and faded, the cuffs ripped up on one arm.

He sits the bag right next to it- on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. It topples over and he lets out a grunt- fixing it so it sat upright again. He decided that he would stay up here until Momma called him for supper. He wouldn’t go down to the basement while the woman was here- he was worried that she would be stupid enough to follow him down there. That would be the end of her. Blood and flesh and sinew torn from her bones for them to feast on.

He’s careful when he’s leaving the room- closing the door gently so that it doesn’t slam before he hurries off into his own- locking the door behind himself.

Here it’s dark, his windows covered in greased up newspapers. He didn’t like it when it got too bright- when the sun shone through and reminded him of the mess around him. His room is small and cramped and full of things that he had hauled up from the furnace room so that he wasn’t stuck going up and down all the time. Uncle Monty said that he sounded like a ‘goddamned bulldozer,’ stomping around the house when he was trying to sleep. So, it was better this way- even though sometimes he got irritated that there were too many things. But it meant not being bothersome, so he tried not to mind much.

He checks the door again- making sure that he had really locked it, pulling and twisting at the doorknob just to be safe. He knew that no one would come up here and go into his room- Monty was stuck on the first floor, Momma was with the girl in the kitchen preparing supper and Uncle Hoyt wasn’t home yet. But he was always a little paranoid, just the tiniest bit afraid that someone would knock down his door and see everything about him that he had tried so hard to hide. Not even Momma was allowed in here. This was his- the only place where he could hide from everyone, where he didn’t have to worry about anyone disturbing him.

He takes his mask off and it’s not quite the relief he was expecting- the leather inside has gone stiff, his face raw and tender and aching from all the sweat and dirt that had managed to get in. He can feel it as he runs his fingers across his face, a cut on the corner of his lips that wasn’t there last time. It blends into the sores and scarred tissue already there, his skin long ruined. It shouldn’t bother him- but as he opens his mouth and feels the skin stretch and crack, a drop of blood welling up and rolling down his chin- he gets upset, grunting in frustration. He had wanted to clean the mask and add some petroleum to try and soften it up so it wouldn’t bite at his skin anymore- pinching and scratching and making the pain worse. It would have been something to do, something to keep him busy and distracted until he had to face the inevitable, but now it was something that he no longer wanted to do. Why would he? What would it change?

It was never this bad- but ever since his nose began to fall away, it only ever seemed to get worse- no matter what he did or how hard he pleaded for it to just stop and go away- nothing ever changed. There was no one there to listen to his pleas.

With a low groan of frustration, he tears his hand from his face, wiping the blood on the front of his shirt. He hates himself. Hates everything about himself. Momma liked to say that the bad people were liars, that people who were hurting only ever knew how to hurt others- but he knew that wasn’t true. He was a monster. He saw it, looking back at him in the mirror- wild and ugly and evil, everything that he did not want to be. He hated taking his mask off- hated knowing that the man that existed underneath it was the same man that he was trying to escape from.

Coming here was a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs, should have gone out back to the barn- there he would have found something, anything, to do.

He takes a breath like Momma showed him, trying to push the anger away- down, down, down, until he couldn’t feel it slithering through his veins and pounding in the back of his head. He just had to focus on something else-he liked it when he had chores, things to do that kept him busy and away from the bad thoughts. He takes another deep breath through his mouth- dirt and salt on his lips as he picks up the mask and tries to clean it off on his clothing. It does nothing but lift the dust off into the air as he places it on his face, tightening it too much across his head, leather digging into tender skin. He would take a bath, change his clothes, then sit in bed and wait. Uncle Hoyt would come an hour after the sun disappeared and then he would have to go downstairs. He didn’t want to go downstairs.

He didn’t want to feel the bad feelings anymore. The fear, the anger. The woman would look at him and his throat would tighten, and his heart would beat painfully. He hadn’t liked that feeling- trapped in his own skin, unable to get away. Yet at the same time, he wanted her to look at him. No one ever looked at him.

He could still feel her eyes- soft and warm on his skin, simultaneously calming and worsening his anger. He was half embarrassed- covered in dirt and sweat stains, his clothing old and faded- Did she think that he was disgusting? He was always messy in everything that he did- always having to teach himself how to do things. Filth had never been a stranger. Had never bothered him. But he finds himself wanting to wash the grime and sweat from himself- even if he was just going to put the same clothes back on.

His stomach growls, empty and needy as he unlocks the door and roughly pushes it open- he finds the woman outside of it.

The door swings open, the gust of wind pushing her hair around as the door barely manages to miss her. She’s looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open- her arms up by her chest. It scares him, seeing her there and he makes a messy, garbled noise of surprise.

“Sorry!” she speaks fast, her words all pushed together. “I was just trying to find the bathroom!”

He feels his heart beating in his throat, muscles tense and solid as he stares down at her. She’s so much shorter than he thought- he could reach out and crush her throat in his hand and it wouldn’t take much force to do so. He’s almost tempted to, his fingers twitching at his sides. Momma would get mad at him when he dragged her body downstairs- but she would forget eventually.

“I’m in your way- I,” she takes a step back, her eyes finally releasing his. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

He grunts. Low and short- his way of telling her to stop talking. Nothing she says is making any sense to him and the sound of her voice makes his heart hammer at his chest. Thunderous and loud and painful. It scares him how easily she does that to him. Such a small thing like her, carelessly walking into a house where God was nowhere to be found without a single ounce of caution. He could take her to his room, and no one would hear her scream. He could scare her more than she scared him.

She squirms in the silence like a rat stuck in a trap. She tugs at her sleeve, at her collar- his breathing loud as he watches her- watches her chest rise and fall with every breath, her eyes on the space between them.

 Another grunt and she startles backwards, looking up at him. This time, when her eyes meet his own, he doesn’t cower even though his body tenses and he can already feel her pulse beneath his hand.

 His body is stiff as he steps out of his room and moves out of the way of the door- he has to turn his back to her and for a split-second, panic runs cold and fast through his veins as he remembers the woman who had stabbed him. The door slams close as he turns around quickly, eyes wide and wild as he looks down at her hands.

He expects to see a knife pointed at him- the scar on his shoulder aching from the memory of being sliced apart, the pain still there even after all the months that have passed since. He hadn’t done anything to deserve that pain- the woman and her friends had attacked first, had tried to hurt his family. Uncle Hoyt had told him, so had Momma with tears in her eyes and blood splatters on her dress. They were bad people who wanted to do bad things to them, and it was his responsibility to protect them- to keep them safe. It hadn’t mattered that his hands shook so hard with fear, and he could taste vomit at the back of his throat, vile and burning, he had to protect them. They were all that he had. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- lose them.

He was panting as he searched the woman and finds nothing in her hands, her eyes widening as she takes another step away from him.

 Was she scared?

Did she finally see it? The evil that radiated off of him that others seemed to see- always scared of getting too close to him- He was a disease on this town. A burden. Did he finally scare her?

Would she scream?

Was she going to hurt him- just like everyone else? Drive a knife into his flesh- a pain that would only last for so long before it faded into a memory that he refused to think of. A pain that wouldn’t be so bad compared to the shame that churned his stomach whenever a stranger screamed when they saw him.

He waited- teeth clamped together as he stared her down in the heavy silence.

He watched as her lips part, lower lip trembling slightly. If she screamed, he would hurt her before she could hurt him. If she screamed, she would be nothing but a pile of bones, tossed into the fire by the time the sun rose tomorrow.

Scream, he thought, fingers twitching at his sides. Scream already and let this end already.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” she whispers and her voice trembles even as she keeps talking. “I can tell- you’re looking at me like I just pulled out a gun on you or something.” She lifts her hands towards him and moves them back and forth, as if she was showing him that he had nothing to worry about. “But my hands are empty-”

She lifts her hands, palms facing him, and wiggles her fingers. “If it makes you feel better, apart from a kitchen knife I don’t think I’ve ever held a weapon.” She smiles oddly at him- as if she wasn’t sure how to do so, her eyes still wide and unblinking. As if she was worried that he would lunge at her at any second.

He doesn’t like how his body seems to let go of its worries and fears so fast, his shoulders drooping and his heartbeat slowing down until it’s no longer pounding against his ears as the ringing slowly starts to disappear. He unclenches his teeth, the pain still lingering in his jaw and neck, and suddenly, he’s no longer thinking of hurting the woman- of how easy he would have snapped her neck. He still could, part of him even ached and begged for him to do it. To get it over with.

But he doesn’t listen to that part of him that never truly seemed to go away- always begging for blood, for a voice that would finally be heard. He’s staring at her hands instead, focusing on the tips of her fingers that are flushed pink. He notices the birthmark on her left middle finger- a tiny dot right underneath the crease of her knuckle. He notices all the tiny little lines that make up her palms and the way her thumb trembles lightly.

He did not like her.

He did not like the way something as simple as her hands was enough to draw his attention- his eyes seeking out the tiny little patterns between her fingers. He did not like how her voice could soothe him so easily when he wanted nothing but to crush her- to take her, to taste her flesh on his tongue and her blood on his lips.

He did not like how she called out to him as he just stared at her- stared through her, voice gentle with his name. It wasn’t the same as when Momma said it though. This felt like a spell, a bad omen- Satan’s own voice whispering temptation in his ear. Sweet and gentle and unfamiliar.

She made him feel the same way he had felt that one night he had snuck upstairs to watch Uncle Hoyt and his new friend. He had pushed the door open just enough so that he could see but still stay hidden from the light. He hadn’t made a single noise as he watched Hoyt undo his pants and pull the woman’s legs apart. He hadn’t been able to see much from his hiding place, but what he heard had sent a shock of electricity through his body- blood boiling with need as he listened to the crying and the begging and the sound of something slick being hit over and over again. His stomach churned the same it had that night- tight and hot and restless for something that he could not give it.

He lets out a whine- deep and guttural and full of frustration. Go away, he wants to yell at her. Go away before you ruin everything.

“Tommy…?” she asks again, not understanding his plea.

He whines again and it takes him a second to realize that he’s scratching at his arm- digging his fingers into the old scars there and agitating the skin. It hurts. But that pain is familiar and calming and helps him focus on something other than the panic rising in his throat.

She was messing it all up.

 It’s supposed to just be the four of them- Momma, Hoyt, Monty and him. It’s always been just the four of them. There wasn’t enough space here for her. She was too much of a change to get used to- too loud, too much. Even if he went and hid in the basement until Momma got tired of her, he knew that he would still be able to feel her through the walls, a choking weight in the air that would only poison him until he forgot what it was like to be ignored and cautious even in his own home. He’d be able to hear her- hear her laugh, her steps, the tiny little noises she would come to make the more time went on. She would fill this house with her until she soaked the walls and filled in the foundation. Until everyone forgot that she had a stranger at one point- a spontaneous good dead in all the bad they dealt in.

And even then- what would stop Hoyt from taking her to the room where almost all of the women ended up in? From the emptiness of their bellies that might make them remember that she wasn’t one of them- that she was the answer to their starvation?

He's sinking his nails in harder- the thin skin underneath breaks and he itches at the spot as if there was something alive and buzzing under the flesh. He doesn’t feel the pain as the blood begins to gather underneath his dirty nails. He can see it, even in the dim light- but he can’t feel it. Can’t stop. He digs and digs and digs, hoping for the thoughts to stop- for the voices to stop telling him that he had to kill her. That if he didn’t, he had to make sure that she never left- that this house swallowed her whole and kept her from running, from leaving them. Leaving him. If she tried to run, he could keep her in the furnace room; could tie her up and warn her that if she wasn’t good, she wouldn’t be able to stay.

He could be good to her. He would learn if he had to, would ask Momma to teach him to be gentle and kind. He would not make her angry, would not make her cry or scare her away as long as she listened to him. As long as she stayed with him.

He’s lost, stuck in the farthest corner of his mind, in a future that would stop existing if he simply reached out and touched her. All he had to do was cover her face with his hand, she would be too surprised to fight him off when he pressed her against the wall and kept her there-the weight of him against her back. He could already feel her as she squirmed against him- her body unable to stand still as her lungs began to burn. He could already feel her warmth through his clothes, feel the way his heart would race as she sank her fingers into his skin, drawing blood from fear and desperation. His fear would seep into her flesh, make her lash out more. Her pain would become his and they would be inseparable in that moment.

 It’s when he feels her- fingers cold and desperate as she prods and pulls at his arms, forcing them apart that he returns to reality- to the dimly lit hall, the heat of the fireplace already seeping through the cracks in the foundation. He can feel the way her arms tremble, her fingertips burning holes into his skin.

The woman’s eyes are wild when he looks at her, all wet and round- something in them, in the way she looks at him, makes his heart fill with lead- knocking against his ribs painfully.

“It’s okay!” she says, her voice panicked as she keeps repeating it over and over again, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself- or maybe she thinks that if she says it enough times it’d become true.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she repeats, her eyes on his as she pulls his arms towards her. “We just have to get this cleaned up and it’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t budge when she tries to pull him towards the staircase- instead, he watches as she stumbles over her own feet, her hands sliding down his arms.

“We need to get this clean,” she’s pleading now, tugging at him to get him to move. “It’s going to get infected if we don’t and there’s no doctor in town anymore-” the more she talks, the more hysterical she begins to sound, her voice growing higher. “I don’t know where the bathroom is, but we can go down to the kitchen, Luda M-”

He doesn’t let her finish, easily pulling his uninjured arm free from her. He didn’t want Momma to know. To see the mess that he made of himself. She would yell at him if he was lucky- tell him that he was sick in the head, hurting himself like a damn fool again.  But he knew that Momma wouldn’t be kind like that- she would take one look at him, dripping blood on the floor and she would blame the woman for his pain.

He could already hear her yelling, the shrill sound bouncing through his head. Momma wouldn’t care to listen, to see anything other than what she wanted. Momma was like that- kind and sweet and quiet until someone was stupid enough to go after the family. He was like her in a way, protective of them all. He liked to think that he got it from her- that he couldn’t possibly be bad when Momma’s blood ran through him, sweet and caring.

He couldn’t let Momma find out. Not now- not when he had decided that the woman standing in front of him was worth more to him alive than chopped up into pieces that would fit into the deep freezer.

 With a grunt that shuts the woman up from her rambling, he grabs her arm. She’s soft and small under his touch- her sweater itching at his palm as he begins to pull her deeper into the hallway, into the darkness. Away from Momma. Away from a future he wanted no part in.

“No, Tommy we have to go downstairs. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice is shaky as she takes a couple steps forward before planting her feet and refusing to keep going. “Your mom might me better at this than me, please.” She pleads even as she begins to walk again when he refuses to stop.

He tries to tell her that Momma couldn’t find out. That if she did then he wouldn’t be able to protect her- to keep her safe. Momma would tell him to get rid of her and he always did what Momma wanted, even if sometimes he didn’t want to.

He loves Momma. Loves her more than Uncle Hoyt or Monty. He loves her more than anything or anyone- even himself. He could suffer through any pain as long as Momma was with him- as long as she was happy with him.

He tries to tell her that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but all his words come out as a garbled mess of a groan, the muscles in his throat too weak to form any actual words. It frustrates him- hearing himself talk in a way that no one would ever understand.

He lets out a low howl, that frustration growing when she stops walking again. He has to be careful not to hurt her- he didn’t want to accidentally pull her arm too hard if she was going to make this a habit. He just needed to get her to the bathroom. She had to wash off the blood on her hands before she went back downstairs. He could take care of his injuries himself- Momma had taught him how to clean and bandage cuts and bruises. Though he wasn’t concerned with the open wound dripping blood down his arm.

Right now, he needed to get the woman to understand that Momma couldn’t find out about this. That if she went down those steps, stained with his blood, then there was nothing he could do to keep Momma from lashing out. Facing her, he points to himself- finger beating against his chest twice before he points at her.

He’s watching her- his eyes on her as she watches him repeat the action two more times. Her face is flushed, her eyebrows pushed together, and he begins to worry that she’s not understanding him, that now that he’s let go of her, she was going to be stupid and try to push him back towards the stairs.

Letting out a small whimper, he grabs at her wrist. She’s pliant under his touch- her skin cool and soft. Touching her reminds him of the Cattle fences that were used back when the Slaughterhouse had been open. He had touched one by accident, not fully understanding why they had so many warnings signs- and just like back then, something hot and quick ran through him. Back then, the muscles in his fingers and arms had tensed and burned, taking away all his strength. But touching her, feeling the way his scarred thumb slid against the thin skin on her wrist- felt like a shockwave of warmth had run through him- intense and disorienting and addictive.

It scared him, but he didn’t let go of her even though his brain was yelling at him to stop touching her. He couldn’t. He had to keep her safe. Slowly, he began to raise her hand towards him, his mouth opening as he made a noise from the bottom of his throat.

He looked at her face as he pressed the back of her hand against his chest. She was already staring at him, her lips twisted into a frown. He couldn’t look into her eyes for too long, something in him ached when he did, so he kept his eyes on her mouth as he tapped her hand against his chest. That same warmth that was spreading through his arm poisoned his chest. He could feel it in his throat, in the depth of his belly- It knocked around in his head until he was dizzy.

For a moment, with her hand on him and his eyes still glued to her lips, he forgets about the bad people who called him all those bad words. He forgets all of the evil that he’s done, all the screams that haunt him, all the blood that he can never wash off.

He finds the confidence to raise his eyes to her own and part of him is scared that in them he would find disgust at having to touch something like him. A smaller, quieter, part wonders if she feels it too- the electricity that flows out of her and through him. He wants her to tell him that she feels him in her- that he’s also warm and electric through her veins. He wants her to tell him that a real monster wouldn’t feel the way he did- that if he really was a monster, the softness in her eyes wouldn’t be affecting him so much.

Dropping his eyes, he taps his chest with her hand twice before pointing it towards him. He does it one more time before he lets go of her. He expects her to pull her hand away, but instead she lets it linger on his shirt, the dirt and stains not bothering her. He wonders if she can feel the way his heart knocks against his ribs.

“You want me to follow you?” her voice cracks a bit as she takes her hand away.

He nods, grunting as he motions to a door off to the side behind him before he lifts his bloodied arm and runs his hand over the scratches- they’ve stopped bleeding already, his arm a mess of blood stains and dirt. Pointing behind here, towards the staircase he shakes his head, bringing his hand back towards his arm and covering the mess he made.

She doesn’t say anything as she tries to piece everything together- her face twisting into itself as she thinks. He repeats the movement, groaning when he points at the staircase and once more when he covers the cuts. ‘Not safe,’ he tries to tell her, ‘Take care of it here.’

Realization makes her eyes brighten, her features smoothing out. “You don’t want Luda Mae to find out?”

It’s not exactly what he was trying to say but he lets it be, seeing as it was close enough. She could have thought that he wanted her to go down and grab Momma- and he was worried that with how small she was she would take off running before he could stop her. In trying to help she would run straight into her end.

The thought made his stomach drop- a sudden chill rocking through him.

“Tommy- I don’t know if I can do anything about that…” she pauses, and he watches as she reaches for him, taking his arm in both of her hands. Her touch burns him again, and this time he can’t stop the small whine of delight from escaping his lips. Her mouth twists down as she inspects his arm- and he tenses, waiting for her to start yelling at him, for the bad names to come. But they don’t- she stays silent, her eyes glued to his arm.

The damage isn’t bad- compared to the collection of scars that line both of his arms, this was nothing. He had scratched a small hole in his forearm- breaking the skin and tearing apart the bit of muscle and fat there. He was lucky that he hadn’t hit anything vital- that he had stopped when he did.

When he was younger, he had taken to cutting- tearing flesh from his body and slicing himself open as a punishment for his mistakes, for his bad thoughts. He had done a good job of keeping it from Momma until the night he had cut too deep, and the blood wouldn’t stop. He had ran to her, howling in fear- bloody arm pressed against his chest. She had made Uncle Monty hold him down while she stitched him together, only a glass of whiskey to keep the pain away. She had yelled at him the entire time-first with tears in her eyes then when they had dried up and she had finished sewing his skin together- she had taken the belt and beaten him raw. When she got tired of beating him, she had told him that this was all Satan’s fault- that she had no choice but to beat the devil out of him. God was gonna soothe his pain, his fears, his anguish. He would see, Momma liked to say. She had kissed him on the forehead, and he swore he had seen the devil on her shoulder, laughing at him.

The pain hadn’t convinced him to stop- he simply learned how to hide it better, how to keep things clean, how to stitch himself together on those nights that he fantasized about finding peace in death. He learned where to cut and how deep to dig- and eventually, Momma made herself forget it ever happened at all. Sometimes, he thought that she was afraid of God- of making him angry, of him turning his back on her. It’s why he didn’t tell her that every once in a while, he could feel the devil itself pumping through his veins. Taunting him.

The woman gently turns his arm, and he pulls himself from the memories, watching as her fingers caress his skin. She’s too trusting- doesn’t she see the danger that she’s in? How easily he could overpower her? This was a Godless house, no matter what Momma and Hoyt thought- he knew the truth. He knew that they were all rotten, inside and out. She would be ruined by them all if she stayed. He would ruin her with his sins-but his guilt wasn’t strong enough to stop his desires.

“It looks a lot worse than it is, doesn’t it?” she asks him, but he doesn’t answer- too busy watching the way she touches him- her touch making his breath deepen.

He likes the way she doesn’t mind that his blood is on her hands- twisted into the tiny cracks of her bracelet. She’s careful and slow as she traces the tip of her index finger above the crater he had created in his flesh. He’s almost tempted to push her hand down- to feel her flesh against the inside of his own, to have her hurt him before he could hurt her- but she moves her hand away before he can make up his mind.

“Okay…” she sighs, not letting go of him. “Show me what to do.”

He grunts in satisfaction, the weight of Momma finding out and the woman being punished lifting from his shoulders. Slowly, he turns the arm she cradled in her hands so that he was grabbing her instead- his hand swallowing hers.

He tries not to think about it too much as he tugs gently and finds no resistance in her steps. He almost smiles- lip twitching against the leather on his face as he leads her to the bathroom. Inside him, the devil starts to dance in glee.

The room is cold as he pushes open the door and pulls her inside before he follows. He can feel the cold seep into his thin shirt, see it with every exhale when he turns on the light and shuts the door, dropping the woman’s hand. She shivers and he wants to know if it’s from the cold or the fact that he’s no longer touching her.

The light flickers and dies for a couple seconds, leaving them in darkness before it turns back on- low and yellow like all the others in the house. It makes the woman’s skin look sickly- washing her out as she blinks and tries to get used to the light.

“We have to clean it,” she’s already walking around him, towards the sink. It’s a small one, too low for him to reach without having to bend his knees uncomfortably. Maybe that’s why she pauses mid-sentence- was she trying to picture him, hunched over as he scrubbed the dirt and blood and sweat from his arms?

The thought of her thinking about him- caring about him- splits him in two, a feeling that he’s never experienced before.

“Where are the towels?” she asks, turning around to face him. “If we lay some down on the floor it should keep the mess down a bit, right?”

He doesn’t tell her that it’s not a good idea- that a pile of soaking towels would raise questions that need to stay buried instead. So, he shakes his head, already closing the small distance between them.

The bathroom is small- all of them are. The tiles on the walls are a faded green color, some of them cracked- some of them are separated by mold- the caulk so old and weathered by age and neglect. He hopes that she doesn’t see them- his blood warming in embarrassment as he tells himself that he would fix them later, before she realized that this house was falling apart right under their feet.

The toilet and sink and the bathtub are old- not quite as stained, but still the same faded shade as the tiles that surrounded them. Under the harsh yellow light, it all looked a mess. At least it wasn’t like Hoyt’s bathroom- with too many colors and carpet all over the floors that trapped the smell of tobacco and sweat and soap, the steam that seemed to linger and stick to the walls doing nothing to lessen the stench.

He’s careful as he walks around her- suddenly aware of just how close they were. In here, with the door closed, being near to her seemed almost intimate in a way that he could not quite grasp.

He was used to being alone with people- usually they were screaming and begging, or already half-dead, delirious and confused from the pain and the blood loss. He was used to them thrashing and running and fighting back- hitting him with their fists, kicking him, throwing whatever they managed to get ahold of. They would always scare him when they did that- the pain eventually making him mad until he lashed out and hurt them on purpose.

They didn’t seem to understand that he didn’t want to make them suffer- that he was being kind- taking their lives quickly so that they didn’t have to be so afraid.

He was used to the screaming, the name calling- no matter how scared or afraid he got, he always knew how it would end.

With the woman, he had touched her- she had touched him- without screaming, without her begging or flinching or trying to run away. Out in the hall there had been enough space for him if he needed to get away, but here it was just the two of them- existing in a space that no one else seemed to belong in.

It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. It made him feel the same way as when he had to chased down someone that had slipped out of his hold- but this time his mind wasn’t telling him to kill. This time, as he stood besides the woman, her eyes on him as he turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm, something inside of him was telling him to chase her down in a completely different way- to keep her at his side.

Even if he had to chain her and train her- he did not want her to leave. He would not let her leave.

He remembers when he had first started at the Slaughterhouse, when he had been put to work with the cows- separating the babies from the mothers as soon as they were born. He would take them- carefully scooping them up in his arms, a child at the time, not knowing better, not knowing what it was that he was doing- and carry them to another part of the barn where he would drop them into cages so small that even he couldn’t fit inside.

They would cry and shake, unable to stand, unable to realize what lay ahead of them. He would feed them scraps he had stolen from the feeding center- oats or barley or even handfuls of grass from outside- shoving his hand through and letting them eat from his hand. They would calm down, even though they could not stand fully- their heads hunched over and pressed against the metal. He would show them that even if they weren’t going to live long- even if the world around them didn’t seem to care for them- they weren’t alone.

She did not have to be caged like them- though if he had to, he would keep her locked up if it meant keeping her beside him. Down in the basement where no one would hear her- where no one would disturb them, he would get her to see that he was a kind man, that he only wanted what was best for her.

She was already so much like the calves from back then- stupid and small and too trusting of him. It wouldn’t be hard to break her, to convince her that it was all her fault- that there was nothing left for her outside this home.

When the water heats up- steam rising and filling his lungs- he runs his fingers under the stream. Dirt and blood stain the sink, the hot water turning his fingers pink. It hurts, but not enough for him to stop. He rubs his hands together, the water turning pink as it drains. He can feel her eyes on him as he scrubs the grains of dirt from his skin.

For some reason, it embarrasses him- having her watch him do something so mundane and ordinary. He almost swore that he could feel the warmth from her eyes on his skin- hotter than the water. It makes the simple task suddenly seem foolish, makes him feel as if this was the first time he was doing it and he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong.

With a grunt he tries to push the thoughts from his mind- cupping his hand and filling it with water before he splashes it onto his arm, onto the wound he had given himself. It makes a mess- water splashing onto his rolled sleeve and onto the floor, the sink too small to prevent the mess.

“Can I?” she says- and she’s suddenly closer than he had thought, her body pressed against his side. He can feel her through his shirt, through the thick fabric of her sweater. He swears that he can feel the softness of her body, the beating of her heart, the blood rushing through her veins on his very skin. It makes his heart leap into his throat- the sudden touch making him want to push her head into the glass of the medicine cabinet or pull her closer- he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to do most.

He stands still, body tense as she reaches for him, grabbing his arm and lifting it closer. She must have found the linen closet- an old, red washcloth in her other hand which she places underneath the running water. She hisses, pulling her hand away and opens the cold water.

“Doesn’t that hurt you?” she asks- and there’s no anger in her voice, no underlying judgement that has him tensing up, muscles rippling with dread that he had done something wrong. Momma liked to talk to him like that sometimes. She liked to ask questions that made him feel bad, that made him regret coming to her- guilty that he had bothered her. Hurt that she saw him as something bothersome.

He shakes his head, his way of telling her that no, it wasn’t hurting him. If he had a voice, he would tell her that his skin is so damaged that he could barely feel it, that some days he even preferred it- he liked the way his skin turned red and pulsed in a way that was almost comfortable, soothing.

“This will feel much better,” she holds her fingers under the water, and once it’s at a comfortable temperature she lets it run over the washcloth. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

He nods sharply and she smiles at him- the corners of her mouth lifting. He expects her to rub the wound directly, desperate to clean it off before infection sets in. Instead, to his surprise, she wipes around the length of it- scrubbing gently at the blood matting the hair on his arm. The hand holding his arm is gentle, her fingers sinking into his soft flesh and holding him still.

He watches her- watches the concentration on her face that has her eyebrows knitted together as she wipes and rinses, repeating those two motions over and over and over again until his skin is cleaner- until the dirt is gone and there’s nothing left to hide the many sins he carried on his skin.

She pauses- and he can almost read her mind at that moment. He can see it in the tension in her wrist, feel it in the way her fingers tremble just a fraction of a second before they dig a little deeper into his arm. The feeling of her nails scratching at him isn’t painful, but it startles him just the same as if it were- a warmth growing in his chest that travels down to his belly and pools there- filling him with a different sort of sin.

He expects her to say something about the hundreds of tiny little cuts and bruises that she’s unearthed- he can feel it hang heavy in the air- his lips tingling from anticipation. From the worry that she would open her mouth and ruin it all.

It would either be disgust or pity- and he wanted neither. The scars were his to carry- his own punishment for his terrible deeds. Uncle Hoyt always cringed and acted like he didn’t see them- even though his mouth and face twisted as if he had eaten something sour. The pity always came from Momma- her hands on his as she prayed to God to take away whatever burdens he seemed to be carrying around in his heart. She wouldn’t touch them- maybe out of fear, or anger, or maybe just like Uncle Hoyt, she was disgusted as well- scared that if she touched the scars, they would somehow ruin her as well.

The corners of the woman’s mouth are still twisted down when she glances up at him- her eyes too dark to read. He wonders what he looks like in her eyes- what is it that she sees in him that no one else seems to see?

He waits for her to talk- to break the tense silence that’s choking him- but she doesn’t say a word, dropping her eyes as she picks up the bar of soap that’s been there for months. It almost slips out of her hand, and she lets go of him completely- his arm frozen in place, his body already missing hers. The tension disappears, as if nothing had ever happened, as if it had never been there to begin with. It rolls from the points of pressure that she had left behind on his flesh and up his arms. It moves in his veins, thick and syrupy- coating all of him in a feeling that’s doesn’t sit right.

Maybe he did want her to speak- to pity him after all. But the moment is gone, and he doesn’t have a voice to bring it back- to tell her what he was feeling, so he lets the discomfort drown him just a bit as he watches her act like nothing wrong had happened.

She rubs the bar between her hands, underneath the stream of water and his heart sinks at the thought of her cleaning all traces of him from her skin- he wanted to coat her in all that he was- his scent, his hatred, the bitter taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away- he wanted her to have it all, to carry him even if they were apart for a split second. An extension of him- equally as fearsome.

“Come here,” she motions for him to bring his arm towards her hands, letting the bar fall into the sink. Her hands are covered in soap as she takes his arm in between them- gently scrubbing from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, where his rolled-up sleeve sat. At first, she doesn’t touch the wound- and he can feel the hesitation in her fingers as she scrubs at his arm, circling around it. She scrubs at his skin, at the spaces between his fingers, taking his hand in her own and gently massaging it.

It's the first time anyone has done something like that to him- and while he can’t understand why she was being so thorough when it would have been easier to just hand him the soap and let him do it, he has no intention of stopping her.

He simply watches and enjoys- his mouth twisted into the closest thing of a smile that he could manage underneath his mask.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” she says quietly, and it takes him a second to understand her words, his mind lost even to himself- her fingers lightly press against the cut as she speaks, drawing him back into reality. He tenses as she begins to clean it out, rubbing soapy water into it. It doesn’t hurt- not with how light and slow she moves her hand, her finger dipping into the hole he had scratched open. He expects it to hurt or sting or startle him- but pain doesn’t come. Instead, he groans in delight- enjoying the way her finger seems to be tearing into him, stretching his skin open. It’s like she’s making space for herself inside of him- forcing herself into the parts of him that held him together, sinew and muscle and blood- now poisoned with whatever sickness the woman had inflicted in his heart.

“Sorry!” she says quickly, pulling her hand away from him. The once white bubbles between her fingers are now a soft shade of pink, mixed with his blood. It all disappears down the drain as she rinses her hand, drying them on the front of her jeans.

He grows frustrated at the fact that there’s no way to tell her that she hadn’t hurt him- that he wanted her to do it again. That the pain she caused him was almost addictive- sweeter than the whiskey Uncle Monty sometimes let him have whenever he was in a good enough mood to share.

The woman motions for him to rinse his arm, already cupping her hands together under the faucet and letting the cool water pool between her hands. He angles his arm awkwardly into the sink and she lets the water trickle from between her fingers over his arm slowly. He watches as she repeats the motion, rinsing his arm- it’s so trivial and boring, yet he’s in awe as she takes care of him.

Without a second thought, the woman is already devoting herself to the mundanity of life with him. He could see it as she turns the water off and tells him to wait- as if he would leave her side, as if he could do something so absolutely stupid- subjecting himself to an agony he had no intention of experiencing firsthand.

He hears the closet door open behind him, making him turn around and look at the woman as she rummages through old fitted blankets, washcloths and towels until she finds what she needs. With one hand pressed against the pile of folded towels she pulls one free, tossing it over her arm. “I don’t know how long this has been here for-” as she talks, she moves onto her toes, stretching her arm out as she reaches for something on one of the top shelves.

He almost moves to help her, his body already swaying in place, eager to move, to make himself useful to the woman. But he spends too long trying to decide- her hand closing around whatever it was that she had seen earlier. She lets out a small noise of delight as she drops down to the balls of her feet, and it wracks through him, sending a shiver of warmth up his spine that spreads across his chest- tightening the muscles in his lower belly.

“Expired medicine and antibiotics are better than nothing, right?” She asks as he turns and faces him- lips curved up into a smile and he almost finds himself mimicking it- the corners of his lips twitching. He catches himself, hot embarrassment forcing his eyes to drop from her face- down to the small plastic medicine bin in her hands. It did not matter that he had his mask to hide behind, the way she looked at him made him feel as if she could somehow see through it- his face exposed for whatever ridicule and insults she would eventually throw at him.

 There are bottles of pills stacked on top of one another- the type that Momma used to give him when he was feverish. It would take his sickness as well as his hunger- leaving him too heavy to do anything but lay in bed until the heat of his body burned through the drug. There are other things as well- gauze and bandages, silver packages of pills he couldn’t identify, the label worn off a long time ago- a bottle of Vaseline, faded from the years sits next to a glass jar of Vapor-Rub. Looking at it, he swears that he can smell it even with how far away from the jar he was- even though his nose hasn’t worked properly for months, he feels the ghost of it wrinkle as he cringes from the offensive smell his mind reminds him of.

Momma used to slather him with it when he had first started working at the Slaughterhouse. He hadn’t been used to the smell of it back then and every day he went back had been miserable. The scent of death and blood and shit had soured his stomach until he had gone and thrown up the oatmeal Momma had made for breakfast all over his worktable. All over the slab of meat he had been told to break down. He can still remember the taste of animal blood on his tongue after he had wiped his mouth- forgetting that his hands and arms and chest had been covered in chunks of offal. His boss had called him every bad word under the sun-some were words that he had never heard before, now fully engrained in his mind, tearing at his heart once Monty had told him what they meant.

When he had gone home that night, after scrubbing his station clean- the blood mixing with his waste underneath his nails, in the strands of his hair and in between the cracks of his boots, Momma had slapped him. She had been waiting for him on the porch, her face twisted down in anger, the blue of her eyes dark and cold behind her glasses.

She had called him a great big idiot- uncaring of how dirty he had been, of how hard he had silently prayed to God for the day to hurry up and end so that he could leave and go home. At one point, when the bell for Lunch had rung and he was forced to stay and catch up to everyone else- his boss throwing what Momma had packed for him in the garbage before spitting on it with a laugh- he had wanted to die, his chest burning every single time he brought the cleaver down. He had wanted to die right then and there- to stop existing all together. To be nothing but the air around him- free from the bad people, from the stares, from feeling like all that he did was somehow inherently wrong. No matter if it was an accident or not, no one ever seemed to care enough to listen to him.

Momma had gotten a call from the Slaughterhouse- telling her that because of his careless mistake he would have to be let go. Momma had told him, as she dragged him to the hose out back, that she had begged and begged and begged for them to give him a second chance. They couldn’t lose his income, not with Uncle Monty getting less hours at his job and the Government cutting Uncle Hoyt’s veteran checks so suddenly. They were barely making ends meet as it was- this would ruin them.

She had yelled and shouted, spraying him with cold water until he was a shivering mess, the blood no longer crusted over on his skin. He could feel the cold water pooling in his boots, making his socks stick to his toes. It hadn’t even mattered to him then, his heart hammering away at his chest at the thought of never having to go back. Of not having to wake up so early to walk all the way to the other side of town in a place that he hated.

He didn’t even mind when Momma had beat him, welts forming on his wet skin from the belt she kept exclusively for punishments. The pain was nothing in comparison to when Momma had told him that she had made sure that he had kept his job.

They were going to cut his pay, a little every check, until he paid off the cost of the half cow he had puked all over. But he still had a job, he was still able to help the family out- wasn’t that good? Momma asked him, smiling at him like she hadn’t just beat him tired.

 Momma warned him that he couldn’t mess this up again. That there were no more chances after this- sending him up to his room with no dinner, his stomach already empty and rubbing against itself.

The morning after, when she had woken him up- his body sore from all the walking that he had done and the bruises forming on his back and legs- Momma had twisted open the jar of Vapor-rub for the first time, filling his room with the slightly sweet- minty smell.

She had bought it last night, right before the shop closed- with the bit of lose change she had managed to scrap together. It’s gonna help you from making another mistake she said right before she shoved a finger full of it into his nose. It was thick, and cold, burning the inside of his nose as he moaned in pain, trying to push Momma away before she shoved more into the other nostril. She had smacked his hand away, telling him that this was for his own good. That this was only until he got used to it.

He had moaned as tears began to form, shaking his head- trying to empty his nose, the burning crawling up into his head and making his eyes water painfully. Every inhale he took through his mouth burned its way to his lungs. Momma only slapped him again- telling him that this was his fault. That he had to do this for the family.

“You’re so selfish Thomas!” she shouted at him, holding his jaw and shoving another finger into his empty nostril. “There’s no room for useless boys in this house, do you understand?”

He couldn’t remember anything after that. His memories about that day lost to the pain he had put himself through. He remembers bits and pieces- the hunger. The burning. The anger.

He always seemed to remember the anger. Flashing through him- hot and cold, boiling his blood.

Something outside of his thoughts rattle and he’s once more standing in the bathroom, a man three times the size of the child that he had once been. Beside him, the woman had set the medicine bin on top of the toilet tank and was rummaging through it- the source of the noise that had brought him back.

He’s tense, the muscles in his neck thick and tight. He doesn’t like how he seemed to live more in his memories- constantly remembering all the things that he just wanted to forget. He didn’t want to remember, to be reminded of the pain he carried.

The woman glances at him, holding a small yellow squeeze tube and a roll of self-adhesive medical tape in one hand. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, even though he can feel the way his face is twisted down into a scowl- his eyebrows heavy over his eyes.

He doesn’t mean to glare at her- to make her smile falter slightly as her eyes widen just a fraction. He could almost see himself in her eyes and he doesn’t like the him that he imagines. Large and imposing- a thing that only knows how to hurt, how to cause fear. He waits for the woman to realize her mistake- to realize that she was trapped in a small room with a monster.

“Give me your arm?” she asks him, holding out her right hand. “Let’s get you all wrapped up, okay?” her smile is still small, and he can see the wariness in her eyes, but when he places his arm in her hand she doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t rush him- wanting to get this over with.

She pulls him towards her instead, slender fingers wrapping around his forearm as much as possible. She tugs, and he moves- lightweight in her hold.

He’s aware of the muscles in his face- of how, even if he’s partially hidden behind his mask, his face sits. He makes himself relax- something that comes easy with the warmth of her hand on his body, easing the tension that he still carried from his memories. Her touch burned into him, filled him until he swore that he could feel her in his blood- pumping through his heart.

Her eyes don’t leave his as she pulls him closer, and motions with her head for him to sit down on the toilet. “It’ll be easier, that way you don’t have to keep your arm in the air.” She explains, shuffling out of the way to make space for him.

Underneath his weight, the toilet squeaks and shifts as he does as told, awkwardly sitting down. She’s taller than him like this, his head at the same level with her chest, making him have to tilt his head back just a bit to meet her eyes.

Her smile had grown in the time he had looked away- and he can’t help the heat that spreads across his face, his ears growing hot. Could she feel it? The warmth that she caused him? The uneasiness thrumming through him that had the tips of his fingers aching to touch her? To hold her like she held him?

“Can you hold this?” she asks, already dropping something into his expecting hand. It had been resting on his lap, calloused covered palm open and waiting- a beggar’s pose. The ointment and tape weren’t what he had been waiting for, but he takes them, closing his thick fingers around them.

What he didn’t expect was for her to lean over him with a mumbled “sorry”, her hand falling onto his shoulder as she reached for something behind him- inside of the medicine bin.

He doesn’t know what to do- his body freezing underneath hers as her neck grazes his mask covered face. It doesn’t last long- maybe a fraction of a second before she’s pulling away and dropping the hand from his shoulder, but it was enough.

Enough for him to inhale the light scent of her- woodsy and sweet and nutty- just the smallest hint of sweat underneath that. It reminded him of the baked goods Momma used to make for him on his birthday when he was small. It was comforting in the same way that it twisted his stomach with the pain of remembering something that used to make him so happy, something that had been taken from him so abruptly once Momma decided that he was too big to celebrate his birthday. Too old to be cared for.

The woman had been so close that he swore that he could almost hear the blood pounding through her veins. He had almost been tempted to turn his head and feel its pulse with his lips. To scratch her skin with his mask- the scent of her tainting it the same way it has already ruined his senses.

He could picture it- his teeth sinking into the warm and thin flesh she had so stupidly given him access to. It was almost scary- the way his mouth began to water at the thought of her blood on his tongue, raw flesh between his teeth. He wanted to fill his belly with it- to make her a part of him in a way that no one could take from him.

Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?

He swallowed down saliva, clearing the bad thoughts from his mind- scared that if he kept focusing on them, he would do something that he didn’t really want to do.  Something that he wouldn’t be able to take back, no matter how hard he begged and prayed and tried to undo.

He didn’t want to hurt her right now. No matter how hard his mind was telling him to do it- replaying all of the times that he could have done so. Showing him all of the ways that he still could.

He feels ashamed of his thoughts, of the temptation that he was barely keeping at bay- and finds himself unable to look at the woman as she rips open a piece of plastic, tossing it in the garbage can between the toilet and the sink. He keeps his eyes on the space between his legs, on her beat-up boots as she stands in front of him- sweet and unaware of what a horrible person he truly was. Of all that he was struggling to not do to her.

“Do you think Luda Mae is getting suspicious?”

The question startles him, reminding him of the world outside of the bathroom, outside of the woman in front of him.

“She’s probably thinking I ran away; don’t you think?” the woman’s laugh is small, feathery light. He doesn’t know how to answer- not knowing how long they had been up here. There was a possibility that Momma had grown suspicious, or maybe she thought that he had snapped and taken care of her in the only way that he knew how.

Vaguely, he shakes his head. Whether it’s to disagree with her or to tell her that he wasn’t sure- he let’s her decide on which one he’s trying to communicate. If Momma had been concerned, she would have come upstairs to check on her already, so he wasn’t too worried. He shrugs, and her laughter fills his ears again.

“Right. If you’re not worried, then I won’t be either. I just don’t want her to think that I’ve been a horrible guest- running off in the middle of helping her with dinner.”

He shakes his head again and this time its to reassure her that Momma wouldn’t think that. At least he hoped that she wouldn’t. The thought of Momma angry at the woman made his chest burn uncomfortably. An ache that slithered in the tight spaces between his ribs- hot and uneasy in its slickness.

“Well, what’s done is done, lets just get your arm bandaged. I might need your help facing her again.” The woman likes to talk with a smile, he’s noticed. It was as if her mouth had no other way to rest- the corners turned up towards the heavens, towards her eyes that liked to seek him out- unafraid of what she saw, of what others liked to look away from.

He wondered if she was joking- if she was just talking in order to fill the silence. He knew people who did that- people like Hoyt and his old boss at the Slaughterhouse, who had to keep their mouths moving or they would stop existing all together. He liked to think that if he had a voice, he would be like that too- not quite as annoying, but loud enough that people were forced to look at him, to listen to what he had to say.

He would tell the woman that he would keep her safe. That he wanted to go down with her and show Momma that she had done nothing wrong. That if anyone was to blame, it was him. It was his fault that she had stayed away for so long. He would hide her away from Momma’s anger- keep her tucked behind him- safe.

If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure that he wanted her to leave just yet. They could stay here a little longer- everything behind that door non-existent. He could make believe that Momma was still at work, busy with too many customers- outsiders who were just passing by, headed for more than the meat hooks in the basement of this house. That for a bit his uncle’s Monty and Hoyt didn’t exist. That the world was just for him and her.

That would be enough for him. He was almost tempted to ask God- to check and see if he was still paying attention to him after all that he had done.

The woman moves from in front of him and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, her knees rubbing against the outside of his thigh as she grabs his arm and places it on her lap. He can feel the buckle of her belt against his knuckles- his arm suddenly a solid weight as he feels the warmth that radiates from the space between her thighs.

 It crawls along his skin- up to his shoulder and through the space in his chest. It reminds him of the times that he’s stayed in one spot for too long, his limbs falling asleep. Though there was no uncomfortable pain this time- Instead it felt like a million little bugs were crawling around inside of him- a buzzing under his skin that he was unused to, but not disgusted by. It was something that maybe he could get used to.

It settles in his belly- thick and heavy and hot, stirring awake thoughts that felt too uncomfortable to focus on. Shamefully, he raises his eyes from the woman’s lap, trying to think of something other than the way her jeans clung to her thighs or how close his fingers were to the space between her legs- somehow hotter than the rest of her, the back of his hand burning pleasantly. He wanted to keep it there- to soak all of himself in her warmth until he knew nothing more.

He pushes the indecent thoughts from his mind, suddenly growing paranoid that the woman would find out what he was thinking about her. He didn’t want her to think that he was disgusting. Rotten just like Uncle Hoyt, who was obsessed with playing with their food.

“Is this uncomfortable for you, Tommy?” maybe it was because the silence had gone on for too long, but the woman whispers her question- her voice only for him, distracting him slightly as she reaches for the things she had given him, plucking them from his hand before he even had a chance to register the movement- her hand too fast that he barely feels the way her fingers skim his palm.

She’s already twisted open the bottle of ointment by the time he shakes his head- the cap balancing on the edge of her knee. With a hum she nods- her eyes focused on her own hands even though he wants her to look at him again. He wanted her to ask him more questions- her voice tender and sweet whenever she spoke to him. He wanted her to distract him for his thoughts that liked to pull him away from her- and right now he wanted to stay right here, to not miss a single moment.

The ointment is cold against his skin- the woman squeezing a light amount right above the wound. He can feel it cleansing away all of his wickedness- her finger swiping at it until it’s in the deepest layer of his flesh, leaving nothing behind but an oily residue that coated her thumb. Without a pause she sticks a piece of gauze on top- taping it up until the gauze is well hidden under flesh colored medical tape.

He had found it in the pocket of one of the first of Uncle Hoyt’s guests- setting it aside for Momma along all of the jewelry he had collected. Maybe it was for a reason that he had second guessed his decision to throw it away. Maybe that had been a sign from above that you were on your way- that God hadn’t abandoned them after all.

The woman is gentle as she pats the covered wound and leans back a bit to meet his expectant eyes. What does she see in them- in him- that makes her look at him so sweetly?

“You’re all set. How’s it feeling? It’s not too tight, is it?”

[marcsburnerphone]

Wish I never came

Captain john price x f!reader

Summary: being johns wife has been full of security and safety and you never thought he’d be the one to taint that.

Warnings: angst(why doesn’t anyone write about how scary price can be when hes angry peepaw is cra), hurt/comfort, 141 task force loves you, price is fucking scary.

Part 2 out now!

—-------------------

Every first friday of the month you bring the boys and your husband a homemade meal to base. It’s been tradition for almost two years now since the first time you did it on a whim, John begged you for a good roast so you surprised him with some and since there was so much you’d brought the rest for his task.

Today you've perfected the dish gaz asked for, they decided rotations on requests now because it became unfair when soap requested meals only he liked 4 months in a row.

You packed all 4 meals in airtight thermal containers and put them in the car before heading towards base about 2 hours away. The military police men greeted you by first name when you arrived and buzzed you in.

“I've never been happier to see someone in my life.” soap rushes you and traps you in a hug while gaz takes the two bags from your hands.

“Good afternoon, wheres simon and john?” you greet both of them with smiles something that was relieving to see in a place like this. The common area was empty during this time of day so it was clear they weren't here.

Before they could answer simon came in, eyes looking more exhausted than usual. He gives a weak attempt at an ‘hello love’ a common and yet sweet name they’d picked up for you.

“I honestly wouldn't go into his office right now hes a little um on edge i’d say.” he grabs his thermal bowl from the bag its always the black one, this way they dont fight over which bowl has more.

“Nonsense simon he’s my husband, im just going to bring him this and be on my way.” simon shook his head turning a satisfied groan at the taste of real food in his mouth to a disapproving one at your persistence.

“love maybe listen he’s under a lot of pressure right now, its really not the time.” gaz interrupts simons beginning of a sentence.

Without another word you just grab his bowl and a fork setting off torwars his office which at this point you could get to blind.

“Are we just going to let her do that.” gaz looks to the two men.

“We warned and she’s right thats her husband i mean worst he’ll do is ignore her, loves her too much to hurt her.” ghost grumbles.

—

The air is tense on your way down the hall but you approach his door regardless as the familiar scent of a lit cigar fills your senses. You give two knocks before walking in.

“Hey just brought you some lunch.” you say quietly as you walk in observing the splay of files on the floor and desk.

He grunts and doesn't even spare you a look which yeah it stings but it was expected.

“Okay then can I leave it right here?” you point at a spot on a coffee table thats somewhat clear.

“Do whatever you want with it, mm not hungry.” he says lowly while taking another drag from his cigar letting the ash fall freely.

“So should i just leave it in the kitchen, i can just-.” you didn't know why you were rambling or nervous even john had only ever made you feel safe. 

“I fuckin said do what you please with it, I’m busy.” the tone made you shiver, and yes maybe you should've just left it and talked to him later but this wasn't a behavior from him you've ever experienced.

“John I-” 

“Jesus fucking christ take the food, leave the food I dont fucking care but get the fuck out of here as soon as you can thankyou!” His voice makes you flinch as he throws a stack of papers on the floor with an unneeded force, he yelled at you for the first time ever and you couldn't even process it. Was time bending or had the air become thin, you didn't know but you took a few weary steps back towards the door and left the food by the entrance on the floor finally closing it, once you were back in the hallway air found it’s way to your lungs as you took a deep breath.

“Hey its okay come on.” gaz was there gently caressing your arm along with the two others catching up behind him in the distance.

They never thought hed talk to you like that but right when they heard that deep threatening drawl boom from the common area gaz was the first one up and out. He was always overly protective of you.

You weren't crying, no but you wanted to. You just closed your eyes for what felt like ages and whispered an ‘I’m okay’ and left without another word.

Once you reached the comfort of your own car your heart caught up with the speed of your brain and tears poured, the last time you’d cried like this had been in childhood. Without another second you sped around the lot and out of the exiting gates wishing you'd never entered them in the first place.

You got a call not so long into your way home, maybe five minutes if you estimated correctly and you almost gagged at the picture of you and john that popped up as he rang you.

The boys were the ones to call next but you just dazed out on the long road ahead, disassociated from the outside world around you. You stopped at a cafe you particularly enjoyed in a town near your home needing to clear your thoughts. 

Price had waited and even started counting seconds to see if you'd pop up on the ring camera he installed to keep an eye on you, it brought him comfort especially when you'd make cute gestures at it or talk to him through it as you brought groceries inside. But now you should've been home an hour ago at most and still no sign of you.

He had not comprehended how loud he could get and he really only snapped out of it when soap appeared in his office with a very disapproving look. Then he finally noticed the look of fear in your eyes or how the sweet smile you always wore was a frown and then his gaze made it to the container he’d grown so familiar with by the door.

“FUCK!” he could cry grown man tears, he spoke to you how he sometimes speaks to his soldiers and the strings in his heart felt like they were on the verge of combusting.

“You fucked up captain.” soap added to the fuel before leaving his office.

—----------------

Anyone feel that chest pain.

Re-blogs and feedback are appreciated 🫶

[scuderiasundays]

better together

summary: airline lounges, box box widgets, and a cheesy greeting card 💌

words: 1,045

a/n: the romcom girlie in me has always wanted to write a meet-cute and i've been listening to too much lizzy mcalpine! tagging @vamossainz55, @sainzcaleruega, @monzabee, @ssainzz, @diorleclerc, and @userlando just because. let me know if you'd want a part two! hugs and kisses 🫶🏼

Love comes when you least expect it. Those same old words had fallen from the lips of every person you knew, so much so that they now felt weightless. On this particular evening, you found yourself at your best friend’s wedding reception, zoning out at the open bar. You nodded along as some man who’d had one too many G&T’s rambled on about his meet-cute on the Paris metro. Seeing two people you adored make a lifelong commitment only reaffirmed the fact that you craved the same.

It was no secret you weren’t exactly the MVP of the single scene. On any given night out, you’d leave the club before midnight to get a full eight-hour snooze. Dating apps were a no-no, as reruns of Catfish had made you skeptical about “finding the one” online. At work, you kept a low profile, socializing just enough to have a tight circle of work friends. It was as if you were coasting on autopilot, wanting love but hesitant to steer towards it.

Not to say that being single was all bad. Every hard-earned dollar was invested right back into the things you loved: trips, clothes, and your dog Cannoli. You silently weighed the pros and cons of your lifestyle as you stepped into the airline lounge.

Setting down your latest read to save your seat, you made your way to the breakfast buffet and grabbed a plate of avocado toast, poached eggs, and a glass of orange juice. On your way back, you spotted someone in a hoodie and cap making themselves at home in the armchair opposite yours.

The whole lounge was virtually empty, and this just had to be his seat of choice? You slowly approached from behind and let out a quiet gasp as you noticed them flipping through your book. “Love languages, huh?” The man pointed at the cover and smiled.

Your pupils dilated twice their size as you registered just who it was. The fan-made bracelets, the Leica, and, most of all, the signature McLaren cap—it all fell into place. “My manager and I just got into a huge argument, and honestly, I’d rather be anywhere but with him right now. Do you mind if I-" He gestured towards the seat beside you, his eyes radiating a silent plea.

“No problem. Let me give you your space,” you responded, hastily gathering your things. Just as you were about to step away, his hand gently clasped your wrist. “I could use the company. I’m Bob, by the way,” he mumbled, oblivious to the fact that his cover was blown.

As in, you knew he was currently seventh place in the driver’s championship and slowly but surely climbing up the standings. The last thing he needed was for you to bring any of that up, so you did as he said, trying to give him a sense of normalcy he so deserved.

He headed to the breakfast buffet and returned with the very items you had selected. "Copying me?" you teased. “First step in getting to know you,” he grinned. Curious about your life, he asked about your job in the emergency room. You told him the hours were grueling but watching extremely sick patients leave healthy made it all worthwhile. "Hope I never end up being your patient," he joked.

His interest didn't stop there; he inquired about siblings (only child), your dream vacation destination (Antibes), and whether you were a dog or cat person (not even a question). You, being a proud dog mom, wanted to show your furry guy off and handed Lando your phone.

As he squinted at your phone, you heard him say, "7 days to go. United States Grand Prix." A wave of panic washed over you as you remembered the Box Box widget that also occupied your screen. The silence was deafening as you wished the ground would swallow you up. 

“Let me see the app,” He said. You normally wouldn’t have acquiesced so quickly, but you crumbled and unlocked your phone. He appeared to scroll and click a few things before he handed it back. “Widget Preferences. Constructor: McLaren? Driver: Lando Norris?” You asked as you noticed he’d made some selections.

“You hadn’t bothered with the preferences, so I took the liberty of choosing.” He blushed as the awkwardness of it all hung in the air. “That doesn’t feel fair. I’ve had all this time to get to know you, and I can’t say the same for the other drivers.” You teasingly retorted.

“I'll let the guys know they're in a tight race for your heart." He snickered. The man was on the verge of tears when his manager came by to remind him of his impending flight. “Flight’s in an hour, Lando,” snapped him right back to reality.

He entrusted you with his bags as he ran out to run a quick pre-flight errand. You couldn’t help but squeal the second Lando had vanished from view. What kind of magic was in the air at this airport and could it be bottled?

You tapped through your best friend’s Instagram stories as you awaited his return. The nearly empty lounge echoed as Lando asked a nearby gentleman for a pen and jotted something down. Breathless, he handed you a card, urging you to read it later.

"Your shoelace is untied," he mentioned, and as he bent down to tie it, his blue-green eyes met yours. 

The British racing driver left your life in the abrupt way he had entered it. You took in the card, decked out with drawings of mac and cheese, milk and cereal, and avocado and toast, captioned "Better Together" at the bottom.

It was the only card in the store, but it felt just right. You highlighted “words of affirmation” as your love language, so I thought I’d give this a go. Thanks for keeping me company. Talk soon? - LN 

His number was scribbled at the end. You quickly changed your lock screen widget to showcase his stats and took a screenshot to send his way.

New look. I might be biased, but I think you just became my favorite driver. Let's see if you can keep it up.

He replied right away.

I like the sound of that. When can I see you again?

[ginkgo-phyta]

I'm back again 😅

Hopefully, I'm not the only person with this opinion, but how do you think Spencer would react if his significant other told him that they thought he looked hot with his bulletproof vest on? 👀

omg is this injured spencer request anon?? I NEED TO KNOW im so sorry if it's not tho, whoever you are thank you so much for coming back!! i love you with all my heart you should use a special emoji as like ur own lil signature! :D

okay so i wanted to try blurb(?) format but mmm okay not really cuz just a wall of text was stressing me out but this is def more informal than my other work (look no capital letters!) and because i love you so much i present two scenarios for you :P... i cant fight this feeling anymore guys he rlly is so hot in his vest im becoming my most feral self grrrrr RAH RAH ALRIGHT hope you enjoy, my love!

OKAY SO SPENCER REACTING TO YOU TELING HIM HE'S HOT IN HIS FBI VEST gn! reader, fluff, second scenario a little steamy in tone but nothing explicit just h*rny vibes, no other warnings

if you weren't a profiler: you'd never thought about it before- spencer in his bulletproof vest. sure, you knew that his job required him to go into sticky situations where the prospect of gunfire was imminent and he would have to wear proper equipment, but you never put two nd two together. you never even thought of a kevlar vest as something that could be hot...until you saw a picture of him wearing it.

"what the hell is that." you blurt out, voice serious with hints of concern.

"huh?" spencer's as clueless as ever, a little worried about your reaction. he was just showing you random photos his team members had taken over the years, all printed out for easy viewing courtesy of the ever-so-accommodating penolope garcia. someone had taken a pic of a beautiful lake where the bau had saved yet another victim, the sun dipping below the horizon line of pine trees, painting the sky purple and pink. "um...the sunset?" spencer was confused, "i guess maybe it was kinda a weird time to take a photo, but no one was hurt and we caught the unsub and the sky really did look-"

you cut off his rambling with a wave of your hand, eyes never leaving the photo in front of you, "no, no...what's that." you point to what you were talking about, a figure standing off to the side.

spencer takes a minute, becoming even more bewildered "...me?" in that moment your world changed.

"oh my god... "you whispered in a daze, firmly pulling the picture out of spencer's fingers and into your own, "what...what are you wearing?"

"honey what's wrong? it's just my bulletproof vest. i know it might look a little funny, but it, y'know, keeps me alive..." he scratches the back of his neck. a couple seconds of silence pass, but to spencer it feels excruciatingly long.

"spencer," you look at up at him deadpan "you look so fucking hot." to say your boyfriend was shocked would be an understatement.

he was absolutely blown away by your response, so much so that the way his face contorted looked borderline disgusted. "wha-what?? huh? what?" he clamored, eyes flitting over your face to find any sign you were joking.

"seriously, baby, you look so good. oh, my God!!" you almost shriek, gripping the picture tighter, the widest, dumbest grin pulling up your cheeks as you giggle like a schoolgirl.

spencer smiles at your reaction, still a little perplexed "you really think so?" the notion begins to sink into his bones, making him giddy.

you very enthusiastically nod your head, "are there any more pictures of you like this?" you rip the rest of the photos out of spencer's hands, scouring through them at light speed. out of nowhere, spencer laughs out loud, his nose scrunching in delight.

"i...don't know what to say. i'm flattered you think that," a wonderful blush shimmers over his cheeks, "but no i don't think there are. sadly." he playfully adds.

you stop all movements, slowly turning towards him, suspiciously calm. "well then," you grab your phone and suddenly stand up "looks like i'll just have to ask penelope for some!"

"wait! wait, no!" spencer calls after you as you start speed-walking away, your shirt barely escaping his fingertips. he yells out your name, his serious tone interrupted by a giggle of his own as he begins chasing you, "get back here!" he knows: garcia can never ever find out about this...

if you were a profiler: you had seen spencer don his FBI branded bulletproof vest hundreds of times over the years. although you had pined over him for years and were now finally in a relationship with him, seeing him like that didn't make you feel any type of way really. sure, you thought he looked strong and handsome, but most of the time you were too caught up in the case or situation at hand to focus on how he looked. until now. something had shifted in him in the last few months, not just with his ever-changing haircut, but within the way he held himself; more confident, more sure of himself, even more cocky, if you will. whatever it was, it drew your eyes to him in his tight little vest like a lightbulb draws in moths- instantly and continuously. it all came to a head when you caught the unsub responsible for drowning and resuscitating his victims until they couldn't be brought back to life. spencer dove into the lake with emily to apprehend the killer while you had helped the kid he had hostage reunite with his mother. you smiled at the scene in front of you, the teenager running into his mother's shaking arms, her holding him close in a tight embrace. another good ending, you thought to yourself before turning back to watch your fellow profilers make the arrest. suddenly, you mouth goes dry. there spencer reid stood; soaking wet, clothes sticking to his skin, chest rising and falling as he panted to catch his breath, his hand pushing his wet hair out of his face. and that stupid, goddamn kevlar vest. oh, fuck. the others walked away from the dock to situate everyone and themselves in respected vehicles that sat back on the road a few hundred feet away from where you currently were. as spencer moved to follow behind emily, hands trying to flick the water off of him, your gaze stopped him in his tracks. he stood there, a bit confused as to why you were walking towards him, seemingly entranced, instead of beelining behind everyone else.

he spoke out your name, but you remained silent, stopping just a couple feet away from him. you took him in one more time: the way his shirt became translucent, granting you with peeks of his skin; his sleeves rolled up, showing off his delicious forearms; the way his soaked pants choked his thick thighs. you became woozy with desire. spencer watched as your eyes dragged over his figure, drinking in every inch of his dripping body. "oh, baby..." you voice drawled out as soon as your gaze landed on his bulletproof vest, "you're absolutely soaking wet." spencer's eyebrows shot up his forehead at the suggestive twinkle in your timbre. you approached him further, chest just inches away from his. if he wasn't so intrigued by your reaction, he would have been a bit more cautious of lingering teammates. your hands came up to ghost over his vest, "did i ever tell you how good i think you look in this?" you looked up at him through your lashes.

spencer chuckled, "in the bulletproof vest?" you nodded in response, but spencer still couldn't really believe it. "uh, no, actually, you haven't." his eyes glinted at the way you bit your lip, his hands moving on their own accord to rest on your hips. you could feel droplets of water seep into the material and lick your skin, but you didn't give a rat's ass.

"well, you do." you whisper, hands wrapping around the back of his neck as you pull yourself up to press a kiss to his lips, "really, really good." your mouth moves enticingly with his.

"oh? is that so?" he whispers against your lips, diving back in, his fingers digging in your hips. he graciously kisses you for a moment before it dawns on him that you're both still at work- in an active crime scene, at that. "mmh, mmh!" he vocalizes between kisses as he tries to move his head back a smidge. his eyes peak open just enough to see if anyone else was around. your lips are addicting, rendering him unable to fully tell you to stop, unable to fully pull away himself. he's relieved when he spots no one. still, he know this is far from appropriate. spencer's hands move up your body to wrap around your wrists behind him, pulling them away from him and the same time he pulled away from you, "okay, okay!" he breathes out with a chuckle, "i believe you now" he tries to catch his bearings, but your pouting face causes him to laugh again

"spencerrrr," you groan at the loss of your beloved's kisses and he turns you around and pushes you towards the spot where the others vanished, walking behind you with his hands on your shoulders, your body held at an arm's distance.

"let's go, angel." his words brought out a hmph! from you. "we can do more of that later at home" he whispers, leaning in ever-so-slightly.

you turn your head back to get a glimpse of him, your eyes and smile equally wide with excitement, "can you bring the vest with you?!"

A/N: OKAYYYY lemme stop myself before things get filthy LOL do yall know which episode im referring to in the second scenario? that end scene will always get me my eye are GLUED to spencer the entire time GODDAMN. okay anyway i hope you liked this anon!!! pls tell me yalls thoughts <3

[elordilover]

HIIIII UM CAN I HAVE A WALKER SCOBELL X FEM!READER AND SHE GOT CAUGHT WATCHING EDITS OF HIM AND LIKE DIOR AND LEAH SNATCH HER PHONE AND LOOK AT WAHT SHE WATCHING AND WALKER SEES WHATS HAPPENING AND THEY SHOW HIM🥺🥺

I LOVE THIS !!!!

edits

pairing: walker scobell x fem!reader

summary: while you, dior, and leah were hanging out on set and they steal your phone and discover what you were watching

warnings: not proof read, sorry that the edits are on pinterest 💀 i don’t have tiktok

————————————————————————

you were on set, but weren’t needed until 9:25 so you decided to just chill on the couch until that time. you could admit that you had a tiny crush on your costar, walker scobell. i mean who didn’t. you would never admit this but, you secretly had edits of your costar saved on tiktok.

no one else was around so you decided to put in one of your airpods and scroll through a few of your favorite edits.

you tried to keep your cheeks from turning red just in case dior or leah walked past. they would for sure ask what you were all smiley about.

“Y/N”, you heard as footsteps got closer to you, it was dior and leah. shoot. that was a close one.

you immediately turned off your phone and protected it with your life, you would never hear the end of this is they found out what you were watching. leah sat down on your right and dior on your left, both of them were confused why you were being so protective of your phone, you usually weren’t.

“what are you hiding”, dior asked with a high pitched tone.

“nothing”, you said quickly, “what do you mean”

“oh Y/N, look who it is, aryan!”, dior said while pointing toward the boy who walked toward you three.

you felt someone’s hand across your lap, grabbing your phone. leah grabbing your phone. after she secured it, her and dior ran off before you could steal it back.

“stop”, you yelled. you didn’t care if you were interrupting a shot, you had to get your phone back.

since leah was one of your best friends, she had your password to your phone and immediately unlocked it. once you realized this you sprang up from your seat and started dashing to them.

“guys, i’m serious stop!” you yelled toward them as they continued running away from you.

you saw both of their jaw drop, their eyes go wide and look up toward you. you knew that they found what you were trying to hide.

leah and dior looked at each other, both silently agreeing what to do next. they bolted toward set, where walker was. oh my god. this is not going to end well. a million different possibilities ran through your head. what will walker think? what will he do? will we still be friends?

you tried to chase after them but you knew it would be horrible if walker saw you after your secret had just been revealed. you stayed put and felt helpless.

you could see walker’s confused expression as they sprinted toward him. you were still relatively close so you could hear all the words that were being said.

“walker!”, dior and leah both yelled at the same time, out of breath.

“what, what’s going on?” he replied.

“you have to see this!” dior said while leah passed the phone toward walker, gesturing for him to take it.

“wait is this Y/N’s phone? why do you have it? wait where is she?”, walker rambled on.

“it doesn’t matter just watch what’s on there”, leah replied quickly, just wanting walker to see it.

walker looked down and saw his own face on the screen. he turned up the volume and watched will a slightly confused look.

“wait okay now look”, dior said while grabbing the phone out of his hands and showing him all of your saved edits. edits of him to be exact.

“wait where is she?” walker asked concerned.

you were terrified that walker was going to come and find you. you never want to see him again after this. this will most likely ruin your entire friendship that you spent months creating.

“well i don’t know where she is now, but she was right over there a second ago”, leah said while pointing over to where you were.

without a second thought walker came speed walking toward where you were, he was determined to find you. you were terrified, what was he going to say to you? leah and dior decided to stay there and watch what was about to go down.

“Y/N?”, you heard his soft voice say, “oh my god there you are”

“im sorry”, you said, prepping yourself for a rejection.

“no it’s okay i promise baby” he whispered while your cheeks immediately heated up due to the pet name.

his arms stretched out toward you for a hug. you accepting, breathing in his scent, you were relived he didn’t hate you over this ordeal.

“and to make you feel better, i have a bunch of edits of you saved”, he whispered in your ear, just loud enough for you to hear.

————————————————————————

thank you guys so much for reading! feedback is appreciated!

*requests are open*

taglist 🏷️: @izzystylinson @saltnseas kesha16

@platypusbearrr@lilly-andreas123

🎀♥️🫒🫐🌈🌍🌺🪷💟🐇🐝🦋🧦🫀🌚🥿❤️

[pinkestofpanthers]

you snooped through my wallet? | scott summers

pairing: scott summers x fem!reader warning(s): i would say this is pretty angsty? scott being a little avoidant, logan is kinda mean in this one? lots of fluff and comfort though! i should also mention reader is not a mutant! i could not think of any special powers i wanted to include.

if someone were to ask you, you would tell them you knew everything about the students scott taught at xavier's school for gifted youngsters. he even told you about his coworkers and their beautiful abilities. you always listened to his stories with an open mind and a smile on your face. you swore you fell in love a little more each time he spoke so passionately about what he does.

now, if someone were to ask one of scott's students or coworkers what they knew about you, they'd either stare blankly or laugh in their face. you see, scott didn't think of you as a secret, if there was anything scott was more passionate about than his job, it was you.

so why did it seem like he was hesitant to tell everyone about your relationship?

it made no sense to you. when scott first asked you to be his girlfriend, you raced back to your apartment and immediately called your mom. your gloating got to a point where you had your own coworkers asking where they could "find one like him". perhaps you boasted about your lovely boyfriend a bit too much, because now you were starting to feel like a major issue was rising in the relationship.

that was until late one night when you heard a soft knock on your door. you shuffled out of bed, grabbing a kitchen knife on your way, just in case there was a polite masked murderer on the other side of the door. checking through the peephole, you're instantly met with red lenses. letting out a sigh of relief, you undo the deadbolt and open the door wide enough to let scott in. you see his eyebrows quirk up as he spots the weapon in your hand,

"you can never be too careful, summers," you respond, leading him into your living room and turning on your lamp.

"who would gently knock on your door at this hour?" he asked, sitting down on your loveseat sofa.

"my other boyfriend," you quipped, shooting him a teasing glare. "water?"

"i'm okay for now. you seriously aren't gonna ask why i'm here?" he watches you as you move. right now, he wished you'd just stay in one place. your pacing and opening cabinets and fridges was making him more nervous than he already was.

"well, i didn't get a 'you up' text, so i'm going to assume this isn't a late night booty-call," you spoke and took a seat right next to him.

"i'm afraid not, either way if that was the case i wouldn't have given you the chance to get that glass of water," he joked and you only scoffed, taking a sip from said cup in your hand.

"how cute, scotty," you playfully rolled your eyes. "what's up? everything okay? i do appreciate any chance i get to see my beautiful boyfriend, but not when we have plans to see each other in...five hours," you finished and could see the man before you tense up a bit.

"do you think that i could do more for you?" he blurted out, fidgeting with his hands. you were a bit puzzled, you had never seen scott so nervous. and this was someone who was normally so confident that he didn't even need to ask you what you wanted to do, he had reservations and plans made.

"baby, relax a little bit," you started, setting your water down on your coffee table. "where is this coming from? what you mean 'more'? you do more than enough already."

"like, bring you around to the mansion. have you meet my students, meet charles of all people. do you think i'm ashamed of you?" he continued to ramble and you had to stop him.

"okay, i seriously need you to take a deep breath, hon. what's going on? what's got you so in your head?" your eyes scanning over him for some type of clue.

he let you know about the past few hours spent at the mansion.

an issue that plagued xavier's school for gifted youngsters was the topic of dinner. you would think they'd have bigger things to worry about than what they were going to be eating for the night, but you would sadly be mistaken.

"i don't know scott, i'm not really feeling pizza tonight," ororo spoke, flipping through the pages of whatever book she picked up recently.

"okay, what about from that indian place we all like? you were talking about their samosas the other day!" he replied. takeout was pretty rare at the mansion, everyone having their own regimen and meal preps for each day. today was not one of those days, considering that the team had dealt with a difficult mission earlier. so of course, not a lot of thought was put into dinner.

"if there is nothing else you can think of, then i guess so. you paying?" she looked to him, setting her book down for a brief moment.

"if it will make you agree, then i don't mind. let the others know, need to order before it's too late," he said while grabbing a menu.

with the amount of food ordered, no one was expecting a speedy delivery. that's why everyone hurried off and found something to busy themselves with while waiting. including scott, who went up to his room to make sure he'd call you for the night. he told you about the class he taught earlier that day, the mission he had been on a few hours ago, and how he was planning on ending his night. he even promised you that he would see you tomorrow, suggesting the two of you head to the county fair that was being held outside of town. though he wished he could have stayed on the phone with you forever, he ended the call and hurried downstairs. the rustling of paper bags and chatter filled his ears. the food was definitely here.

"hey, everyone. sorry i wasn't downstairs when they got here, i would have paid. that was all sorted out though, right?" he asked after apologizing, feeling a bit bad that he couldn't answer the door himself.

"don't worry, bub," logan spoke, "you didn't need to hurry up and end your phone call with princess charming."

"excuse me?" scott asked, looking at the man like his mutant powers made him grow three additional heads.

"leave the delivery guy's tip out the next time you rush off to take a phone call is all i'm gonna say," the man replied.

"you snooped through my wallet, logan? seriously?" with this, the rest of the kitchen got quiet, everyone's attention turning to the two men.

"i didn't! word travels pretty fast here," was all logan mumbled out, and turned to face jean.

"jean? you went through my wallet?" scott turned to his former girlfriend, who looked almost speechless.

"okay, i did! but i wasn't 'snooping'. like logan said, you didn't leave the delivery guy's tip. so i thought if i just went in and got an extra five it would be fine. was a bit shocked when i saw the girl, though," she explained.

"well, we can't all be hung up on the past," scott bit back, and this made jean sigh and logan scoff.

"for your information, my girlfriend and i are just fine," logan retorted and stepped in front of scott, blocking jean from his sight.

"what's that supposed to mean?" scott raises his voice just a bit, not wanting to scare anyone away.

"it means that you have a picture of a girl we can only assume is your girlfriend in your wallet and for some reason, tonight was the first time any of us even knew of her existence. everything okay at lover's lane, bub?" logan questioned, looking at scott defiantly.

"don't talk about her!" scott warned him, trying to push past the man.

"you're right, you're right. you shouldn't speak on people you don't know, scotty," logan teased and it only made scott cringe.

after a long pause hung in the air, everyone went back to situating themselves for dinner. if anything, they'd be nosy about scott's new girlfriend and his little argument with logan after their stomachs were full.

scott didn't even want to eat. he felt his appetite ruin as logan spoke about you. it didn't help that logan spoke so highly of his ex-girlfriend, but for him to not even know you and think he can make assumptions about you and him was enough to put scott off for the rest of the night.

he excused himself after finishing what he could from his meal. making his way back up to his room, he spotted ororo about to walk into the library.

"you okay?" she asked, just wanting to check in on him.

"besides feeling like the shittiest boyfriend alive? i think i'm doing okay," he tried to laugh it off, but the joke fell flat.

"listen," ororo started, "i don't think you're a terrible boyfriend. i think that the line of work you put yourself in is not one that you planned on exposing your girlfriend to, at least not now. she's not a mutant, right?"

scott nodded and ororo continued,

"bringing her around here would be lovely, and i of all people would love to meet her. i need to pick her brain and see how she deals with you," she laughed and successfully got a chuckle out of scott. "but this is why we set boundaries, and have little relationship milestones. don't let anyone make you feel awful because you're doing the right thing and going slow with her, okay?" ororo asked, hand landing on scott's shoulder to offer him some type of comfort.

"thanks, ororo. a part of me just doesn't want her to feel like she needs to worry about me being here. i still work and live with my ex-girlfriend, and for her to be reminded of that every time she comes here isn't something i want her to overthink about. i don't want it to hurt us," scott ranted, finally revealing all his fears and the main reason why he didn't want to introduce you so soon.

"don't you think it might hurt you both more if you don't introduce her and keep hiding her from this place?" it was almost as if all the lights went off in scott's head, and he finally understood he shouldn't continue hiding one part of his life that he cherished from the other.

ending the conversation off, he thanked ororo for her advice and promised her that she'd get to meet you sooner than she expected.

"i'll hold you to it," the woman smiled back as she disappeared into the dimly lit library.

after hearing him recount the entire night to you, you took a deep breath and found the hand of his that was closest to you, taking it in your grasp. you brought it up to your face and kissed it over and over. you hoped it would calm him down, but scott would tell you that your lack of a spoken response worried him a little bit.

"i think," you finally spoke, "that for a while, i was sort of offended that i was this hidden part of you. i felt like every time i would mention a friend of yours, or ask how a certain student was doing, you'd close yourself off. i mean, i'm no mutant but i felt like it was something you were uncomfortable with me mentioning? so i backed off," you explained.

"it also didn't help when you'd mention that there was an upcoming gala you had to go to, or that the mansion was hosting some kind of small party, and i'd sit and wonder if i was ever going to get an invite," you finished, letting go of everything that was weighing you down for the past month.

scott looked defeated, and you could tell he was feeling bad. though you wanted to tell him that he there was no need to continue beating himself up about it, you wanted to give him time to speak for himself.

"i just...what i do is really special to me. and you're incredibly special to me. i have this weird feeling that if i introduce you to everyone, things might fall apart," he let out, and you looked at him sympathetically.

"you'll never know if you don't try, honey," you whispered to him as you kissed his cheek.

it was decided then. scott knew he wanted to introduce you sometime soon, but didn't know how soon. he asked you if you would be comfortable meeting everyone after the little trip you two were taking tomorrow. you could only smile and tell him it was perfectly fine with you.

as scott watched you interact with those living in the house, he doesn't understand why he never wanted these two important parts of his life to interact with each other. it was endearing, truly. watching you laugh with rogue, go back and forth with logan, and even answer all of ororo's questions. while conversing with jean, his eyes met yours from across the room and you could only grin back at him. he doesn't know what he was ever scared of. though his nerves died down a little bit, there was still one person that scott was a bit anxious for you to interact with.

"excuse me," you two heard as you made your way back into scott's arms. turning around, you felt scott's grip on your waist tighten, and your eyes met with the man who was before you.

"hello! you must be-" you excitedly chirped before he politely interrupted,

"professor charles xavier. it is so wonderful to finally meet you," the older man answered with a warm smile.

a/n: hello everyone! i hope that you enjoyed what you've read! i've been searching for scott fics all over and have found almost nothing so i decided to just write one on my own. i haven't written a full fic in so long so please be kind. thank you so so much!!! <3

[acowardinmordor]

You Left Me, You Miss Me

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

@mc-i-r is writing another version of this and tagged me and my brain woke up, so here ya go. This is almost all dialogue, and my new love for Mrs Buckley.

----

"Hey Steve-o! Get in here!" Robin yelled.

"Thought you were talking to your mom?" Steve shouted back.

"I am! That's why you have to come here! The cord won't reach!"

Steve hauled himself up from the corner of the kitchen where he was reorganizing things for the third time since they moved in last week. There was a pile of boxes they really needed to open in the hallway, and his mattress was still against the wall, but he kept going back to the kitchen, trying to make it work despite there being only one pull out drawer. One. They noticed before they signed the lease, but they both assumed they could make it work somehow if they just tried hard enough. But. Third time's the charm.

Flopping onto the thrifted couch next to his best friend, he leaned against her head, and greeted, "Hi Mrs Buckley, how are you?"

"Now why can't you answer the phone so politely, Robin? Who raised you to be so impolite?"

"Yeah, mom, I know you love Steve more than you love me, you tell me every time you talk to him, now can you say it again please?"

"Yes, well, like I was saying, I don't really know why they were all so upset about it, but I didn't want to overstep, so I didn't tell them anything. Not really. Only that you had moved and that you were fine. It's not like that's a secret. Then I noticed that they didn't know about that and so I didn't answer the rest of the questions, which really only made them more upset, but I think they were upset with me, not with the pair of you, so that's perfectly fine, none of them were nearly as vicious as Robin was when she was fifteen and decided she--"

"Mom!"

Steve giggled. Robin's rambling came from her mother, that was certain, and it was worse when they were on the phone. They fed on each other's talking. Like that snake thing.

"Right, yes. Well, Steve, like I told her, those boys, the ones you used to babysit for, they came around to ask if I knew where you were," Mrs Buckley finally said.

Robin grabbed his hand with the one not holding the phone, and pressed her forehead harder against his as they crowded the handset. Steve didn't think he'd reacted, but they didn't need anything as boring as a visible reaction to know each other.

"They said that they went into the video store and saw someone new at the desk, and when they heard that the two of you were no longer working there -- Apparently that manager of yours had some unpleasant words on the subject. You know I never liked him? The first time I stepped in there he asked me if I was still married? Not like that, of course, but it was still very strange. I didn't like it. And according to Robin he was always like that, wasn't he, Steven?"

"Yeah, he was pretty weird," Steve answered numbly.

"Well, that Keith fellow told them you were no longer employed there and that curly haired one demanded to know where you were employed. Since its not like he knew even if he would have told them, those boys went looking for themselves. I guess they went to your house first, Steven, and must have seen the for sale sign. I don't know what your parents are thinking, selling with the market like it is right now, but no one has ever made either of your parents listen to a single word of sense in their lives."

"Mom, the point?"

"Yes, sorry dear, like I told Robin, eventually it must have occurred to them that the two of you would be in the same place and thought to come by. Well. I say come by. First they called, and your father, you know how he is, simply said you were no longer in residence and hung up on them. He thinks he's so funny. Oh! Make sure you remember to call next Tuesday to congratulate him. It's his first day as the lead manager in the office. Oh no, wait, does it count as long distance for you? Never mind, I'll place the call so you don't have to worry about it."

"Mrs Buckley? You were saying something about Dustin?" He was proud that his voice was steady. They left Hawkins eleven days ago. They started packing two weeks before that. His parents put the house on the market around the same time. It wasn't until today that they noticed.

"Yes, that's the one. So Dustin didn't take your father's humor well, and he and his friends came by earlier this evening."

"Wait, evening?" Steve interrupted, "It was dark? They were biking around in the dark? In this weather?"

"Oh goodness no, that young man drove them. The one that was in the papers that the pair of you helped last year. He was much more polite than they were. Well, once I told them that you'd moved, they all started shouting over each other, I was sure that Ms Wickley was going to come over and scold them."

"I'm sorry, ma'am--"

"Oh you don't need to ma'am me Steven, I've told you that."

"Mom, he was just trying to be polite when he asked you to please get to the point, so can you, you know, try to get to the point some time tonight. You're paying for the call, but jeez."

"Oh yes. Well it occurred to me while they were all shouting that if they were your friends like they were saying, they would have known that you were moving. So when they managed to calm down enough I could hear a thing I said, I refused to tell them anything else. It's none of their business if you don't want it to be. And that Dustin boy said that you were his best friend, right in the same sentence he said he hadn't seen you in a month. But, I wasn't entirely sure if I was wrong about it, so I did promise I would ask you if you wanted me to pass on your information."

"Good job, mom, you finally got back to it. This is why I had you come over here, so you could hear that last part. I should have just asked you. Do you want my mom to give them our number or address or anything?" Robin had rolled her eyes over her mom's rambling, completely unaware she was just as terrible. But then she stared at him, concerned and outraged and protective and sad. God, he didn't know what he'd do without her.

"Did they ask?" Steve said.

"Ask? I don't think a single one of them knows how to ask anything. They certainly shouted a lot of demands. If you don't want me to tell them, I have no complaints about being the villain in this story. After everything you've done for my girl, being there for her before she even told me, and now making sure she's safe from any kind of trouble up there, you're such a perfect - what was the - beard? I think that's what I saw in that article in that magazine. Oh, no, the Zine, I ordered. But even without all that, I'll happily shut the door in their faces every day for a year if that's what you want done."

Steve's next breath stuttered, and that was all Robin needed to see.

"Hang on mom, I'm going to put the phone down, don't hang up, we'll be back." She sat the handset on the couch, then dragged a throw blanket over it to muffle their voices completely.

"You okay there or do I need to make a snap decision about which is going to be our household's vomit bowl?" He pushed her shoulder half-heartedly. "Okay, yeah, we both know it's gonna be the one with the cow on it. But you okay there, Stevie?"

"I'm fine."

"No you aren't."

"I'm fine."

She gasped, "You would lie to your soulmate? To her face?"

"I'm not! I'm fine! I just... I don't know, Robs."

Robin watched for a second as all of the muck of emotions bubbled inside him. Then she, as she always did, understood him.

"You want to say no. You want to tell her not to let them know where we are, but you're also freaking out because the brats come find you whenever It's back."

And because for a second, he desperately hoped that they missed him, or wanted to call so they could apologize for the last months. She didn't need to say that part. He half shrugged, sort of nodded, and bobbed his chin towards the throw blanket.

"You sure, Dingus?"

"Yeah."

"Is it gonna be Hopper or Joyce?" she faux wondered as she grabbed the phone from its prison. "Mom? Hi, back. Yeah, thank you. I'm gonna hand the phone to Steve now."

She didn't move away, but she didn't share the earpiece.

"Hi Mrs Buckley. I guess I -- could I ask a couple questions first?"

"Of course dear. What would you like to know?"

"Did any of them say anything weird or really specific?"

"Like what?"

"Like, about the mall, or last spring, or, bats, or uh, did they say anything about their dungeons and dragons game?"

"No. Why would they?"

Steve forced his shoulders to relax. El said it was done, but four years of it coming back meant he'd never fully trust that as true.

"No reason I guess."

"Well. That Munson boy did ask me about a radio right at the end. After the others stomped back to the driveway. He came back and he seemed - well he asked about a radio. And I said you certainly had a radio in your car, but I think he may have been talking about something else. Is that what you meant?"

"Okay, uh. Yeah. Thank you. I guess."

"So what would you like me to tell them next time I see one of them? If you'd like to take your time about it, you can. They were quite worked up about it, but it's a little ridiculous to act like they were owed something if they didn't even notice you two moving. You knocked over a stop sign with that rental truck."

Steve laughed. Couldn't help it. "I really can't wait, ma'am. They'll be back tomorrow morning to bother you." He gave Robin a look she immediately returned. Even without hearing the other half, she understood how true that was.

"Of course they won't, they have school," Mrs Buckley argued.

"Yeah, just means they'll be at your door even earlier."

"Well that's rude."

"Yeah, that's them. So, um. You can be rude back if you want. Don't, uh, you don't need to answer their questions. If you don't mind that they're not going to take it well."

Mrs Buckley laughed, loud and cackling for a moment, making the phone go staticky. "Oh dear, it would be my absolute pleasure to be rude right back to them. I'm much better at it. Anything else?"

"Yeah, you know Jim Hopper?" The resounding silence promised she was giving him the same judgemental look Robin was. "Sorry, that was dumb. But can you give him our number? Not to share with them, just so he has it. And, funny story about radios, but, the one that -- that that guy asked about is in your hall closet. Top shelf, next to the popcorn tin. Give Hopper that too?"

"Certainly, anything I should tell him, or should I ask to return the phone to my ridiculous child that you're generous enough to live with so I can say good night?"

For some reason, it made him think about the returns box at the store. A handle pulled open, the movie dropped inside, and nothing else needed. No one had to explain why they were giving back their copy of Breakfast Club. They had it for a while, hopefully they enjoyed it, and then when it was done, when they didn't need it anymore, or when it was overdue, when they kept it longer than they should have, costing them more money to keep around than it was worth, when they decided they were done with it, they didn't write a letter and explain why they--

"No. But, just. Tell him its for emergencies or something. Thank you, bye, or, goodnight ma'am, Mrs Buckley, uh, here's Robs. Bye."

He climbed off the couch as he shoved the phone at her, and headed for the window in his yet to be unpacked room. Rob would kill him in his sleep if he had a cigarette, but if he had any, he'd have taken the risk.

The glass was so cold it was painful against his forehead when he leaned into it, and he watched the little flurries of snow on the street kicked up by the wind. They didn't even notice for a few weeks. They'd quit Family Video a week before they left, and he knew the kids watched at least a few every weekend. They must have gone in, multiple times, and just, not noticed. Or not cared.

He wasn't sure which of those was worse.

He wasn't sure why it hurt when he made his peace with it weeks and weeks ago. It hadn't ached so vividly since the fall. Worst of all was the shock of concern for them, thinking they were out on their bikes in the dark and the snow. Then the relief that Eddie drove them. The feeling was huge enough to eclipse anything else until he knew they were safe.

Hadn't seen them in a month, barely seen them before that, and his first instinct was still to drop everything and grabs his keys. He was two hours away, and his brain was itchy to go drive by and check on them. They didn't need him to do that. They didn't want him to.

And based on how his stomach lurched when he heard that they didn't know he'd left, he didn't think it would do him any favors to go back. Hop and Joyce knew how to handle them if they started to do anything too risky, and the kids were practically glued to Eddie's side.

They weren't his to look after.

"Stop staring out the window like your lover is lost on the moors," Robin complained, wrapping him in a hug from behind.

"I have no idea what that means, Robs."

"Good, I'll explain it to you. Come on, lets go, we've got a kitchen to reorganize. I already started stuff for popcorn and hot chocolate. Lets gooooo, you're too heavy for me to carry, hup two."

Steve snorted and let her drag him away.

"I thought we were going to get my room set up, so I wouldn't have to share with you again?"

She gave him that look. That one that was fond and frustrated and sassy as shit. The one that said she wasn't going to let him get away with being dumb, but wasn't going to call him on it.

"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind. You can share with me for a while longer. Now do the hot chocolate, and don't skimp on the whipped cream. We bought that can on sale and its going to go bad any second. Just use all of it. Directly into our mouths if we cant get it balance on the mug. Don't want to waste it, and we deserve it. I'm on popcorn duty, and then we're going to defeat this puzzle, Harrington. We outsmarted the Russians, we can outsmart the dishes!"

Shit. He sniffled as he followed her orders.

He was so damn grateful he still had her.

-----

Next>>

Still don't do tag lists. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯