#and she is rushing to pay it as concretely as she can

[emeryleewho]

Saw a fun little conversation on Threads but I don't have a Threads account, so I couldn't reply directly, but I sure can talk about it here!

I've been wanting to get into this for awhile, so here we go! First and foremost, I wanna say that "Emmaskies" here is really hitting the nail on the head despite having "no insider info". I don't want this post to be read as me shitting on trad pub editors or authors because that is fundamentally not what's happening.

Second, I want to say that this reply from Aaron Aceves is also spot on:

There are a lot of reviewers who think "I didn't enjoy this" means "no one edited this because if someone edited it, they would have made it something I like". As I talk about nonstop on this account, that is not a legitimate critique. However, as Aaron also mentions, rushed books are a thing that also happens.

As an author with 2 trad pub novels and 2 trad pub anthologies (all with HarperCollins, the 2nd largest trad publisher in the country), let me tell you that if you think books seem less edited lately, you are not making that up! It's true! Obviously, there are still a sizeable number of books that are being edited well, but something I was talking about before is that you can't really know that from picking it up. Unlike where you can generally tell an indie book will be poorly edited if the cover art is unprofessional or there are typoes all over the cover copy, trad is broken up into different departments, so even if editorial was too overworked to get a decent edit letter churned out, that doesn't mean marketing will be weak.

One person said that some publishers put more money into marketing than editorial and that's why this is happening, but I fundamentally disagree because many of these books that are getting rushed out are not getting a whole lot by way of marketing either! And I will say that I think most authors are afraid to admit if their book was rushed out or poorly edited because they don't want to sabotage their books, but guess what? I'm fucking shameless. Café Con Lychee was a rush job! That book was poorly edited! And it shows! Where Meet Cute Diary got 3 drafts from me and my beta readers, another 2 drafts with me and my agent, and then another 2 drafts with me and my editor, Café Con Lychee got a *single* concrete edit round with my editor after I turned in what was essentially a first draft. I had *three weeks* to rewrite the book before we went to copy edits. And the thing is, this wasn't my fault. I knew the book needed more work, but I wasn't allowed more time with it. My editor was so overworked, she was emailing me my edit letter at 1am. The publisher didn't care if the book was good, and then they were upset that its sales weren't as high at MCD's, but bffr. A book that doesn't live up to its potential is not going to sell at the same rate as one that does!

And this may sound like a fluke, but it's not. I'm not naming names because this is a deeply personal thing to share, but I have heard from *many* authors who were not happy with their second books. Not because they didn't love the story but because they felt so rushed either with their initial drafts or their edits that they didn't feel like it lived up to their potential. I also know of authors who demanded extra time because they knew their books weren't there yet only to face big backlash from their publisher or agent.

I literally cannot stress to you enough that publisher's *do not give a fuck* about how good their products are. If they can trick you into buying a poorly edited book with an AI cover that they undercut the author for, that is *better* than wasting time and money paying authors and editors to put together a quality product. And that's before we get into the blatant abuse that happens at these publishers and why there have been mass exoduses from Big 5 publishers lately.

There's also a problem where publishers do not value their experienced staff. They're laying off so many skilled, dedicated, long-term committed editors like their work never meant anything. And as someone who did freelance sensitivity reading for the Big 5, I can tell you that the way they treat freelancers is *also* abysmal. I was almost always given half the time I asked for and paid at less than *half* of my general going rate. Authors publishing out of their own pockets could afford my rate, but apparently multi-billion dollar corporations couldn't. Copy edits and proofreads are often handled by freelancers, meaning these are people who aren't familiar with the author's voice and often give feedback that doesn't account for that, plus they're not people who are gonna be as invested in the book, even before the bad payment and ridiculous timelines.

So, anyway, 1. go easy on authors and editors when you can. Most of us have 0 say in being in this position and authors who are in breech of their contract by refusing to turn in a book on time can face major legal and financial ramifications. 2. Know that this isn't in your head. If you disagree with the choices a book makes, that's probably just a disagreement, but if you feel like it had so much potential but just *didn't reach it*, that's likely because the author didn't have time to revise it or the editor didn't have time to give the sort of thorough edits it needed. 3. READ INDIE!!! Find the indie authors putting in the work the Big 5's won't do and support them! Stop counting on exploitative mega-corporations to do work they have no intention of doing.

Finally, to all my readers who read Café Con Lychee and loved it, thank you. I love y'all, and I appreciate y'all, and I really wish I'd been given the chance to give y'all the book you deserved. I hope I can make it up to you in 2025.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words 🎨

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[shushmal]

okay but a like post-series fic i want that's like: steve harrington being the only man left in hawkins fighting monsters

and not like a 'everyone died, last man standing' way but just. they beat it back, the story ends, nice little tie-up and neatly concluded, eleven loses her powers because their world is completely cut from the other. and life goes on. eddie (yes, eddie lives au don't fight me) goes off with his band, robin-nancy-jargyle off to separate cities for college. the kids go to high school, graduate high school, and scatter across the country. joyce and hop buy a beach house far-far-far away from goddamn hawkins indiana.

steve though. steve stays. he does it too without comment, takes all their calls telling him all these amazing things. the years pass. the calls are fewer and far between. he's mostly in contact with only dustin and robin. except robin's out of country doing some crazy temp job in some remote country, she never catches him at home right now so just leaves him messages. and it takes a couple of weeks for dustin to realize he hasn't gotten steve on the phone.

frantically he calls around "have you heard from steve???" except the most people talk to steve anymore is like phone calls during holidays and holy shit what could have happened??

and what if it's back?

cue everyone who can in that moment, rushing back. eddie hopping on a flight from fucking london direct to indianapolis somehow, heart in his throat. he manages to meet hopper in the airport and they pick up max and dustin at the bus station.

they get to hawkins that is even more different that what they left. a smaller town, a town that shuts down completely when the sun sets. it's creepy and deserted.

except for the fucking upside down monsters of course.

and they're in their stupid little rental in front of this demogorgon and they're screaming but then the thing just goes splat on the concrete and steve fucking harrington is blinking owlishly at them.

"Oh, hey guys!" he calls jogging up to the driver's side window. "Wow, what brought you back down this way? You should have told me, I would have told you about the curfew!"

turns out steve just forgot to pay his phone bill that month, didn't even realize he was missing calls and he's been fighting monsters the entire time because actually they WEREN'T cut off from the upside down at all and he's just been casually fighting monsters for the remaining hawkins residence—the whole town knows now and steve's the guy you call when you have a monster problem

sidebar: WAYNE still lives in hawkins, and he and steve are best friends, eddie munson you are gonna LOSE YOUR MIND

[dannyphantom-zero]

Doctor Danny chapter 3

Danny shivered as he drove to work. The feeling of being watched was way creepier than he expected. The worst part, he couldn't tell if it was all in his head or not.

Sometimes when he was younger he had felt like people were always watching him, turned out he was paranoid.

Danny shrugged it off and started work.

The second he was in he was pulled in ten different directions.

Danny had been treating a patient when on the TV the news was showing footage of a live battle. A bomb had gone off and rubble blocked the ambulance from getting to patients.

"NURSE! TAKE OVER" Danny shouted, he ran out of the patients room as soon as the nurse was there. That attack was still happening.

If Danny didn't do something those injured people were going to die.

"DOCTOR! WHERE ARE YOU GOING!" the head of the ward shouted.

"I'LL BE BACK WITH PATIENTS GET BEDS READY!"

The head didn't hesitate. Danny was infamous for not following orders but he never seems to fail a patient.

"You heard him! Get beds ready!"

The nurses and interns scrambled to ready as many rooms as possible.

Danny floored it to the location. A feeling of dread settled onto him. As soon as he hit the first rubble blockage his car door flew open. He started dragging the rubble out of the way.

The news reporter noticed Danny.

"Just coming into the scene, a mysterious unnamed man has jumped into the frey. He appears to be clearing the road."

The camera focused on Danny who had the road almost clear. Danny motioned for the ambulance to get closer.

Danny rushed further into the disaster area. He pulled the rubble off of pinned down citizens. Danny put as many patients as possible in the ambulance.

There were so many. He couldn't wait for another ambulance.

"This man is carrying two people at the same time! He's acting like a superhero!"

The head of the ward stared at the TV back at the hospital.

"Doctor, what are you?" He asked himself in wonder.

Danny had a worker from the ambulance drive his car back, he wasn't done here yet.

He thought he had heard it.

HELP PLEASE SOMEONE PLEASE I CANTBREATHE.

Yes, those were the scrambled screams from someone soul. If a person was put in an extreme situation, their soul in rare cases screamed.

This worked on Damners favor. Danny scanned the area and then he saw it. A mother and her child. The mother had protected the child and got pinned under falling rubble.

Danny hoisted the rubble off from her and thrust it aside.

The women would get more injuries if she were.moved carelessly. Danny grabbed a thick piece of nearby board.

He laid his coat on the board and put both hands under the women securing her. He hoisted her onto the boards and then used his belt to latch her to the makeshift gurney.

Danny was alone on this war front. He really didn't want to carry a critical patient alone but he had no choice.

"Hey kid, you gotta be quick. Run get out of this rubble and to the open street, if you do that I promise I'll get your mom out of here"

He nodded before sprinting away. Thankfully the women wasn't too heavy. Danny picked her up and do his best not to jostle her as he made his way through the wreckage.

They had nearly been out when a peace of cement fell from the sky. Danny quickly adjusted the women and thrust his fist into the concrete. It broke into smaller pieces, none hitting the patient.

Then they were out. Another ambulance was waiting there for him.

He transfered the women to the real gurney and sat on the ambulance. A soon as he got to the hospital he was running from patient to patient doing his best to swiftly treat each one.

The entire time one name kept repeating in his head. Joker.

The villain who had attacked, the villain documented to have taken the most lives. He needed to pay.

Danny sighed. He was standing on the hospital roof, a good place to go and think.

The patients were all stable and thankfully there were no deaths.

Danny drank his canned coffee and headed back in. What he saw was chaos. One of the patients had gone into shock suddenly and without warning.

Danny rushed to the ED with the patient. They started performing emergency surgery. On the end it was futile.

They could not save the patient.

"Time of death 1:23 AM" one of the other doctors said in a solemn tone.

Danny gritted his teeth and stormed out.

"DAAMM EEIIT, AAAAHHH!" Danny screamed once he was on the rooftop.

Tears streamed down his face. He lost a patient because of that damned psychopath!

Danny wiped his tears and made his way to the hospitals morgue.

"Let me see my patient" he had to help the soul pass on, it was his duty.

The soul looked like a cloud of blue mist. It glowed and swirled.

"Go, be in peace" it evaporated and Danny sighed.

"It's time for you to go home Danny, you need to rest. You've been working tirelessly and you just lost a patient"

Danny was frustrated because he knew the head was right. He had to throw away the cost and get a replacement because it was torn to the point that it was unrecognizable.

Danny sat in his car with his head pressed on his hands that were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

His car made a low rumble sound as he drove home. Once he got there he crawled into his sleeping bag and tried to forget.

Jason had been watching the fight, ready to jump in at any moment. Then he saw Danny, the way he had pulled those people out of there.

There was a clip that had been missed by the news. It wasn't a professional camera the way it kept shaking but through all the dust you could see a slab of concrete falling towards Danny and then he just... punched it.

Later he had heard that Danny's patient had died and he knew he needed to make a visit.

No doubt the doctor was blaming himself. He knew what it was like losing someone you were trying to save.

Jason slowly slid open Danny window. It's lock was faulty, he wondered if Danny knew that.

"Danny?"

He didn't respond.

"I know what it's like to lose a person like that, especially to joker"

Danny sat up and looked at Jason with rage burning in his eyes.

"If I ever meet Joker, I will tear his arms off"

Jason stared at Danny for half a second before grabbing his shoulders, "I knew I liked you!"

Jason let go and reached up to take his helmet off.

"Don't!" Danny said grabbing the helmet.

"Danny, I'm going to stalk you whether you know my identity or not"

Danny sighed and let go.

"Okay but what about the other vigilantes identities. Once I know yours, figuring out theirs won't be so difficult"

Jason paused, considering it.

"Meh, they'll be fine"

Danny shook his head.

"When I'm kidnapped and tortured and all of your identities get revealed, it won't be my fault" Danny said.

Jason grinned and took off the helmet.

Danny glanced at Jason. He didn't look half bad in terms of looks, he considered Red Hood to be pretty handsome.

"I don't recognize you at all" Danny said peering closer.

"Really? I'm Jason Todd"

Danny pulled back like he had touched something hot.

That name, Jason Todd was famous for his soul being reborn due to a hazardous pit called the Lazarus Pit. It must be eating away at him, probably destroying his mind.

"Shit" Danny muttered.

"What?" Jason asked.

Danny seemed conflicted.

"I am about to say something that's going to sound, in a word, insane"

Danny paused, "I'm only telling you this because I feel obligated to help you"

"Help me? How?" Jason asked with a sly smirk.

"With your situation" Jason had a blank look on his face.

"The Lazarus Pit that you fell into is contaminated. It's going to damage your brain"

Jason's eyes grew wide and Danny could see the sparks of the contaminated ectoplasm influencing Jason's emotions.

Before Jason could fly into a rage Danny grabbed him.

"Sorry, this is gonna hurt but I have to filter the ectoplasm"

Danny bit Jason's neck finding a vein. He began sucking out the contaminated ectoplasm, replacing with his own. He tried to think of it like a blood transfusion.

Jason was too stunned to do anything. The longer Danny was like that, the calmer Jason felt.

Finally Danny let go. He waited for a horrified look or a demand or anything.

But Jason seemed almost like he was in a trance.

"Jason?"

He snapped out of it, his hand flying to his neck.

"That felt...nice"

Danny sighed.

"I'm half ghost" Danny said.

Jason looked at him like he was dead.

"I was in an accident in my parents lab and sort of died, my DNA was mutated due to ectoplasm. It was the purest form."

"Your half dead?"

Danny nodded, "what I did was filter the Lazarus water and replace it with ectoplasm."

"Am I all good then?"

"Well no. I can't do it all at one time since it's mixed with the blood in your veins. If I did you could die"

Jason smirked.

"Oh noooooo" he said sarcastically, "looks like I'll have to come back"

Danny rolled his eyes.

"So are technically like a vampire ghost then"

"I am not a vampire!" Danny said.

"Sure, sure."

Danny sighed.

"So are gonna leave or what?" Danny asked.

Jason grinned.

"Naw, Imma stay right here"

Danny opened the window.

"Shoo"

Jason put a hand on his heart.

"Wow, I can see how welcome I am"

"I hope so"

Jason shook his head as he climbed out of the window onto the fire excuse, helmet secure on his head.

"You can't get rid of me Danny"

"I know, that's why I'm getting a restraining order"

"What?" Jason asked in alarm. Danny shut the window cutting off Jason's concerned cry.

Now THAT was satisfying.

Jason couldn't stop smiling. His new friend had the cure to his pit rage and had powers. Not only that, he was medically equipped so Jason wouldn't have to go to the hospital ever again!

It also worried him. Danny was too skilled, he was a big target for any villain.

Danny fell asleep and he slept deeply.

Danny was surprised to wake up to something other than his alarm the next day.

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | viii.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The rest of the morning flies by in a befuddling blur. Coriolanus takes you to the heart of the Capitol’s busiest street to have breakfast in a fancy tea house, one you’ve never set foot in before. For a while you ogle every item on the menu, brows furrowing at the prices. 

Coriolanus smiles at your expression.

“It’s my treat, angel,” he assures you.

The scent of fresh coffee and food hangs in the air. 

Your eyes roam about. Colorful flowers decorate the door frames. Mouth-watering pastries are exposed behind the glass under the front desk. The waitress comes over. She is nice. Her red curls bounce above her shoulders as she raves about the menu for the day. It’s clear the blond is a regular here.

He orders for you as you can’t bring yourself to decide, even after perusing the dizzying list of choices. You offer no resistance, glad to be relieved of your predicament. None of the dishes described particularly excite you. You’d rather let him pick. After all, he’s familiar with the place and you’re not.

He pays the waitress a compliment in that smooth, easy way of his and her cheeks glow pink as she tucks a strand of her behind her ear. It’s clear even the sweet waitress isn’t immune to his boyish charm.

Food is brought to the table and you stare at your plate for a while.

Your stomach stirs but you’re bereft of appetite. You’re distracted, the events of the night before still whirling through your brain in a hazy succession. Coriolanus’ soft reassurances collide with your unease. You fuss with your syrup-coated toast and strawberries, slicing little pieces you set aside but don’t touch. 

“You don’t like it?”

His deep voice startles you. You’re yanked from your numb haze, your head snapping up. A concerned frown mars his brow.

“What?”

“You’re not eating, angel.” He glances at your plate. The whipped cream has long since melted, forming a snowy pool around the strawberries and toast. “I can have it sent back if you want.”

Bristling, you shake your head. You’ve never been too fond of wasting food. While it’s a luxury the elite allow themselves since the rebellion was quelled, those horrid days of despair and rationing have never parted from your mind. Just a decade ago, gaunt children roamed the streets begging for scraps.

“No, I’ll eat.” You shove a forkful in your mouth, forcing your expression to be more cheerful. 

He admires you, a subtle smile tugging his lips. His gaze does not waver until you finish your plate. Your skin prickles beneath the sharpness of his scrutiny. Despite the tightness of your stomach, you force each bite down your throat. A thought appears to cross his mind, his head slanting.

He reaches over the table to cup your cheek. 

“You look beautiful when the sun hits you like that,” he says, his blue eyes twinkling. Your heart skips a beat. 

You duck your head, mumbling below your breath, “I…thank you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you fidget in your seat. 

It sounds exactly like a line from the romance books you cherish. The kind that would have the girl melt. The same way you’re melting now.

You lift bashful eyes to Coriolanus as he fondles the side of your face. 

After breakfast, he drags you along a path you don’t know. You trail behind him, hesitant when the front of a clothing boutique comes into view. He tries to pull you inside but you plant your feet into the concrete ground. 

He casts you a puzzled look. Anxiously chewing on your lip, you explain, 

“Coriolanus…my monthly allowance is only for school supplies and food. It’s barely enough for me and Walter to eat.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re overfeeding that cat,” he jests.

“Well, he doesn’t like it whenever I try to give him less,” you say with a shrug. 

His lips quirk upward.

“You really don’t know how to say ‘no’ to anything, do you, angel?”

Your gaze finds the floor.

He lifts your chin, his mesmerizing gaze drawing yours like a magnet.

“What’s the harm in looking?” he inquires. “You could still try on some dresses. You don’t even have to purchase anything.”

Your feet contort as your brows draw together.

“I don’t know. I probably should be home by now anyway.”

You can’t afford to fall behind. A mountain of studying awaits you at home. Between Saturday with Clemensia and the girls, the party and now…this is the longest you’ve gone without going over your notes. 

His expression dims, his fingers loosening around yours. You find yourself almost missing the contact, the warm, gentle pressure you’ve slowly grown familiar with. 

“Well, I suppose I could take you back home if you really wanted. I was just looking forward to us spending the day together.”

Your insides twist as you take in the glimmer of disappointment in his eyes. The thought of letting Coriolanus down makes your stomach ache. He’s gone through so much trouble to be nice and make you a part of his friend group. He’s spending time with you even if he’s always so busy.

“I guess there’s no harm in looking,” you belatedly relent. 

He beams at you. 

You let Coriolanus escort you inside. The high ceilings and gold accents of the place make your mind spin. 

He goes through every rack in the shop, running a critical eye over every garment that catches his attention. The saleswoman makes suggestions at his side, informing him of the current trends and which colors would compliment your complexion the best. You don’t utter a word. Their conversation fades as your focus bounces around the boutique. The feminine flair of the clothes you flip through are a sharp contrast to the contents of your wardrobe. 

You don’t see a single piece of you reflected here. You feel like an alien as you drag your feet across the soft carpeting. 

Rare items appeal to your scarce fashion sense but when you show them to him, Coriolanus hums his disapproval. 

“I know more about these things, angel. Trust me,” he whispers, his thumb caressing the back of your hand before he disposes of all your choices

You deflate but don’t argue. You’re only here to window-shop anyways, at his behest at that. It’s not like you’re craving new clothes. Or even need them. Still, a pang of regret lingers as the saleswoman strolls away with every piece of clothing that caught your eye. 

Once Coriolanus is done with his selection, you head to the fitting room.

You end up trying a bunch of dresses while he watches you. His intense gaze is glued to your frame as you pose and walk across the room per his demands. Every outfit draws a slightly different reaction from him, ranging from appreciative hum to skeptical groan. One in particular has his lips stretching in a wide smile. He beckons you to come to him with two of his fingers. You take shaky steps forward.

“I really like that one,” he says, hands rubbing up and down your waist. 

You fidget awkwardly.

“It’s not really my style.”

He cocks his head.

“How can you say that when you don’t have a style yet?”

You gape at him. Clemmie said similar words to you. But he gives you no time to ponder on that, grabbing your hand to make you twirl.

“I think you look very pretty in it, angel.” He leans closer to mutter in your ear. “In fact…I’m getting hard just watching you prance around in it.” To emphasize his lewd admission, he wiggles his hips against yours. The thick protrusion inside his pants carves a sizzling dent into your belly. Your breath snags, heat rushing to your face. You gawk at him, bewildered by his boldness. The saleswoman could walk in at any time. But this seems to be the last of his concerns, his blue eyes alight with lust as he drinks you in. 

“I-I should go change,” you mumble. 

When you try to shuffle away, Coriolanus’ hands tighten around your waist. Your chest grazes his as he murmurs, his deep voice riddled with desire, “You’re really gonna leave me like this, angel?” His half-lidded gaze drops to the bulge in his pants before landing on your face. “It won’t come down on its own.”

At a loss for words, a weak apology trickles through your lips. 

“S-Sorry.”

His rich chuckle penetrates through your skin.

“No need to apologize.” He angles up your chin, mischief dancing in his eyes. “How about you help me…take care of it?”

Shock rounds your gaze. “I-I don’t know,” you stammer, your skin growing hot all over.

“Come on, angel. It’s the least you could do for making me like this.”

Your mouth opens but before any word can pour from it, the blond’s lips slot over yours. His hand sweeps over your back until he finds the swell of your behind. He gives your ass a firm squeeze. You squeal against his mouth. His tongue slips between your lips. Eager digits relentlessly wander over your curves as he explores your mouth. 

He nudges you inside one of the fitting cabins, drawing the velvet curtain to hide the two of you from sight. When your hands push at his chest, his fingers clasp around your wrists, shoving them against the cushioned wall of the cabin.

“Coryo, please…Not here,” you implore. 

“We’ll just be quiet,” he insists while reaching under your dress. He gropes you as you squirm. A triumphant smile blooms on his lips when he finds the waistband of your panties. He’s impatient, swiftly dragging the pesky material down your thighs until it pools limply at your ankles. He makes quick work of his pants’ buttons, freeing his hard cock with hurried motions. While holding your hands above your head, he grabs his length and guides it to your entrance. “I’ll be quick, I promise. You’ll barely feel it.” He buries himself inside you to the brim. You keen sharply, your eyes flying open.

You definitely feel it. Feel him. His large girth tearing you apart, warring to fit between your tight walls. 

Coriolanus begins to fuck you at a steady peace. His cock splits you apart, dragging torturously against your sensitive walls. Fog forms on the nearby mirror as heat swells in the cabin. 

Your mind spirals. Your thoughts become white noise. White dots flicker in your sight every time he thrusts inside you.

A little whimper spills from your throat.

“You gotta be quiet for me, sweet girl,” he rasps, teeth nipping at your throat. His hand covers your mouth, stifling the helpless sounds you produce. His other hand grips under your thigh, the only thing keeping you upright as you sag against the wall.

He swallows his own moan, teeth sinking in his plump bottom lip when your walls squeeze his cock. After a few deep, languid thrusts, he goes still against you. He nuzzles the crook of your neck, thumb stroking your thigh. His cock twitches between your walls. He plays with your swollen clit, dragging wet, sloppy circles and pressing until you come apart too. A wave of heat crashes over you. Your walls flutter, milking his cock as he spills inside you.

Coriolanus unleashes a muffled groan against your shoulder. His eyes roll back as he finds his release. He takes a deep breath before letting you go. 

He steps back and fixes the stray blonde lock hanging over his forehead. He buttons back his pants as you slump against the wall, struggling to catch your breath. He pulls a pristine white square from his breast pocket and approaches you. Gingerly, he wipes the milky rivulets leaking from your spasming core and sliding along your trembling thighs. 

He does it until no trace of what he’s done is left. Except your shame, and a vague sense of pain and discomfort. 

He drops a quick peck on your cheek.

“Pull yourself together, angel. I’ll wait for you outside.”

You give a feeble nod. A great emptiness fills you as you watch him disappear behind the velvet curtain. 

The second he’s gone, you sink to the floor. You take a few minutes to bask  in how numb you feel, how sore and spent. Slowly, even breaths return to you. Hands shaking, you pick up your underwear and gather the clothes you came in with from the hooks on the opposite wall. 

You fumble with your clothes as you get dressed, your clammy hands catching into the material. Your chest burns with a feeling, one that sears through your bones and drops in your gut like a hot stone. One you can’t give a proper shape or name to. You just know you’re a bit nauseous and eager to go home. 

You unleash a drawn out exhale as you step out of the cabin. You arrange your messy hair in the floor length mirror nearby. The sight that greets you is doleful. Your chest seizes as you note the darkening bruises over your neck, where Coriolanus scattered rough bites and kisses. A burst of warmth invades your face. You pinch your cheeks and force a benign smile onto your lips. 

When you leave the fitting room, you're flabbergasted to see every single dress he insisted you try piled up on the front desk. Your eyes collide with the saleswoman’s. She takes a fleeting look at you before lowering her head. Embarrassment floods your insides as you realize she must have heard you and Coriolanus. 

Fleeing her gaze, you clear your throat and whirl to him. 

“Coriolanus. What are you doing?”

The saleswoman places all the items in boxes and bags, pointedly avoiding looking at both you and Coriolanus.

A disarming smile unfurls on his lips.

“Like I said today’s my treat, angel.”

“But…”

He approaches you, cupping your cheek. 

“It’s a gift. Am I not allowed to spoil my sweet girl?”

Stumped, you stare at him. His thumb skims over your lips. 

“How about ‘thank you, Coriolanus’?”

“Thank you, Coriolanus,” you echo instantly.

“That’s my girl,” he lauds, bending to plant a kiss on your forehead.

On the way back to your place, you can’t help but steal nervous glances at Coriolanus. It’s not that you’re not grateful. The time and attention he lavishes upon you. His caring gestures. 

It doesn’t entirely bother you, being the center of someone’s attention for once. Mattering. In a strange way, it’s new and exhilarating. 

Perhaps what happened in the fitting room wasn’t... entirely comfortable, didn’t feel too nice at times. Hurt even. A lot. In fact you’re so sore, you can barely sit straight. But somehow you can’t bring yourself to dedicate an excessive amount of thought to the matter. It’s not a big deal, is it? You lost your virginity last night and it was weird. And this morning’s even weirder. Weird in its striking normalcy. 

Your fingers twiddle in your lap. You swallow a deep breath.

 It’s fine. Everything’s fine. So you let the morsels of doubt sink in the hollow space inside your chest. Until your hands stop shaking.

“Walter?” you call. Coriolanus slams the door closed behind you. You dart across the apartment, combing every corner in search of your furred companion. Every spot he favors is inspected. Under the sink. Below the bed. The duskiest, dustiest corners of your wardrobe. Even the drawers. 

The blond is relaxed as you frantically unleash a storm upon your place, uncaring of the mess you trail in your wake. 

“That’s strange. He always greets me when I come home.”

“He must be around here somewhere,” he casually replies.

You call his name again and again. Still, there’s no sign of the orange ball of fur. No familiar purr or meow. No big yellow orbs staring up at you curiously. A sinking feeling grips your insides. 

Tears rush to your eyes. 

“Coryo…”

His concerned gaze settles on you. 

“What’s wrong?”

You draw a sharp breath that you slowly release, panic swelling within you. “I don’t think he’s in the apartment.”

“Did you check the windows?” he offers.

Your eyes bulge. It didn’t cross your mind. You heed his advice, checking every window in the apartment. When you inch towards the one in your room, your stomach coils. Your bedroom’s noticeably colder than the other rooms, which you didn’t linger on before.

As you find a crack in the window, your hand covers your mouth. 

“Oh my god.”

Coriolanus wraps his arms around you as you sob. 

“He can’t be too far if he jumped through the window,” he says gently. “He’s likely nearby playing or chasing after mice. The city’s crawling with them.” He cradles your face, eyes diving into yours. “Don’t cry, angel. We’ll find him, okay?”

Your chest grows tight, too many emotions surging through it at once.

“What if he doesn’t come home?” you mumble quietly.

“Don’t worry. He will.”

“I…” Your voice falters. 

The blonde tilts up your face, urging you to go on. 

“What is it?”

You sniffle and chew on your lip.

“I know I’m asking for a lot but can you help me look for him?”

That tight-lipped smile you know too well spreads on his lips. 

“Of course.” He pauses, seeming to ponder something. His expression lights up. “Maybe bring a treat. If he smells it, it might lead him to you.”

You acquiesce and fetch one from one of the drawers in the kitchen. 

As promised, Coriolanus spends the rest of his day helping you look for Walter. The both of you shout his name in the streets but his drooping little head never peeks from a dank alley as you keep hoping. He even drives around the area to see if perhaps he’s stuck on a roof somewhere, to no avail.

As the evening veers to its end, the sky coming aflame above you, hope dwindles inside you. 

You lost Walter. Of all the things in the world, it had to be him. Your only friend. Your only light in the darkness. You want to climb into bed and never leave the cocoon of your warm blanket. 

In fact, you do just that the minute you return home. You toss your key and wearily plod to your bedroom. Even that simple act has you aching at the loss. Usually at a time like this, his little form would be curled somewhere near your head, his eyes closed and his tail whipping against the headboard. 

Your chest threatens to burst from your quivering sobs. 

A lot of things are slipping away from you these days. Things you’re losing quickly. Too quickly. You’re not sure how to cope with any of it. 

Your body weighs a ton. Your mind throbs, the onset of a headache pressing insistently at your temples. 

Coriolanus is sitting beside you. Caressing the top of your head, he says, “We could put up missing posters, in case someone sees him.”

“No,” you answer, gulping down yet another sob. 

“Why not?”

You wipe your tears with your elbow. 

“I’m…I’m not really supposed to have him,” you confess. He slants his head, his expression inquisitive. You suck a wide breath and say, “Remember that day at the Academy when we were small? The thing she did to that poor creature in front of us?” 

It says a lot that you don’t even have to specify that you’re talking about your mother, immediate understanding creeping on his face.

He nods, displaying no emotion besides a subtle flicker in his eyes. “It does ring a bell indeed.”

You fiddle with the frayed edge of your pillow.

“I didn’t want the same thing to happen to him, so I took him home.”

Perhaps that was your true offense, your original sin…Interfering with your mother’s work. And now you’re paying the price. 

Weariness settles over you, bone-deep.

“It’s all my fault.”

His knuckles drag over your cheek.

“You just forgot to close a window. It happens.” He smiles down at you, his tone soft as a caress. “We’re all a little careless sometimes.”

[writingwithfolklore]

Controlling Your Pacing

                Pacing is one of my favourite things to pay attention to when reading or writing something. The pacing of a scene is literally how ‘fast’ or ‘slow’ a scene appears to be moving. Action scenes that spring the story from one place to another tend to go faster than introspective scenes or scenes that explore character dynamics.

                All of this is created through putting space and words between elements of the scene. What I mean by that is that readers interpret a passage of time between ‘things’ (actions, dialogue, gestures, etc.) on the page, and pacing is controlling that interpretation.

                For example,

“Georgia sat on the couch, “wow it sure is hot in here,” she said. “It sure is,” Henry agreed, sitting next to her.”

                This sentence is just about the actions with some breaking dialogue, but it goes pretty quickly through what’s happening.

                Whereas, if we were to intentionally pace this scene, it may look like this:

“Georgia swiped at her brow, wandering over to sink into the couch. “It sure is hot in here,” she said, peering up at Henry through the wisps of her bangs. He nodded weakly, his entire body sagging from the heat. Crossing the room to collapse next to her, he added dryly, “it sure is.”

                It’s not perfect, but you can get a sense of the time between things happening. The added detail between the two characters talking conveys maybe a minute between sentences, which might be accurate for two people dogged down by a heat wave.

                To speed things up, we want less space between elements:

“Adam slammed open the door with his shoulder, letting it bounce off the concrete wall behind him. “Everyone out!” He shouted. A crack in the roof snapped above them.”

                The added (or subtracted) elements of a scene that control your pacing is the sights/sounds/feelings/smells/maybe tastes of a place. When we’re anxiously rushing to get out of the house we may not acknowledge that the kitchen smells like the bread our roommate baked that morning, or that there are smudges on the window from when the dog climbed up on the couch. However, when we have a second to contemplate, we’re going to notice these things, and it would be appropriate to write them in.

                Another important element to controlling pacing is your character’s thoughts or acknowledgement of feelings.

                For example:

“Adam slammed open the door with his shoulder, it bounced off the concrete wall behind him. He winced, his mother’s high voice ringing in his head, chiding him for damaging the walls even though he knew the building was coming down on top of them. How long would he live with her constantly in his mind? He tried to wave away the memory. “Everyone out!” He shouted.”

                That slows down the scene quite a bit, yeah? And maybe that’s what you wanted in that moment. Play around with the details and pacing in your scenes, you might be surprised how much can change.

                Good luck!

[heizenka]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

♖ Spencer Reid x f!reader

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

— content warnings: usual criminal minds violence, murder, death

— word count: 1.5k

inspired by: loml by Taylor Swift

The BAU team had seen their fair share of gruesome crime scenes, but this one was particularly chilling. Y/N had been abducted three days ago, and now they found her body dumped in a remote warehouse on the outskirts of Quantico. Spencer Reid's heart sank as he approached the scene, his mind racing with a mix of dread and desperate hope.

Derek Morgan, his closest friend and confidant on the team, gripped Spencer's arm firmly as they neared the body. "Reid, stay focused," Derek murmured, his voice tinged with concern. "You can't go rushing in there. We have to assess the situation first."

Spencer nodded mechanically, his eyes fixed on Y/N's lifeless form lying amidst the cold concrete floor. Her face was pale, eyes closed as if in peaceful sleep, but the evidence of violence was stark—bruises on her wrists, a single gunshot wound to the chest. The scene was a tableau of horror, the silence broken only by the distant hum of police radios and the muffled voices of forensic technicians.

Hotch approached them with a grim expression. "We need to process the scene carefully," he stated, his tone clipped and professional. "Garcia is running the last known communications and surveillance footage. We might still catch a break."

Spencer nodded again, his mind racing with a flurry of thoughts and calculations. He was known for his intellect, his ability to piece together intricate patterns and profiles, but now all he could think about was Y/N—her smile, her laughter, the warmth of her presence that had become a constant anchor in his turbulent life.

Emily Prentiss, usually composed and stoic, placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder, her voice wavering soft with sympathy. "We're going to find who did this, Reid," she assured him, her own eyes betraying the weight of their collective grief. "And we'll make sure they pay for what they've done."

But Spencer was barely listening. His attention was fixed on Y/N, kneeling beside her as if in a trance. He reached out hesitantly, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "No," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "No, no, no. We can save her! We can save her! I can save her, please!"

Tears streamed down Spencer's face as he clutched Y/N's cold hand, his fingers trembling against her lifeless skin. The reality of her death crashed over him like a tidal wave, overwhelming and suffocating. He was supposed to be the one who solved puzzles, who found answers where others saw only chaos. But now, faced with the ultimate mystery—the senseless loss of someone he loved—he felt utterly helpless.

Derek knelt beside Spencer, pulling him gently away from Y/N's body. "Spence, she's gone," he said quietly, his voice filled with sorrow. "There's nothing more we can do here."

"No!" Spencer protested, his voice rising in desperation. "There has to be something! I can figure this out, I can find who did this!"

Hotch approached them, his expression grave. "Reid, we need you to focus," he said firmly. "We have a case to solve, and we need your mind clear."

But Spencer couldn't tear his gaze away from Y/N. Her face haunted him—her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about a new book she was reading, the warmth of her touch. They had shared late-night conversations, quiet moments of understanding in the chaos of their work. She had become his anchor, his reason for hope amidst the darkness they faced every day.

As the hours passed and the investigation progressed, Spencer retreated into himself. He answered questions mechanically, analyzed evidence with detached precision, but his mind kept returning to Y/N. The images of her lifeless body flashed before him, tormenting him with their finality.

That night, back at the BAU headquarters, Spencer found himself standing alone in Y/N's empty office. Her desk was cluttered with books and case files, a half-finished cup of coffee still sitting beside her computer. The room felt achingly silent, a stark reminder of her absence.

Derek found Spencer there, staring blankly at Y/N's desk. He approached cautiously, knowing that words alone couldn't ease his friend's grief. "Reid," Derek began gently, "I know this is hard. But blaming yourself won't bring her back."

Spencer turned to him, his eyes hollow with pain. "I should have been faster," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I should have figured it out sooner. Maybe... maybe she'd still be alive."

Derek shook his head, his own eyes filled with sorrow. "Spence, you did everything you could," he insisted, his voice firm yet compassionate. "No one blames you for this. We're a team, and we're going to find justice for her."

Spencer nodded silently, his throat tight with unshed tears. He knew Derek was right—that guilt was a burden he couldn't afford to carry. But the ache in his heart remained, a constant reminder of the life they had lost, of the future they would never share.

In the days that followed, the BAU worked tirelessly to track down Y/N's killer. Garcia sifted through mountains of data, and Emily coordinated with local law enforcement to canvas the area. But for Spencer, the investigation was more than just a case—it was a quest for closure, a way to honor Y/N's memory and the love they had shared.

As they pieced together the evidence, a pattern began to emerge. The unsub—a disturbed Jack Mconnell,  with a history of violence and obsession—had fixated on Y/N, seeing her as a symbol of everything he desired but could never possess. His delusions had driven him to commit unspeakable acts, until ultimately ending Y/N's life in a desperate bid to fulfill his twisted fantasies.

When the team finally identified the unsub and cornered him in a remote cabin, Spencer was among those who stormed in, his gun drawn and his heart pounding with a mix of rage and sorrow. The confrontation was brief but intense, ending with a single gunshot that brought Jack to justice. But for Spencer, the closure he sought remained elusive.

That night, standing alone on the balcony of his apartment, Spencer stared up at the stars. Their distant light seemed to mock him, reminding him of the vastness of the universe and the fragility of human life. He thought of Y/N—the way she had believed in him, the way she had made him feel seen and understood in ways he had never thought possible.

The tears finally came then, unchecked and unrestrained. He had always prided himself on his ability to analyze, to compartmentalize his emotions in the face of tragedy. But now, faced with the emptiness of Y/N's absence, he felt utterly and completely lost.

In the weeks and months that followed, Spencer struggled to find his footing. The BAU continued their work, chasing down new cases and unraveling the minds of criminals, but the team dynamics had shifted irreversibly. There was a void where Y/N had once been—a presence that had anchored them all, reminding them of the humanity they fought so hard to protect.

Garcia, ever perceptive and empathetic, made it her mission to check in on Spencer regularly. She brought him his favorite coffee, listened patiently as he rambled about obscure facts and theories, and offered quiet words of comfort when the weight of grief threatened to overwhelm him.

And Derek, unwavering in his support, stood by Spencer's side through it all. He didn't press for conversations or demand explanations. Instead, he simply remained present—a silent pillar of strength in Spencer's darkest moments.

One day, several months after Y/N's death, Spencer found himself standing at her grave. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the headstone engraved with her name. He placed a bouquet of flowers—a mix of lilies, her favorite—and knelt beside the grave, his fingers tracing the letters of her name.

"I miss you," Spencer whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Every day, I miss you."

He stayed there until the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, his heart heavy with the weight of his grief. But amidst the pain, there was a glimmer of something else—a determination to honor Y/N's memory, to carry her with him in everything he did.

And as he stood to leave, he made a silent vow to never forget—the love they had shared, the moments they had cherished, and the promise of a future that had been stolen away.

copyright 2021 heizenka, all rights reserved. I do not allow my creations to be published of translated anywhere else so please do not repost.

[dontsh0vethesun]

the good samaritan

kinktober 2023 masterlist

natasha romanoff x hitchhiker!reader

18+: drugging, kidnap, restraints, gag, smut; noncon kissing, dubcon fingering, brief daddy kink, corruption

wc: 1.8k

Making your way home in the dark had never been something you wanted to do, especially not with a phone drained of its battery and an evening chill littering your skin with goosebumps. The breeze and the sporadic rumblings from behind the greying clouds let you know the best was yet to come. Freezing droplets dampening your face as soon as they fell.

You’d never have even considered trying to flag down a driver but you’d not been stranded in a building storm before. And the knowledge of the safety of the area didn’t quell the fear in your mind when your outstretched arm lifted a thumb over the edge of the pavement. You pulled your jacket around yourself as much as you could as your shoes gathered water, scuffing against the concrete of loose slabs, idly kicking pebbled debris into the road with headlights reflecting in the coating of rain.

Some had the cheek to begin to slow down, maybe offering a pitied shrug before their tires spat water from the tarmac and they sped away. The bobbing of your legs didn’t do much to warm you up, bouncing on the balls of your feet for any semblance of movement as you watched each exhale form before you in puffs of white.

It was a Corvette that finally came to a stop beside you, sleek and black metal shining with raindrops and a window rolling down to show the smiling face of a helpful stranger.

“Hi, honey. Need a ride?” Her voice was husky and smooth with fiery hair framing her face and emerald eyes glowing beneath the lamplight.

“Please. If it’s not too much to ask.”

“Of course not,” she grinned, charming and kind. “Here, get in, you’ll catch a chill.”

She reached across to push the door open for you and the warmth was much needed to combat your freezing state. The scents of leather seats and spiced perfume swam around you and her smile looked even prettier up close.

“Thank you so much - my phone battery died and there’s still a long walk back to my apartment so you’re really doing me a favour.”

“Anything to help a damsel in distress,” she smirked and your cheeks heated embarrassingly. “I’m Natasha.”

“Y/N.” Her hand was strong when she shook yours with the small creak of her leather jacket as she reached over to you.

“Are you in a rush to get back to a boyfriend or anything?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head as she pulled away from the curb. “Just an empty house.” And that was your first mistake.

“Then how does hot chocolate sound? I know a diner not too far from here and it’ll do good to warm you up.”

“Yeah, sure. That’d be nice actually.”

Perhaps, in retrospect, leaving the diner’s table to go to the bathroom wasn’t a wise idea. But, the kind eyes and conversation of the friendly woman across from you made you comfortable. There was no creeping thought in your mind that you’d return to finish your drink as she watched intensely, that once you were in her car again the music on the radio would fade in and out of your mind, growing cloudy and as blurred as the headlights of the other cars driving towards you.

Accepting a ride from a beautiful woman wasn’t something you’d apprehended with a sense of nervousness, it had come naturally to you to regard her kindness gratefully without fear you’d lose all semblance of judgment and clarity when she missed the turning that made its way to your street. Any utterings of her mistake were hardly audible, just slurred mumbles falling from numb lips as your heavy head leaned against the window.

A friendly offer can only be so friendly you suppose, things in this world seldom come without a price to pay - a darkened shadow overhead. Gracefully taking her offer caused your eyes to blink open a while later, confused and unaware of the time to follow.

Her bedroom’s ceiling light was harsh against your bleary sight and tears soon fell at the sinking in of the reality of the situation you’d been harshly dragged into. It didn’t take a completely focused head to notice the tightness of rope bound around your wrists, nor the coolness of the air against your skin - the breeze from the slightly cracked window that would not be felt if you hadn’t awoken in your underwear.

The wooden frame of her bed was uncomfortable against your back and the redhead merely smiled at the way you attempted to fight for freedom.

It took a moment to comprehend it all, to take in the sight of the foreign room you’d been brought to, the feeling of material clenched between your teeth and the eyes that regarded your half-naked body. The pleading look you directed towards Natasha through your eyes that spilled tears along your cheeks made her huff a humourless laugh.

“Don’t cry, honey,” she cooed, reaching a hand to cup your cheek with a softness you didn’t expect. She wiped the droplet from your skin as though she truly cared and in the haze that was your befogged mind you couldn’t help but slightly succumb to her whims.

Mumbles of your pleading for reprieve - questions of why - were muffled and obscured with the makeshift gag she’d forced past your slack jaw during unconsciousness. Why was she doing this? What was she planning next? All posed without answer. You couldn’t help but take in the sight before you, despite the vulnerably exposed pose she had you in, the contours of her biceps with each move she made and the vest top that pulled tightly over her chest.

“Like what you see?” she mocked, watching where your eyes drank her in. Perhaps you won’t be so hard to break after all.

Your body shook with fear and Natasha adored the sight. She loved how helpless you looked, glistening eyes begging, shrinking into yourself with small flinches at her every move.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she breathed. You let her pull the fabric past your lips, swiping your tongue over the chapping skin. Somehow, you believed her. “You’ve just gotta behave, okay? No screaming. Just sit and look pretty - can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” you nodded, failing with the attempt you made to wipe your face from tears. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You didn’t want to get on her bad side. You didn’t want to imagine the kinds of things that she might do; it wasn’t too difficult to appease her considering the kindness she’d already shown you. You wondered what someone might think if they caught a glimpse at the inner workings of your mind - the fact that you weren’t as terrified as you probably should be. That the attractiveness of the redhead deterred such emotion.

“Good girl,” she smiled, bringing a freshly cracked open bottle of water to your lips to help you drink. It was a cool relief against the dry and scratchy throat that had developed.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“No. No questions,” she returned quickly, looking at you with a harshness she’d been keeping at bay.

“You can’t just do this,” you muttered. “You drugged me - brought me here against my will, you-“

Anything else you were about to say was soon halted with her lips on yours. She was strong and her kiss didn’t differ. The weak push you gave her did nothing to get her away from you and the rough hold she had on either side of your face didn’t let up, whatever she wants she takes and you were no different.

It was pure luck that the woman had come across such a pretty thing just begging to be captured. A crime of opportunity. The sweetness in your eyes and the comfortable conversation only let her know she’d made the right choice. She watched you unknowingly swallow down the hot chocolate she’d laced and observed musingly at the drowsiness that set in, taking in the uselessness of your slumped limbs in her passenger seat.

And now she revelled in your unmoving lips against hers, the way you stiffened up before finally giving in. Your lips moved with hers reluctantly, tentatively at first until you couldn’t help but be lured into her, to let her push her tongue against yours dominantly and take the sweet, forbidden fruit she craved.

With the way she took control of your mind you stopped shrinking away, even trying to pull her closer with a fumbling hold on her shirt. She smiled against you and let you pull her into you, taking her place with her knees either side of you with her teeth biting into your bottom lip when she pulled away for breath.

“See? I’m not so bad, am I, sweet girl?” She murmured against your throat, licking her tongue across the thin skin, scraping her teeth and digging them in to leave her mark behind.

You shook your head in response, letting her use you while you sighed out in pleasure despite every sensible part of you willing yourself to realise this was wrong. But if it was so terrible, why did it feel so good? Why did the touch of a stranger ignite a fire within you that only lovers had? How could you let her inch her hands downwards if this was so wrong?

Her fingers stroked down your waist as though she was familiar with the terrain, nails digging into the skin until they reached your underwear.

“I’m gonna break you down,” she rasped against your collarbone. “Bit by bit.”

She pushed the damp material that covered your cunt aside to swipe her fingertips through the slickness of your slit. “Until all you know is me - all you can remember is me.”

She toyed with your clit that ached with a filthy desire to be paid attention to, focusing solely on the bud while you moaned out at the feeling. She took you by force and consumed you entirely and it made your head swim - your stomach clench in a begging need for release.

Each action of her digits pulled you into a dangerous ocean of pleasure, bringing you headfirst into a new reality you don’t want to escape anymore.

“All you need to know is how good it feels when daddy fucks you,” Natasha breathed against the shell of your ear, completely enamoured with the sounds she pulled from you and the rutting of your hips. “You’re my little toy now, sweetheart. All for daddy.”

The roughness of her voice and the heat of her breath on your neck was too much to handle; the pace she’d kept up on your swollen clit brought you over the edge into an orgasm that had you seeing stars and you rewarded her with pathetic murmurings of her name.

Before you’d even had a chance to catch your breath it was stolen again with her lips on yours. She was eager and ravenous and you were going to let her take all she wanted, giving yourself up to the older woman who wanted to devour you whole.

When you pulled apart once more you locked eyes with hers, the darkness that had taken over them was unmistakable and it let you know that she wasn’t quite done with you for tonight.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 8)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 7, Part 9

summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.

warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.

a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 5.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you had forgotten; they were good.

Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls. 

That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards. 

You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough. 

The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends. 

And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help? 

It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there. 

After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home. 

Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else. 

You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost. 

You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat. 

~~~

You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten. 

You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early. 

You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.

You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest. 

With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–

Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept. 

"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears. 

"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly. 

"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–" 

"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in. 

A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there. 

"…I brought food, by the way." 

You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up. 

" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–" 

You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.

"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs. 

It stops you in your tracks, for some reason. 

"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?" 

"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?" 

You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked. 

"Loads, Mig."

He snorts. " Sure. "

" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.

And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers. 

You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin. 

Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump. 

"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.

" Can't. We need the space, remember?" 

To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow. 

He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."

He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot . 

"You promised ."

"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."

You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle. 

"Fuck you."

He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."

Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by. 

Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him. 

His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that. 

"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him. 

" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice. 

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you. 

"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."

"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."

He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree. 

You'll be okay. You have to be. 

It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead. 

He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.

"You're taking a stats module, I assume."

You nod. 

"With Dr. Karev?" 

You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."

He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then." 

He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.

 "I thought it would be."

"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–" 

"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? " 

"Why not?" He shrugs. 

"I… I don't have any money, or anything."

"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front. 

You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?" 

"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?" 

Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–" 

"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."

He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny? 

You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous. 

"Eyes on the road, asshole." 

It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face. 

~~~

He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city. 

It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life. 

Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar. 

Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"No, no. I'm going up by myself."

He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly. 

"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–" 

"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."

It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance. 

You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist. 

The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp. 

" Where's my –" 

" Your stuff's in the –" 

In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room. 

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "

It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets. 

It makes you sick .

You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind. 

Sick, sick, sick . 

You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends. 

Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence. 

When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door. 

You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it. 

"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car. 

Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.

You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“

He shrugs. "Don't have the time."

It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot. 

"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"

"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully. 

You want to scream.

" So? " 

" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."

" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again. 

And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you. 

" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."

He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact. 

You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps. 

You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water. 

You'll be okay. 

You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean. 

Deep breath. 

Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box. 

When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car. 

"Hey, hey, easy… " 

"I'm good, Mig – " 

You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over. 

"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug. 

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun. 

It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window. 

"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb. 

You purse your lips, thinking it over. 

"It'll be quicker, chula. "

That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod. 

It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless. 

Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down. 

"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."

You turn to the man beside you.

" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."

Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,

rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it. 

"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it. 

Miguel doesn't answer. 

You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once. 

After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better. 

Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick. 

Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment. 

"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty. 

You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope. 

He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long. 

"You're fucking him." 

It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie. 

Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn. 

"It's none of your fucking business."

"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."

" What ?" You croak. 

"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes. 

His lips flatten into a tight line.

" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ." 

"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."

"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's." 

That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."

" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."

"I would've–" 

"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."

"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained. 

"Then why don't you love me?"

He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily. 

"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?" 

You nod. 

"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."

"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."

Until it wasn't. He sighs. 

"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”

“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.

“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”

You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before. 

“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .  

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”

It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .  

"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail." 

You shake his hands off of you, stepping back. 

"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."

You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks. 

"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "

You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box. 

You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind. 

~~~

He doesn't know what to say. 

You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands. 

[Sent: 22:33]

Can't explain it, Ly. 

[Sent: 22:33]

I'm going fucking crazy. 

[Received: 22:34]

ur being dramatic :p

[Received: 22:34]

think u just need to get laid 

[Sent: 22:34]

Fuck off. 

[Sent: 22:35]

I said I'm taking a break. Meant it. 

[Received: 22:37]

(image attached) 

[Received: 22:37]

got this at the party

[Received: 22:37]

ur staring, mig

[Sent: 22:38]

… 

[Received: 22:38]

that's my dress! told u I have great taste :)) 

[Received: 23:06]

miggyyy

[Received: 23:06]

stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(

That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could. 

Fuck . He's overthinking it. 

You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes. 

Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway. 

He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning. 

He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable. 

He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…

…nothing. Just quiet. 

He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out. 

Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you. 

You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you. 

With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears. 

_

_

_

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[sleepyjuice]

1. “She Means Nothing To Me”

&

46. “Do You Regret It?” 💐🤝😭

DAMN starting off with some angst with these 😭

warnings: cheating :(, jj is not very nice in this (real pookie jj would never he’s an angel<3), ANGST, tiniest mention of smut

It had been three days since you last saw jj. Three days isn’t a long time, but it felt like forever considering the last time the two of you spoke to each other, it was an argument which ultimately led to jj storming out of your house.

You replayed that night in your head over and over. You and jj were laying in your bed, the two of you cuddling after your second round of sex that evening and turned on a movie.

Although it was quite hard to pay attention to the movie with jj’s phone blowing up with instagram notifications. You eventually gave in and peeked over at his phone to see who kept messaging him when you saw that it was all the same girl.

You confronted him, telling him that it made you uncomfortable and it just spiraled from there, turning into the worst argument you two had ever had, leading him to storm off.

That was three days ago. You gave up trying to reach him after the second day and you began to wonder if he was just completely ghosting you at this point.

You decided the best way to distract yourself from the heartache you were feeling was to go pick up some food and have a self care night and try to not text jj.

You called in your order to one of the local restaurants near your house and decided to walk there as it was only a 10 minute walk at most.

Swinging open the door to the restaurant, your eyes immediately saw jj, seemingly in good spirits, leaning over the bar as he laughed with the bartender. You recognized her instantly as the girl who was messaging him.

Your first thought was to rush over there and scream in his face, cuss him out, project anything you possibly could onto him that would make him feel the hurt you felt in this very moment, but you didn’t. You stood there for a moment, taking in the sight before you before turning on your heel and walking back out the door, slamming it behind you.

“Oh, fuck.” jj muttered, his head turning in the direction of the door slamming, looking just in time to see you walk away.

“Babe, wait!” He hurried after you, damn near sprinting to catch up to you. When he finally did, he reached for your arm, but you pulled it away from him harshly.

“What the fuck do you want, jj?!” You snapped, stopping to look at him, genuinely appalled that he even had the nerve to try and talk to you right now.

“I don’t know what you saw, but it— it wasn’t what it looked like, okay? We were just talking.” He swore, reaching forward to grab your hands but eventually stopping himself when you shot him a deadly glare.

“What was it then, huh? Oddly coincidental that you’ve been ignoring me for three days while you’re out here getting your dick wet with some other girl. The same one blowing your shit up the other night, might I add.” You responded, your expression firm, which truly felt like the performance of a lifetime considering you were on the verge of a full blown breakdown.

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it, and you swore you could see the gears turning in his brain, trying to come up with the greatest excuse on planet earth for what was happening here. You didn’t have concrete proof that he had slept with her, but he didn’t deny it.

“Listen,” his voice grew softer, and this time he does take your hands, “she means nothing to me.”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” This time you screamed, yanking your hands out of his grasp, his now running over his face before anxiously removing his hat and readjusting it, an anxious habit you knew he had done in moments like these where he felt a loss of control.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. It just… happened. It was fucked up, I know that. I don’t know what I was thinking. What can I do to make it up to you?” He pleaded, his voice shaky as his eyes studied yours, searching for any ounce of forgiveness.

“Do you regret it?” You asked after a long moment of silence, your voice breaking as your anger morphed into some of the worst pain you’ve ever felt.

Every positive memory the two of you shared would always be clouded by his decision to cheat on you. Up until a few days ago, jj made you feel like the most important girl in the world. You never felt insecure around him and he did so much to make you feel special. You feared you would always just be left with more questions than answers.

“I do. I fucked up, I fucked up so bad. I will literally regret this for the rest of my life, baby, please.” He went to reach for you again, but you pulled away, taking a step back.

“Good.”

[leaentries]

HEADS OR TAILS - 1ST EDITION

PAIRINGS- college!nico x reader, college!luke x reader, possible nico x reader x luke

WARNINGS- swearing, not proofread

WORDCOUNT- 4.14k+

NEXT EDITION

SERIES MASTERLIST

-

Behind your closed eyelids danced dreams of meadows and flowers. The soft wind blowing through your hair as you laid against the soft grass. Nothing felt more perfect than that moment. You felt completely and utterly content.

Yet, nothing can last forever.

You were suddenly ripped from your dreams by the aggressive shaking of your roommate. Her hands gripped your shoulders as she practically jumped onto the small, twin sized bed. It was almost a wonder how it managed to hold the weight of you both.

“Come! On!” Dakota shouted at you. Her normally soft voice rung through your sleepy mind. In all honestly, if you weren’t still so tired, you’d be contemplating murder.

You turned to bury your face into the pale blue pillow beneath your head. You took in a deep breath, the stale scent of your shampoo clouding your senses. Dakota was not impressed at your efforts to ignore her, this time opting to grab the spray bottle she kept for the plethora of plants on her side of the dorm. Barely registering the first hit of water, you rolled yourself further into the comforter.

“If you don’t get up right now, I’m calling Jack.”

You let out exasperated sigh, choosing to sit up in order to dodge the wrath of your best friend. Grimacing at the flood of light from the lone window on the opposite wall, you glared at the brunette who stood a foot away from the dark wood of your bed. Her downturned eyes and slanted nose complimented her bright green eyes beautifully, but not when they were scrunched in annoyance. Especially towards you.

“Seriously?” She scoffed, “That’s what gets you out of bed? Not the fact that you’re already 15 minutes late for class?”

You all but shot out of bed, nearly tripping over the white comforter wrapped around your legs. You could have sworn you set your alarm last night, no, you knew you set your alarm. Either or, you did not have the time to worry about whys and whats of your least favorite part of the morning. Rushing around the room, you somehow managed to throw on a decent looking outfit and thanked yourself for at least packing your backpack up the night before.

Bidding Dakota a quick farewell, you left the dorm, practically sprinting down the sidewalks of your university. Anyone who saw you, would probably think you’d gone mad, but others would recognize that familiar look of panic that came partnered with being late to class.

Through the speed and adrenaline of rushing, you found yourself not fully paying attention to your surroundings. One minute you have the Chance Building in your sights, then the next you’re colliding with a large mass, and seemingly ending up on the concrete.

The air left your lungs as your ass collided hard with the ground. You could feel the little pebbles dig into your hands and the slight pain that now radiated from the scrape on your knee. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Of course, this would happen when you’re already late.

“Shit…” You cursed to yourself as you attempted to grab your bag off the ground.

But you were quickly beaten as a calloused hand wrapped its fingers around the black strap. As you peered up, you felt your heartbeat pick up slightly. However, you’d blame that on the adrenaline, definitely not the hockey captain who was currently looking down at you.

“I’m so sorry, it was my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?” His thick accent flowed like warm honey. You took a moment to take in his appearance, strong arms and legs, likely from intense hockey workouts. Thick brown hair that would most certainly fall into his eyes, if it weren’t for the backwards cap he sported.

You were drawn back to reality by his other hand now reaching out to help you up. You couldn’t deny the tingles that ran up your spine at the feeling of his warm skin on yours.

“Thank you, Nico.” You replied politely, earning a confused crook of the head from the boy.

“How do you know my name?” He chuckled brightly.

You could feel your face heat up, “Oh, uhm, well, I’m best friends with Jack, and he talks about you a lot. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure everyone single person on this campus knows who you are.” You looked everywhere but his face, “You know, since your hockey captain and all.”

A lightbulb seemed to have gone off in his head, as he nodded knowingly, “Ahh, yes! You must be Y/N.”

It was your turn to be confused, “You know my name?” You mimicked his previous tone.

Nico let out a melodic laugh, nodding in agreement once more, “Jack talks a lot about you, too. Honestly, so does Luke.”

You felt your stomach turn at the mention of the younger boy.

Luke was Jack’s curly-haired younger brother. He was tall and lanky, yet still riddled with course muscle. Along with Nico and Jack, he was also a detrimental asset to the university’s hockey team, taking place as a top defenseman. You have known Luke since middle school, the both of you bonding over mutual love for Harry Potter, you quickly became close friends. Him being Jack’s brother was just a bonus.

Plus, you and Luke had something going on. What it was, still remained unknown to you.

“Jack? Not surprised, but Luke talks about me?”

Nico smirked at you, “Oh, yeah. For sure. He talks about how pretty you are, and I can’t say I blame him.”

Your eyes widened at the remark. Was Nico…flirting with you? You smiled at him sweetly, not really knowing what to say next. Luckily you were saved from an awkward silence as your phone began to buzz. You swiped open the texts spamming in from Jack.

Rowdy🤠: bro where are you

Rowdy🤠: youre literally about to miss all of chemistry

Rowdy🤠: are you okay??

Rowdy🤠: y/n/nnnnnnn

Rowdy🤠: i can see youre reading these

You: okay, okay, i’m coming right now

Rowdy🤠: watch the attitude miss ✋

You turned off your phone, looking back to the tall hockey player in front of you, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go, I’m super late for chem and Jack is blowing me up.”

Nico sent you an understanding smile, handing you your bag.

Just as you turned to walk away, Nico called out to you, “Are you coming to the game tonight?”

Of course you had planned to go to the game, but you decided to play around a bit. While still walking away you yelled back, “Why should I?”

“Because I want you there!” Nico replied almost instantly.

You felt that pesky heartbeat stutter again. Stupid adrenaline. Yet, you couldn’t stop the wide grin that tore through your features. You quickly turned to face the boy who still remained where you left him, “We’ll see!”

And with that you hurried to catch the last hour of class.

-

Finally making it into your classroom, you quietly file in beside Jack, not failing to miss the expectant glare he was giving you. He slid over his notes for you to copy, nonetheless. You quickly grab your white notebook and pen, opening to a fresh page.

“Where were you?” He leaned in to whisper as you began writing.

“I woke up late.” You replied, opting out of telling him about the little run in with his captain.

“I know that, dumbass,” He rolled his eyes, “Kota texted me earlier. But you took much longer than it normally takes you to get to class.”

“Are you timing me or something, now?” You spat sarcastically.

Jack let out a deep huff, clearly agitated with your lack of cooperation. He yanked his notebook back, preventing you from finishing the last few bullets about chemical bonds. You dropped your pen, turning your body to fully face the blonde boy.

“Jack!” You deadpanned, “I need to finish those.”

He shook his head stubbornly, “Not until you tell me the truth.”

“I did tell you the truth, I woke up late.”

“And I’m aware of that, but you had a weird smile coming in here. Not to mention you were later than normal.”

You sucked in a breath, “Fine,” Your gritted out, “I ran into someone and we got caught up talking.”

Jack perked, “Was it Lukey? You looked awful smiley.” He gave you suggestive eyebrows. Jack was never quiet about his infatuation about you getting with his brother. He always claimed you were like his sister, but being with Luke would make it official. You couldn’t deny that you had feelings for the boy, and that, he too, also had feelings towards you, but the two of you hadn’t put labels on anything.

You shook your head slightly, “No, it wasn’t Luke.”

Jack’s smile faltered, “Oh. Well, I hope you’re not cheating on my little brother.”

This time, you rolled your eyes, “First off, we aren’t together. Second off, even if we were, I can talk to other people.”

“Whatever, you and Luke will be together soon enough,” He appeared pleased with himself, “Lukey and y/n/n sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Jack sang.

You quickly grabbed his notebook and began to finish the notes, Jack laughing as you ignored his mocks.

-

After class, you walked with Jack to the cafe on campus. The trees blew violently as the wind began to pick up.

“Jeez, is it supposed to storm today?” Jack asked aloud.

“I didn’t think it was, but possibly.”

As the two of you engaged in meaningless conversation, you hurried into the building, escaping the harsh whips of the wind. The cafe was busier than usual, no doubt due to the weather, and your typical spot in the back corner had already been taken. You didn’t have much time to worry, as you quickly spotted the familiar curly-headed boy sitting in a booth.

You nudged Jack’s shoulders, “Luke’s over there,” You nodded towards the boy.

Growing closer to the table, you noticed the familiar cup and chocolate croissant you always ordered. You smiled, realizing Luke must have went ahead and ordered for you. Luke’s eyes lit up the second he noticed you and his brother making your way to the table. You situated yourself in the ugly, green booth next to Luke, Jack sliding in the opposite side. The older brother’s eyebrows pinched as he noticed the drink and pastry now firmly in your hands.

“What the hell?” He brought his eyes to Luke, “Where’s mine?”

Luke just shrugged, “Go order something.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at his younger brother, visibly annoyed at the special treatment you were getting, “This is totally unfair.” He sassed as he proceeded to exit the booth. As soon as he was out of range, Luke turned his body towards you. His eyes scanned your face, mouth parting slightly.

“How was your day, y/n/n?”

You smiled at him, “It was okay. I almost missed my chemistry class.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head. Luke knew you weren’t one to regularly miss class, “Did something happen?” A comforting warmth spread through your body at his concern. The worried look on his face resembling that of a puppy.

“I just woke up late, my alarm must not have went off.”

He nodded understandingly, eyes coasting down to where your hand toyed with the cardboard sleeve on your cup. Luke’s eyebrows furrowed as he reached to pull your hand into his.

“What the fuck happened?” His voice was laced with concern, taking note of the scratches that littered your palms.

“Nothi-“

“It’s not nothing, y/n. You have cuts all over you.” Luke’s eyes continued to scan your body, gently inspecting your hands and knees. You bring the hand not occupied up to cradle the side of his face.

“I’m okay, I promise. I just was in a rush to class and accidentally ran into someone.”

“Who’d you run into? I can beat them up if you want me to.”

You could help the laughter that spilled from your lips. The idea of Luke trying to pummel someone, let alone his very own captain, was quite the image.

“I don’t think you’d want to beat the crap out of your captain, Lukey.”

His face shot up in surprise.

“You ran into Nico?”

You nodded your head mockingly, “Well, duh. That’s what I just said.”

“Oh…Well, yeah, sorry y/n/n. I won’t be pissing off cap right before a game, no thank you.”

Luke took a bite out of your croissant, earning a whine of protest from you. The boy only served you a charming smile in return. Rolling your eyes, you took a sip of your drink, Jack finally making his appearance at the table. This time he had a pile of chip bags and a few water bottles. He dropped them on the scuffed tabletop, Luke having to lean over to catch a stray water bottle from meeting its doom. You raised an eyebrow, silently questioning him.

“I had to stock up before the game tonight. The girl a register said they were getting rid of all these and that I could have them if I wanted.” Jack said nonchalantly, “Who am I to turn down free food?”

Luke reached to pluck a bag of plain lays from Jack’s array. The blonde opened his mouth to argue, but Luke turned his attention back to you.

“You’re coming to the game tonight, right?”

Remembering Nico’s invite, a warm rosy hue began to cover the apples of your cheeks. You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

-

When you got back to your dorm, you noticed that Dakota had already left for her night class. You flopped onto your bed, the familiar creak echoing through the room. Rolling on your back, you started at the ceiling contemplating everything that happened that day. You thought about Luke and how sweet he was, but inevitably your mind drifted to the dimpled hockey captain who managed to set your skin blazing with a single touch. You could feel your cervix throb as you remembered his thick muscles and warm brown eyes.

Nope.

You cannot be thinking of Nico that way. Not when you were “involved,” so to speak, with Luke. It would break his heart, not to mention, you couldn’t even guess what Jack would do. You shook your head, ridding your thoughts away in turn to start getting ready for the game.

You quickly threw on some yoga pants and a comfy hockey sweatshirt, donned with the familiar red and black of the school. Keeping your hair the same, you touched up a few sections, the wind having messed it up. Once you checked the time, you grabbed your bag, sent Dakota a quick text as to where you were going, and made your way to the arena.

Luckily, your dorm was only a 10 minute walk from your destination, so you didn’t have to worry about driving. Meeting up with a few other friends, you made your way inside the cold dome, not failing to grab a hotdog before finding your seats.

Jack had texted you before the game, letting you know to come down to the locker rooms after and wait for them.

You could feel your heartbeat quicken as the loud warm-up music began to echo throughout the crowded arena. An internal battle fought within your gut, but you couldn't quite decipher why. With eyes glued to the tunnel, you and your friends began to pound on the glass with excitement as the boys took to the ice. The sheer speed at which they skated never ceased to amaze you.

You caught a glimpse of that shaggy, dark hair peaking out from the sides of his helmet, brown eyes meeting your own. Nico sent you a small smile, clearly pleased to see you. A lump caught in your throat as he skated closer to you.

"You came," He stated cheerfully. The loud music paired with the thick plexiglass muffled his voice.

You nodded, "I did."

Nico removed his helmet, your breath hitching as his hair fell in messy tendrils around his face, "I thought I was gonna have to come find you," His eyes glimmered in the bright lights, "I'm glad you didn't keep me waiting."

His accent was clearer without the bucket, his welcoming dimples fully on display.

"Oh, please," You quirked, "I'm only here so Jack doesn't cut my head off."

"Whatever you say, princess." He smiled as the buzzer went off signaling the end of warmups, "But I know you're here for me."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Nico skated away before you could even manage a word.

You watched as he interacted with his teammates on the bench, each one so entranced by every word coming from his lips. It was truly mesmerizing the way he commanded attention and obedience, you couldn't help but stare. Too lost admiring the captain, you missed Dakota slipping into the seat next to you.

She noticed your deep gaze, following your sightline. Dakota smirked as she saw what, more like who, you were staring at.

"Achem," She coughed.

You jumped slightly, startled by her presence, "Jesus, Kota!" You grabbed your chest, "How long have you been standing there?" You looked around as if she appeared out of thin air.

"Long enough to see you making puppy dog eyes at the captain." She stated with a quirked brow. Her manicured fingernails tapped expectantly against her crossed arms.

You scoffed, "I was not making any sort of eyes. I was simply admiring Nico's leading abilities." You had to bite back the cringe that threatened to flood your features. Although it wasn't a complete lie, you knew Dakota would see right through you.

"Right, and I'm into Jack. Apparently, we are just saying things that aren't true." She exclaimed into the crisp air. Dakota's eyebrows furrowed, her lip twitching. This was a tale-tale sign she thought of something, "Wait," She looked back over at the bench, then back at you, "What about Luke?"

"What about Luke?" You repeated back.

"Aren't you guys," She hesitated a moment, "Like a thing?"

Your words died on their way out. In all truthfulness, you didn't have an answer. It's not like the two of you were official in any way, but neither of you had been seeing other people. You went on dates and acted the part...sometimes. Luke, as sweet as he was, wasn't always the most outgoing. He didn't erupt tingles through your body with every touch, but rather soothed. He was comfortable. But was comfortable gonna be enough?

Before you could answer, the game started.

-

It was now halfway through the third, and it was intense. Tied 1-1, the game had been brutal so far. With unfair penalties being called, along with the rival team targeting Jack, you were heated.

"What the fuck was that?" You screamed as they called a tripping penalty on Luke. It was obviously baited, Luke didn’t even touch the guy. You sat back down in your seat, leg bouncing as the two team took their places in the face-off circle. You watched as the team fought with everything they had not to let them gain a one up lead.

As the penalty kill counted down, just as you felt your breathing return to normal, Luke came out of the box at full speed, gaining possession of the puck and now headed straight for the net. You rose once again, ready to cheer Luke on, but the familiar “ding” from the crossbar had the whole arena deflate with a collective sigh.

The final seconds passed, the boys slowing as the horn blared, signaling the end of the third.

Overtime.

Dakota looked over at you, laughing to herself over how worked up you got over these games. In her opinion, they were pointless. The whole concept of getting angry, depressed, having anxiety over men with sticks seemed so foreign to her. But, she enjoyed coming to them to watch you. She enjoyed being able to watch you in your element, analyzing the plays and explaining them back to her when she got lost. It was just how the two of you functioned.

You took a large sip from her cherry coke, letting out a deep breath after you swallowed.

“You doing alright?” Dakota mused.

“Not at all.”

Overtime finally started, Nico ultimately ending up on a breakaway. You gripped the edge of your seat, your breath getting caught in your throat as he came one-on-one with the goalie. He handled the puck expertly as he approached the right side of the net. With quick deception, Nico sent an insane wrist shot, the goalie leapt for the puck, but it managed to barely scathe by.

Nico had won the game.

You jumped from your seat, beating the on the glass. Even if it wasn’t necessarily a huge game, it still meant a lot to the fans and the team.

After celebrating the win for a few minutes, you helped walk Dakota to the exit, her sister waiting for her outside.

“You promise you’ll be alright?” She asked.

You nodded reassuringly, “I promise. You know the boys wouldn’t do or let anything happen to me.”

She pursed her lips, nodding tightly before heading out the large glass door. You turned the other direction, following the concrete floor to the opposite side of the arena where the staircase down to the locker rooms is. Once downstairs, you waited, leaning against the wall that was neatly decorated with red and black.

After a few minutes, you felt your phone buzz.

Rowdy🤠: so sorry, we are running late. be out in a bit.

You sighed, letting your head lull back against the cold stone.

“Tired of me already, princess?”

Your stomach swirled at that damn accent. Lifting your head, you turned to see Nico walking towards you. You couldn’t help but rake your eyes down his form. His hair was covered by a ball cap, but you could still see the water droplets from his shower dripping down onto his gray t-shirt. He wore black sweats, paired with some Adidas slides.

Fuck he looked good, not that you'd ever admit that to him.

"How could I ever be tired of you?" You mocked with false admiration.

Nico just smirked as he came to lean next to you, his left shoulder propped against the wall.

“I’m sure I could find a way to tire you out,” His voice was low and husky.

You had to hold back from squeezing your thighs together as a dull throb strummed in your core.

Feigning nonchalance, you chuckled, “Wow, such a flirt. You know, Nico, if I were somebody else, I’d think you were hitting on me.”

Nico took a step closer, your chests almost touching. It was only now you realized how tall he actually was. He towered over you by at least 6 inches. For once, it made you feel small. You didn’t miss the way his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, or the way his tongue would drag out to wet his lips before opening his mouth to speak.

“Well, I’d think you were right.”

His confidence was alluring. It drew you in rapidly, his whole personality did. Before you could stop yourself, you reached a hand to brush away one of the stray strands of hair that fell from his hat. You could have sworn you saw his cheeks tinge a few shades pinker. Nico brought his other hand up to cradle yours before you could pull it away.

You shivered.

There were those tingles again. The ones that only Nico seemed to be able to give you. Your eyes were locked with brown ones, fully prepared to drown the dripping honey around his irises.

“Y/n?”

You backed away from Nico instantly at the sound of Luke’s voice. You only hoped he hadn’t seen much, especially the way Nico’s hand subconsciously chased yours as you pulled from his touch.

“Luke!” You breathed out.

Luke gazed weirdly at his captain who looked the opposite direction. Nico’s body was tense and rigid, a stark change from a few seconds ago. You walked over to Luke, hand brushing against his bicep.

“Ready to go?”

He looked at you, “Yeah, Jack’s already outside.”

You nodded following the boy through the hallway. Just before you rounded the corner, you took one last glance at Swiss you left abruptly, only to find him already staring. There was a certain gleam, a flame in Nico’s eyes that signaled this wasn’t gonna be the last encounter the two of you share.

You shook your head, ridding yourself of thoughts about the hockey player, deciding you needed to focus on the one leading you out the door.

-

A/N: this college is completely fictional, any specific place and/or buildings mentioned are all from my head.

TAGLIST: @alwaysclassyeagle @crazyjadedstar @emaanemaa @heartsforhischier @favsrachz @natalieeyyy

[rroseselavyyy]

lavender moon - ksj

pairing: seokjin x female reader

warnings: angst with a touch of smut, shitty ending (the ending is kind of rushed :( sorry about that)

He nestled your head on his shoulder like he was helping a kitten finding a comfortable position in his embrace as you sat between his legs in the steaming bath. He nuzzled his nose to your exposed neck, planting soft kisses that made you mewl contentedly under his touch.

"Why were you crying all alone, baby?" He stroked your wet hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing your back against his firm chest as if you were the only thing keeping him safe in the middle of a thunderstorm.

You pressed your lips together in a thin line as you shook your head to make it clear that you weren't going to give him the answer he wanted to hear, his lips eliciting a chuckle just behind your ear at your childish manner.

"I think I have an idea of what's going on." You let yourself sink further into his embrace, feeling all the stress you carried on your shoulders melt away with the scent of lavender, his thumb tracing a path across your skin to dry the drops of water that adorned all the way your arm like freshwater pearls. "You're protecting my mother again, aren't you?"

You twitched in his arms, turned in his embrace to see his expression and the moment you looked into his eyes you found yourself lost in them as they bored into yours, the love he had for you was there like concrete evidence. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"She told me you should have left me a long time ago." You attempted to cover your mouth when you realized you had said more than was necessary. Even you were amazed at how easily the words slipped out of your mouth, you blamed it on the fact that you were completely relaxed in his arms, he had that special power that made your worries go away. "I don't think she's wrong, Jinnie. I've been nothing but trouble since the first day we met."

"How on earth can she be right?-" He kissed the bridge of your nose, the gesture making you blink innocently as the touch of his plump lips sent blood rushing to your cheeks. "I love you, that's all that matters."

"Do you want to know why she hates you so much?" A thousand stars had burst open in your swelling chest as he gave you a quick kiss on the lips. "Because I married the love of my life and not some other girl she wanted me to marry."

"Maybe it's because my brother beat you up so badly? Not the best first impression, obviously." You chuckled nervously as you breathed the same air as him, his fingers now intertwined with yours. "Isn't it funny that you happened to be there? Maybe we might never have met if you hadn't been there to help your brother with his wounds. Did you know that I fell in love with you the moment I laid my eyes on you?"

You rolled your eyes as he looked at you with a sense of adoration, ready to tell you for the thousandth time how beautiful you were that day like a poem he recited by heart.

"I think I have lost the count of how many times you have told me this story."

His mother's never-ending insults no longer saddened you, instead Jin and your shared giggles replaced your muffled sobs in one of the sacred places blessed by your marriage, where you would make happy memories with him until the end of time.

"You looked so pretty that day that I offered to pay your brother to beat me so I could see you again. Understandably, he didn't accept the money-" Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to face him. He giggled sweetly in your ears like a song, his hands making soothing circles on your thighs. "However, still, he beat me to death anyway. He said he did it just because he thought I was a jerk. God, you should have seen his face when I told him I wanted to marry you."

"I don't want to believe you. It doesn't even make sense." You cringed at the thought, but since nothing was impossible when it came to your husband, you could easily imagine the scenario, even with details.

"Oh love, I still have the scars on my chest to prove it." He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, causing you to slap his chest lightly in return as you smiled with your eyes closed. "Maybe you'd like to kiss them better, hmm? Mrs. Kim?"

He was just an example of how maturity was not about age. Sometimes he was so sweet that he didn't even have to try to get what he wanted.

Including getting kisses from his baby.

"Only because you asked me nicely." Your lips curled into a smirk as you wasted no time in placing your hands on his abdomen, kissing a path down his neck to his chest. "I can't see anything-" You were halfway to his collarbone when he grabbed you by the hair, and even though his hands were some of the roughest you'd ever known, knowing he wouldn't put any pressure on his grip, you let him take control.

He guided you with his hands on your waist as you shifted in his embrace to find a better position on his lap. He tasted the drops of water on your lips like a man finding water in the middle of a dessert, your foreheads touching as you enjoyed the comforting silence.

"You're the only good thing in my life-" He whispered in your ear as you allowed him to help you straddle him with his expert hands. He watched your expression intently as you grabbed his hair at the back of his neck, using it as leverage to your face. "I'm not willing to give up on you ever."

"You are mine." Feeling your hips roughly lifted by the same hands that gently stroked your hair, you let out a soft whimper against his lips, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as he guided it into your welcoming walls. "I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again. She has no right to make you sad."

"Jinnie- don't you ever get mad at your mother-" You brushed his wet hair from his forehead as you finally settled into his lap. You were both still, clinging to each other as if you wanted to be moulded into one. "You know that I can take care of myself. Your mother's just being protective, there is no harm in that."

It was Jin who broke the silence as he couldn't help but thrust his hips into you, his breath catching in his throat.

"We'll get through this." You reassured him with a kiss on his lips. "Nothing scares me when you're by my side."

He tried to hide a giggle as he bit down on his lips with ultimate force, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass as he took control of you, moving you to his liking. He was too consumed with pleasure to even form words, but he promised you in a velvety voice.

"Good thing, angel. Because even when the sky falls down, even when the earth crumbles around our feet, I'll always be here by your side."

[s-4pphics]

rip, halloweekend! (e.w.)

hi😳 it’s my last week as a student and i felt sad so i wrote fratadjacent!ellie lol. literally just wanted to reminisce on party hookups since they’re over for me </3 

wc;cw: 3.4k mmm, MDNI!!, NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL IM VERY BUSY LOL, all ocs r black coded y’all see it, mentions of (faux)blood and vomit like once, alcohol weed it’s a party duh, 21 and tee grizzley promo like pay me, girls kissing🤭, dubcon(every1 is faded af lol), ellie’s sleazy, mentions of orgies and anal? uh oh, ellie’s so cocky <3, dirty talk, fingering, eating out no mcdonalds, spanking ass and tits lol, okie yeah dassit <3 

everyone say thank u to the loml @fandomshitpostingqueen 4 the title :3

Your school always turned up and out for Halloween. 

You and your friends had been complaining about how trash the parties have been for months, but now the streets are littered with people dressed as bare as possible in the freezing cold. They were all shotgunning beers in the middle of the street, blasting trap music through their portable speakers, throwing up everywhere. 

And you were so excited! This was going to be fun. 

You never particularly liked going to frat parties: their houses were never clean, it was always boiling hot in the basement, and the cops almost always showed up to shut the entire place down (only for another party to blow up in the early hours in the morning, and they shut them down, too! Fuckers!). But after your first ever mind-numbing, toe-curling, drunken fuck with… her at the Alpha Sigma Phi house in September last year, you hardly ever stepped foot in clubs again. 

You two weren’t super close even though you fucked on and off, but you were friends with her housemate, Riley, so whenever she invited you over, you would discreetly watch Ellie silently making cereal—high out of her mind—in only her sports bra and gray sweats. You hadn’t seen her since the start of the semester, when she’d dropped off your wobbly, highly intoxicated roommate with after she’d snapped you a hey. ur roomie drank alooottt and is really fucked up rn imma drop her off leave the door unlocked pls lol. 

It was a mystery how they got past your building's security since your roommate could barely hold up her I.D. according to Ellie, but you didn’t press since she seemed in a rush to get back to the party she was at. She quickly laid your friend in her bed before throwing you a quick see ya! before fleeing out the door. You didn’t even have a chance to properly look at her before your own door slammed in your face. 

And now here you are, standing in the frat entry line freezing your ass off in your slutty, glittery angel costume with a cheap, but feathered halo atop your head. Your dress barely passed your thighs, and your white, lace-up heels were getting scuffed on the concrete. You didn’t even want to be an angel, but your friends forced you to match with them with their demands of Were gonna be Charlie’s Angels, bitch I’m not playing!, to which you’d argue, they weren’t actually angels, clown! But after three days of consistent glares and pleading from your googly-eyed group, you gave in. 

“Bro, I’m so fuckin’ excited. I need more shots, I need more shots! —“

“Can you shut the fuck up, you sound crazy,” your good friend, Cleo said to your… feening friend, Evelyn. A gust of Fall wind blew past all of you, and you shivered in unison. 

“It’s too fucking cold for this shit! If y’all would’ve let me down that Svedka bottle, I would be warm as fuck right now!” Evelyn pressed at both of you between chattering teeth. 

“Bitch, you almost peed in these people's kitchen sink the last time you did some stupid shit like that! In front of everyone!” Cleo scolded with a glare, and Evelyn scoffed before turning away to look at the moving line. Your friend then turned her attention to you. 

“You tryna see your girlfriend?” Cleo said to you with a smirk while she hit her dab, and you rolled your eyes so hard, they almost fell out. 

“She’s not my fuckin’ girlfriend, shut up,” you tried to say as convincingly as possible. They both snorted at your attempts, clearly in denial. 

Your friends always made it sound like you were in love with Ellie when she was brought up. You could admit to having a crush on her, sure, but you weren’t always craving her attention. You let her come and go as she pleased, and you did the same. 

Your thoughts were cut off by some drunk, obnoxious asshole screaming at the two of you to pull out your school I.Ds. You all did, and the door immediately pulled open, and you were hit in the face with the bass from the speakers. You all entered, hand in hand, and watched people dance in masks, people making out, people twerking on the counter. And you all were finally warm. 

You moved through the packed, LED lit house to where everyone was dancing, and you and your friends made a small circle in the middle of the crowded floor. Evelyn managed to snag an unopened bottle of Tito’s from the counter and you, and Cleo stared in shock as she downed three large gulps like it was water. You snatched the bottle from her before she could get any more down, only to take three large sips of your own, before turning to Cleo, ushering her to lean her head back so you could pour some in her mouth. 

You felt lighter. 

Thirty minutes passed, and Cleo was throwing it back on you, and you were throwing it back on Evelyn as she clumsily thrusted her hips into your ass, bottle in hand. Your halo was tipping, you were sweating out your press, and your glittery liner was smudging, but you couldn’t give a fuck. 21 was on, and nothing else mattered. 

Until Evelyn stopped, pulling you up to her chest and sloppily whispered that she had to pee. You shook your head as you giggled, pulling a very high Cleo up to guide her to the bathroom by her iced-out wrist.

The line for the bathroom was so fucking long. What the fuck. 

But you and your friends were finally next. Evelyn was leaning back against the wall as she squeezed her legs together, whining out quiet dontpeedontpeedontpee’s to herself with her eyes shut. You shook your head at her. 

However, you all immediately stiffened when you heard a desired squeal of fuck yes, like that! coming from the bathroom. That’s why y’all were standing here for so fucking long?! So somebody could get their nut?! 

Cleo shook her head with a I know you fuckin’ lying before banging her fist on the door. “Bro, hurry the fuck up! We don’t have time for this shit!”

“Hold the fuck on, damn!” and your back straightened at the voice, eyebrows furrowing. Ohh, shit oh fuck! —

And the door swung open, revealing a very flushed Ellie, lips glistening and eyes tinted pink with a black cloak on, Scream mask in hand. She even had fake blood smeared on her face. And a girl in a devil costume hopping off the counter, adjusting the horns on her head. 

You made eye contact with Ellie, and she froze, only to quirk her slit brow at you, slowly gazing at your attire from top to bottom before reconnecting your eyes. You shivered, and she smirked. 

The demon girl snatched Ellie’s wrist to lead her out of the bathroom as Evelyn rushed in, barely shutting the door behind her. You held Ellie’s searing contact as she trailed behind the girl, nodding her head in greeting as she brushed past you, leaving the hallway. You turned towards Cleo, who’d been barricading the door for Evelyn, shaking her head at you with a knowing grin. You let out a quiet fuck you as she busted out laughing. 

Sometime in the night, you all scurried back to the dance for when First Day Out blasted through the speakers. You have zero recollection of what happened after you ran towards the packed dance floor(all your liquor body-slammed you at once!), but your tongue was shoved in Cleo’s mouth as she grinded on Evelyn, holding her by her thigh to pull her closer. She pulled away, licking your bottom lip as you both smiled before your hazy gaze traveled behind Evelyn, locking with the ones you were conflicted about seeing tonight. 

Ellie was smoking by herself, just watching you. You held her stare as you wrapped your arms around Cleo, drunkenly waving your hand to lure her over. She smirked around her blunt before shrugging, shaking her head no. You sent her a pout. 

“Ellie’s over there,” you bent down to talk in Cleo’s ear. 

She hummed in acknowledgment against your neck, “We’ll be alright. Go see her.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, I got her,” She said in reference to a very drunk Evelyn screaming out YOU KNOW I BROUGHT MY KNIFE!

“Text me if anything happens, okay?” You demanded, and she nodded before encouragingly patting your ass. 

You unwrapped yourself from your friend, squeezing through the crowd until you reached a very… calm Ellie. She was leaning back with her head propped up against the wall, doing tricks with every exhale of smoke. You leaned up next to her, shoulder to shoulder. 

Neither of you said anything, but she held her blunt up to your face. You accepted, parting your lips to inhale the smoke as you watched the lit tip shine orange. You pulled away, leaving the remnants of your gloss behind, and breathed in before exhaling away from her. 

You watched as she pulled her phone out, slowly typing something out with one hand as she ripped from the blunt again. 

You felt your phone vibrate in your bra. 

You looked at her suspiciously before pulling it out, unlocking it to open the snap from Ellie.

e: cum upstairs? 

y: 😐

You turned to her and watched her smile before typing. You looked back down at your phone. 

e: lemme give u some imsorry head :(

y: 😐

e: pleek 

y: where

e: upstairs duh 

e: jesses gone 4 the weekend so ye

e: fuckin u in his room lol 

… Who the fuck is Jesse?

You didn’t get an opportunity to respond before you felt her grab your wrist, pulling you into the crowd. You couldn’t help but look up at her frame, loose strands of her ponytail falling out, her dangly earrings, her fucking shoulders, her neck moving every time she looked back to check on you. She looked so fucking good, fuck—

You felt a smack on your ass, and before you could turn to beat the fuck out of whoever it was, you caught your friends giggling at you. Cleo suddenly made her O-face as Evelyn pretended to hit it from the back before they started laughing at you again. You stared blankly at them. 

“Okay?” You heard Ellie say in your ear, lips brushing against yours. You only nodded before turning back to face her. 

You watched as she looked behind you before smiling and looking back down at you with a headshake. She turned and led you towards the staircase. 

She pulled open a door—Jesse’s, you guess— at the end of the hall. It was a bit messy, but you ignored it as she closed the door behind you. 

“Where’s Riley? I haven’t seen her at all,” you said as she looked at you. 

“Dunno.” She replied simply, ripping from her roach. 

“…You got bored quick,” You hoped she knew what you meant. 

“Mhm,” she said as she exhaled before stubbing it out on the dresser. 

And then silence. 

This is awkward. You hoped she would be ripping your halo off by now.  

“You look cute.” 

“You don’t,” you replied sharply. Fuck, yes she does, she always does. 

She snickered at you before kicking her chucks off, “That girl thought I did.” 

You’re going to strangle her. 

“Fuck you.” 

“You’re gonna,” she said as she stepped closer. 

“You’re a slut.” 

“I am,” Another step. She said with a slimy grin. “The dirtiest.” 

You hated how wet that made you. 

“Your friends are funny,” She said with another step, finally in your space as she spoke quietly. “And they’re hot.” 

“I know they are.” 

“Orgy?” She asked with a bright smile.

“Ellie, are we fucking or not? M’feet hurt,” you slurred out, rolling your eyes. 

“You look so good right now,” she said more to herself than to you, it seemed. She’d been so quiet, tone filled with awe. Your face ran hot. 

“Wanna kiss,” She said as she leaned forward. 

You placed a hand on her chest. “‘M not about to kiss you, you were just giving somebody head, like, an hour ago.” 

“So?” She said, grinning wider. 

“The fuck d’you mean so? That’s gross, Ellie.” you said with an agitated tone. 

“Wanna bend you over his dresser,” She said silkily, and it made you clench tight. “Missed you, y’know?” 

You didn’t reply as you looked at her skeptically. She didn’t care, grabbing you by your hips to pull you closer, bodies now flush against each other. She bent down to plant soft kisses on your neck. You would’ve complained, but her mouth felt so good, fuck.

“You wet enough?” She whispered out against your throat before sucking on the wet spot. You threw your arms around her neck, your knees buckling. 

“Gettin’ there, keep kissing me like that,” you breathed out in a shaky whisper. You felt her smile against you before licking over where she sucked. 

You felt her hands travel down to your ass, as she grabbed both cheeks tightly in both hands. You let out a breathy moan at her grip before you felt her slap a cheek, and then the other. 

“Take this shit off,” she whispered out as she hiked your dress over your hips. You pulled it over your head, tossing it near the bed along with your halo. 

“Fuck you, I spent time making this,” you said with a pout as she laughed softly. She grabbed your bare tits in her hands before sucking a nipple into her mouth. You moaned as you peered down to watch her flick it. 

She switched sides, sucking the hardened bud into her mouth while she hummed quietly. Your hips pressed against her.

“Prettiest fuckin’ tits,” She whispered against your breast. “Gonna fuck ‘em one day, I swear to god.” 

You moaned at her promise as you felt her slap your ass again before whispering a get over there, nodding towards the dresser. You scurried over as quickly as your heeled feet could manage, tits bouncing with every step. You leaned back against it with your hands propped up behind you as you watched her pull your halo from your discarded fabric. 

“Gotta keep this on,” she said as she walked over, dangling it between two fingers. “For… affect, and whatnot.” 

“Right.” 

“Mhm,” she said as she carefully placed it on your head. “Turn around.” 

You listened without question, and you were faced with your own reflection. Your wet nipples, your rising and falling chest, your wet thong. And her darkly looming behind you closely, all bloody and grinning. Another gush of wetness in your underwear. 

“You know what I think?” She said into your ear, meeting your eyes in the mirror. 

You hummed out questioningly. 

“We’d make a sexy cam-couple,” She whispered huskily as she licked your ear and you couldn’t stop squirming, pushing back on her as she grinded forward. “I could see it now: ‘slutty Scream murders cute angelic pussy’, we’d get paid so fuckin’ good.” 

“You’re stupid,” you shakily whispered out as she reached around to pull at your nipples. Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned back against her, one hand reaching behind you to wrap around her neck while the other dug into her jean-covered thigh. 

She slapped your tits as she messily kissed your neck, sucking more bruises into the skin as she moaned against you. You felt one of her hands disappear from your tits, and before you could move to bring it back, you felt it grab the back of your neck to push you down against the dresser, arms falling in front of you in reflex. Your eyes tore open, and you were met with your sloppy-looking reflection. Lip gloss completely gone, eye-makeup smeared, sweated-out press sticking to your forehead(dammit!), and your halo lopsidedly hanging off your head. 

“Uh huh,” she muttered out as she watched you through the mirror, slowly thrusting her hips forward like she was fucking you and fuck, you wanted to fuck so bad. You hated how you instinctively pushed back on her, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Would make a sexy little pornstar.” 

“Fuck, El, ‘m so wet, c’mon, please! —” 

“Gonna baby, just lemme look at you,” she said back, and you whined, pushing back on her again. You wish she had her dick with her! 

“Make me cum, El, pleeease,” you whined out again, and you felt her slam a hot hand on your ass. You cried out as your cheek seared. 

You felt her slowly pull your panties to the side. You lifted your head to watch her through the mirror: her brows pulled down, her lip between her teeth, and she had the audacity to release a glob of spit on your pussy. You felt a gush of wetness leave you as it trailed down your pussy. 

“You’re so nasty,” you slurred out quietly. 

She reconnected your eyes in the mirror, and she grinned cunningly. You felt her free hand come up to run slow, deep circles on your slippery clit, and you moaned out as your eyes fluttered shut. You dropped your chin on the dresser in relief. 

“Cutest fuckin’ pussy, can tell she missed me,” you clenched tighter gushed wetter at her tone, your pussy screaming missed you so much, daddy! You could tell she noticed when she snickered out a small yeah, you did.

And then you felt her slide a finger in. Your jaw dropped as you gasped wetly, and you hated how she immediately found that spot that makes you scream. Your walls were gripping her finger tight tight tight—

“Fuck, angel, gonna gimme this pussy later?” 

“Fuck yes, ‘s yours!” 

“Yeah? Say it again,” and she dug her finger in deeper. 

“‘S your pussy, daddy, make me cum!” 

She gently pushed another finger in and she grinded them into you, barely pulling out. You hadn’t even noticed that the grip she had on your neck disappeared, her other hand reaching around you to massage your clit. You stayed bent over the dresser so she could hit it deeper, and fuck, she made you feel so good!

Your eyes were glued shut as you breathed and moaned out, but you felt her press kisses all over your ass, biting the cheeks. Your eyes fluttered open as she sat up, slowing down her fucking. She met your eyes to ask, “You ever get your ass fucked?” 

You barely reacted at her bluntness due to your hazy mind, but you shook your head no. She nodded as she pouted. She went back to fingering your cunt. 

“Mmh, you can if you w-wanna, when you take me home later, shit—“

“Who said I was takin’ you home? Hm?” She said and you heard the smirk in her voice. She pressed up against that spot harder as she slid another finger in. 

“Fuuuck!—“ 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, baby, yesyesyes!—“

You watched her drop to her knees and felt her suck your clit in her mouth and your eyes rolled back and it was about to make you cum—

The sloppy noises of her sucking your pussy and the soppy sounds of her fingers inside you made you hotter, and you felt that burning feeling pulling in your gut.

“El, fuck, baby, I’m gonna— “ 

“C’mon angel, get me wet, want it all over my fuckin’ face— “ 

You couldn’t hear all the nasty shit she was muttering on your pussy as she fucked you through your nut, her lips taking your throbbing clit back in your mouth as she massaged that spot inside you. She was eating you like you were paying her for it and fuck you would if she asked. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good, no one tastes this good, what the fuck,” she said dazed. You knew she was watching your pussy twitch as you rode out the aftershocks on your orgasm, slowly fucking her fingers into you. 

You felt her stand up, slowly rubbing your clit as you calmed down, planting gentle, wet kisses onto your back. 

“You good?” She whispered against you, and you nodded against the desk. 

She chuckled gently, massaging your ass in both her hands before pressing a kiss on a cheek, “C’mon, we’re leaving.” 

You barely could catch your breath, “W’na dance, still.” 

“No, you don’t,” she said, licking up your spine. You felt her press her lips to your ear before she whispered. “Text your friends and tell ‘em we’re leaving. ‘M dropping them off so I can fuck this ass.” 

You shuddered. 

And nodded. 

And she cheesed wide. 

see yall inna week or so lol c:

[mercy-burning]

(2) the fire. || THE DOCTOR.

in which a fire grows between the doctor and the landlord. content: strong language, alcohol, a hand injury/bleeding, kissing word count: 4.5k

series masterlist || main masterlist

———

Today, Spencer remembers why he never went to school for medicine.

It's not that he can't properly diagnose a problem and offer the proper treatment, though he'd be lying if he admitted to denying any insecurity over holding the powerful title of The One and Only Town Doctor, because what if he does diagnose something wrong, or he doesn't have all the information he needs and gives somebody the incorrect treatment? Then what? He wouldn't only have to worry about an eviction, but complete humiliation as well. He'd have to either locate somewhere else or just live out the rest of his "witness protection" in the Alaskan Wilderness, left to fend for himself. He'd likely die then, anyway.

Being this isolated from the outside world must have triggered my over-dramatic tendencies, he thinks with a shake of the head and a deep sigh. He closes the patient file in front of him and rubs his eyes, stifling a yawn.

He'd only read each file over twenty times each. But the better acquainted with Sardinia he was, the more accurate his work would be. It also might please Stanton to know he's at least making an effort to get to know the town a little bit. Not that it's his life-goal to please the man, but after his town tour last weekend, Spencer had sensed a fierce protectiveness in the mayor over his town and its residents. It was commendable, and definitely not something to interfere with.

At the same time, knowing everybody's business is, quite frankly, exhausting.

It's the price I pay for safety, I suppose...

Three knocks sound at the basement door, and Spencer sits upward, putting on his glasses.

"Everything alright in there, Doctor?"

The librarian's voice is a relief. "Yes, thank you, Roberta! I'm almost done!"

She shuffles inside and looks around, adjusting her long, patterned skirt. "You know... We're not technically supposed to let these files leave their home, but... You're the town doctor now, Spencer... If you need to take some home, you're more than welcome. That way you don't have to stay down here." She shivers at the thought.

"Oh, that's okay. I've read them all more than a dozen times over, I just wanted a refresher."

Roberta laughs with him, probably assuming he's exaggerating, but he says nothing and lets her keep her amusement. "Well alright, if you're sure. Are you heading out then?"

As if on cue, his stomach growls rather eagerly at the thought of sustenance. "I was just about to go to lunch, actually."

"Well there's no rush if you have more reading to do, Dear. If you'd like, I can make you a sandwich or something."

Spencer almost takes her up on it, but as his stomach growls again, it suddenly occurs to him that it's highly unlikely he'll run into Y/N in the library's basement.

In actuality, he doesn't have any concrete plans to seek anything out with her. It wouldn't be right, technically being her doctor and all. Not to mention, he was supposed to be detaching. Doing his job, indulging in friendly conversation when needed, but not allowing himself to form strong connections with Sardinia when he knows he'll just leave eventually anyway. It's easier, it's stable, and it's clean.

But for whatever reason, he can't seem to stop thinking about her anyway. It's obvious that she doesn't seem particularly interested in putting in effort to being his friend, not after the morning she showed up on his doorstep and injured her hand on his porch. Day by day he kicks himself for being so awkward. He didn't mean to keep interrupting her, but he also didn't want to be responsible for not doing his job. Intentional on her part or not, it was cold outside, she was hurt, and he did the responsible, professional thing by ushering her inside and tending to her wound. It really had just been an unfortunate turn of miscommunication and awkward first impressions.

And so, while he's aware that turning things around is probably out of the equation, Spencer finds himself constantly daydreaming about running into her or breaking something in his house so he has a reason to call her. He shouldn't even entertain it, but she's a knot in the deepest part of his gut that he can't ignore no matter how hard he tries.

It's almost as exhausting as reading the entire town's medical records over and over again.

"Thank you, Roberta, I appreciate it. But I think I could use some fresh air."

———

The generally considered "lunch hour" has just passed, leaving BAR in limbo as the cleaning staff prepares for dinner. A small group of customers sit in the corner by the lifeless karaoke machine, nursing beers, and as Spencer finds his way to the bar, his eyes drift to the woman behind it, all the way up on a ladder as she drills in some shelving.

"Doctor, what can I do you for?" Sonny greets as he sits down.

If Y/N heard him, she doesn't let on.

Spencer removes his coat and scarf and drapes them over the back of his chair, doing his best to hide the joy he feels at successfully locating his landlord. Not that there are many places here she could have been in the first place. "Uhh, water and a club sandwich?"

"Fries or chicken soup with that?"

"Soup, please."

"You got it."

As Sonny puts in the order, Spencer diverts his gaze back to Y/N. As she's reaching high and stretching up to grab a screw, he has half a mind to tell her to be careful, but he doesn't want a power tool thrown at his head.

The scariest thing happens just then.

"The second you tell me to be careful, Doctor, I'm evicting you."

He hesitates. "Did you know, the American Academy of Orthopedic Surgeons estimates that there are around 500,000 people treated for ladder-related accidents each year?"

She pauses and turns her head to look over her shoulder at him. "What did I just say?"

Spencer throws up his hands defensively, unable to hide his smirk. "Hey, I didn't tell you to be careful..."

She tosses the screw in his direction, and it rolls across the bar.

Sonny snatches it up without even looking, sliding over Spencer's water with the other hand. "And you just know that off the top of your head, or did you make it up?"

"Uh, no. I didn't make it up..."

"Sounds like a made-up number to me," Y/N mumbles, barely in earshot.

"I'm a doctor. It's my job to know these things."

"Well, I've been climbing ladders pretty much my whole life, Doctor, so you and your Ladder Statistic Surgeons can take the day off."

With a snort from Sonny and the sudden loud whir of Y/N's drill, Spencer leaves it alone, taking a few large gulps of his water.

Minutes pass, and even though his eyes are glued to the small box-TV in the corner, muted and playing some '80s movie he's never seen before, Spencer is earnestly aware of Y/N's presence behind the bar. She's humming to herself, something that sounds theatrical like a show-tune, and it serves as some pretty comical background music to the rather intense scenes playing out before him.

"Aw, man, Red Dawn again? Can't you play Lethal Weapon or something?"

Spencer looks to his left sharply, a little horrified at the fact that he hadn't seen or heard the presence of someone beside him.

"Do I look like a movie theater, Lionel?"

The kid can't be more than twenty years old. His deep brunette hair is longer than Spencer's— way longer, in fact; it cascades down the back of the chair and almost touches the floor. He doesn't judge, but the thought of having hair so long that it's constantly getting tangled and always nearly touching the floor sounds annoying and completely unsanitary.

"What if I buy you a copy?"

"No."

"I don't know, Sonny, maybe you should switch it up once in a while," Y/N offers, and Lionel cheers like a frat bro. "I know I wouldn't mind watching Mel Gibson while I eat..."

"My bar, my rules. And Mel Gibson's a jag-off."

Spencer thinks of Rossi at the insult, almost hearing it in his voice, and his heart aches a little of home. Still, he can't lie and say he isn't enjoying the bar banter just a little.

"Yeah, but a hot one," Y/N presses, stepping down the ladder and shuffling around some of her tools. "Anyway, shelf's all shiny and new. You need anything else repaired before I head off?"

"Nah, you're free. Thanks, Moonface."

Just as she rolls her eyes and starts berating him about the nickname, Lionel twists his seat to Spencer.

"You're the new doctor, right?"

"Yes, I am. Lionel? It's nice to meet you. I'm Spencer."

"Doctor Spencer..." He says it like he's testing something. Pondering. He squints his dark eyes and then looks him over. "My mom said you were dreamy, but I don't see it."

He feels his face getting warm, and then Y/N laughs. "You know who is dreamy..."

Lionel points. "Mel Gibson."

Y/N points back at him knowingly, and they share a smile, much to Sonny's chagrin.

The barman looks at Spencer, who can't help but laugh. "You wanna chime in on this, Doctor Spencer?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not qualified to diagnose dreamy." Then he glances at Y/N, catching her eye. "Only to offer ladder statistics."

Sonny laughs, and Lionel slaps his knee, but Y/N is holding Spencer's gaze as if to say, "well played." There's something else there too, but before he can place it, she's tearing herself away and packing up her things.

"I like this guy!" Lionel says. "I'll have what he's having."

"You don't even know what he ordered," Sonny counters.

As the two discuss, Spencer lets their words drone on until they're muffled background noise,  Y/N cleaning up her workspace. She doesn't catch him until after she steps under the ladder to reach for something, and then raises an eyebrow as she walks through the other side.

"You're not gonna lecture me about bad luck now, are you?"

"I'm not superstitious."

She smiles, to his surprise, and his breath catches at the sight. It's a beautiful smile anyway, but when it's directed at him, it feels like a reward he wants to achieve forever.

Before he has time to read into the feeling, a plate of food is set in front of him, and the spell between the doctor and his landlord has lifted. She goes to fold up the ladder, and he keeps himself busy by stirring his soup, waiting for it to cool.

He'd chosen it as a ploy to stay warm on this cold November midday, but he doesn't feel like he needs it anymore.

———

Y/N is avoiding Spencer at all costs.

She's glad he didn't see her almost slip off the ladder at BAR earlier today, but not because of the "told you so". No, she was more worried that he would genuinely come to her aid, and the close proximity would surely have her abandoning all reason and throwing herself at him. Because, let's face it, he is dreamy (Lionel doesn't know shit). And he's funny. And smart. And his hands...

Y/N lets out a rather aggravated grunt, thwarting the sharp sting of desire she feels in the pit of her gut, scrubbing a plate clean with a grip so vigorous, her fingers start to cramp.

You know, you could just... be nice to him, the Angel on her shoulder suggests.

What, and completely disrupt the snarky bantering nature on which we've set our foundation? the Devil counters back, stubborn as always. I don't think so!

The argument goes on for way too long. Y/N has furiously scrubbed all her dishes clean about five times over before she decides to promptly get drunk about it. She can't go to BAR, and she could make a run to the convenience store for a bottle of something strong, but... there's more risk involved out in public than in the safety of her own home, where there happens only to be a half-bottle of red wine that she keeps for when she's feeling frisky. And 'frisky' is exactly what she wants to thwart, so...

The options are very limited.

"God damn this stupid fucking small town bullshit," she grumbles through gritted teeth, harshly tossing the sopping-wet washrag in the sink and reaching up to the cupboard for her wine. "Whatever. Maybe... I just have to pull out the vibrator and get it out of my syste—"

Perhaps it's superstition, or irresponsible outbursts of frustration, or perhaps it's just plain bad luck that makes her slip backwards and fall on a puddle of water when she turns around, bottle of wine in hand. But whatever the reason, she can't help the maniacal laughter that tumbles out of her system the second her ass hits the floor. Her hand holds the neck of the bottle in a death-grip, but when she goes to set it on the floor, it shatters, staining everything in red. Sharp pain slices through her finger, and her laughter quickly stops with a hiss.

Staring down at the aftermath, Y/N slowly feels the pain growing and throbbing in her body. Her butt is surely bruised, her hand is hot and cascading with blood, and there's only one person qualified to help her.

"Fuck my life..."

She starts to laugh again, but grabs her phone and dials the first number she can think of.

———

What Spencer had told Y/N is completely true; he's not superstitious. Coincidences happen, and that's just how life works, but walking under a ladder or breaking a mirror won't bring you bad luck, just as surely as being in the right place at the right time is merely that— a coincidence. Good things and bad things simply happen, no matter how badly you want to believe there might be some cosmic reason for them.

That being said, as he charges up the driveway to Y/N's house, first-aid kit in hand, he starts to wonder if Sardinia has its own sort of superstitious magic or something. It's the fact that the one and only person that he's needed to aid since being here—not once but twice now—is the one person that doesn't seem thrilled over his presence. Not that everyone he met seemed absolutely ecstatic to have him there (save for Stanton), but everyone else didn't seem inconvenienced by him at least. And for whatever reason, he can't stop the burning need that simmers low in his stomach at her every sarcastic word, every roll of the eye, and every beautiful frown of her lips.

He couldn't make it go away. He couldn't make it make sense.

Why?

He manages to push away his frustrations when he opens the door to check on her, wiping his feet on the mat and calling out her name.

"Are you alright?"

As he removes his coat and steps inside to find her, heavy stomping sounds through the house, getting louder and louder until his landlord is in sight, her eyebrows narrowed and her hand wrapped in a blood-soaked washcloth. "What are you doing here?"

"I was with Roberta when you called her, she said you were hurt and you needed help, so I came—"

"She wasn't supposed to send you!"

"I'm... I'm sorry? Here, what's wrong? She said your hand might need stitches."

She looks like she's about to cry, her body going slack and her head falling back in defeat. "Yes, it does, because I fell on my ass with a bottle of wine in my hand, and sliced it open..."

"Y/N, it's okay. I can help you. Let me take a look."

He reaches out for her hand, but she snaps it away to her chest and huffs. "No! I don't want your help, okay?"

Spencer sighs, feeling himself getting irritated now. "What?"

"You heard me! It's... It's your fault anyway!"

He blinks. He can't believe what he's hearing. He wants to help her, to calm her down, but her words are so sharp and her tone is violent enough that he isn't sure any of his tactics would work anyway. He's spent a fair share of his time talking people out of scary situations, talking them off many ledges, but right now he feels trapped. He feels confused and maybe a little hurt, but also extremely hot, like his temperature is rising steadily with every second he's in her presence.

"Excuse me?" is all he can say.

"First you show up to Sardinia and ignore everybody, which makes Stanton send me to lure you out, and I bust my hand open on your door! And then you keep following me around town and fucking pester me about your stupid made-up ladder statistics, and it pisses me off so badly that I come home to unwind, and hurt myself in the process! You did this to me! So no, I don't need your help, I just need you to—"

"Y/N."

"Stop interrupting me!"

Despite her rising frustration and inability to filter out the ridiculous threads of reasoning that give her away now, Spencer keeps a calm, even tone when he continues. "I can leave and have Roberta come over to help you instead, if you want. I won't stay if you really don't want me to."

It's her turn to blink, her mind working hard to comprehend what he's just said. She looks exhausted and just about as confused as he'd been, picking at the washcloth wrapped around her hand.

"You... What?"

Everything makes so much more sense now. As she'd rambled on and on about how annoying she found him, a switch flipped, and Spencer knew exactly what her outburst had been really about. Suddenly, all the somethings he kept catching in her glances have become bright beacons, and he wonders how he'd missed it.

It probably has something to do with that rising temperature of his— too distracting to allow his brain to work properly.

Regardless, his brain is working just fine now, as he takes a step closer to Y/N. She backs away, but he keeps slowly walking towards her as he speaks.

"I understand. You've probably known Roberta all your life, and she's a safe, comforting person to confide in. I'm just a stranger. You don't like me, and you don't trust me, even though I am your doctor and it is my job to help you."

Her back is to a wall now, and she startles when she runs into it, realizing she's trapped. Spencer watches her swallow and try to avert her eyes as he keeps talking. His lips twitch into a smile then, remembering the day she hurt her hand on his door and how she could barely look him in the eye, and how he's missed yet another sign.

"But you are an independent, very beautiful, incredibly stubborn woman, so that makes sense..." Their faces are inches apart, Y/N's head tilted to avoid him. But that just won't do, so Spencer gently places his forefinger under her chin and adjusts her to look at him. Their eyes meet finally, and that fire burns bright in his belly and spreads through his entire nervous system at the matching heat in the depths of her stare.

He continues softly, his lips barely a breath away from hers. "So if it's what you really want, then I'll go."

"God, fuck you," she breathes, pushing herself forward and colliding their mouths together. Her sharp words echo so strongly that when her tongue slips past and makes contact with his, he can practically taste their sweet, sweet venom. He welcomes the sting and involuntarily growls into her mouth, pressing her firmly into the wall. He's never felt a violence quite as satisfying as the one she exudes.

It's a violence that amplifies the burn in Spencer's gut, the one that causes him to abandon all logic and reasoning in favor of indulgence. It had happened once before, with a particularly wretched woman he'd rather not remember, but this time is different. It's relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things, and absolutely life-altering all the same.

Her kisses fizzle out slowly, though not out of boredom or change of heart. In fact, Spencer figures he's stunned the poor woman into a simmering lust-driven stupor, a power that he hadn't gone searching for but accidentally stumbled upon while cradling her head in his hands. He's never considered himself an ambitious, power-hungry man, but as his fingers massage her scalp and he kisses her deep and slow, her mouth returning his energy with lazy, fiery laps of the tongue, it's the first time he's ever ached so deeply to claim something as his own. The feeling is addicting, plain and simple.

She seems to gain some semblance of control when he pulls back and pivots his head for a gasp of air, because in a split second her weight is pushing against him, forcing his feet backward. Still attached at the lip, they stumble through the house together until they find themselves in the kitchen.

When Spencer lifts her enough to sit her down on the table, she pulls away from his mouth with a hiss and then hits his shoulder with the palm of her hand. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?" he asks breathlessly, dizzy on her kisses but slowly coming back to his senses as he remembers why he'd even come here in the first place.

"I fell on my ass, remember? It hurts!"

"Sorry," he says, helping her down and pulling her back to him through the empty belt-loops of her jeans. "I'll be careful."

"Some doctor you are," she scolds, kissing him again.

He breaks away a second later with a laugh. "You didn't want my help. Remember?"

"If I didn't hurt my good hand, I'd punch you."

Kiss.

"You should have that looked at."

Kiss.

"Probably."

Kiss.

He knows that he should stop and take a look at it anyway. He should be firm, yet still gentle and caring, and make sure her wound isn't already starting to get infected or worse. He has no doubt that she'd probably taken care of it to a good enough standard to avoid anything major, but in any case, it doesn't matter. Because it's his job to look after her.

But... fuck.

Her quick-witted, glorious mouth is too intoxicating. It's ruining him, completely demolishing any ounce of professionalism and sense of reason he might have once had.

And then her injured hand drags itself along his shoulder and down the front of his shirt, just for a second before she pulls it away again, inhaling against his lips.

She's in pain. But she won't stop.

Spencer pulls away and rests his forehead to hers. She tries to chase his mouth, and he wants to let her, but he can't.

"Y/N..." He says her name softly, trying not to focus on her pout. Otherwise, he might just leap forward again.

Their breathing is heavy, the air between them thick with a fire that still longs to burn bright, but is being extinguished by necessity. It's still fighting though, dancing in their eyes as every other part of their bodies slowly part from each other.

"My hand hurts," she says finally, holding it out to him.

She's still very obviously drunk on him, her words strung together clumsily as she sways to keep her balance. She looks dazed, hair tousled and lips puffy, all at his mercy. And so fucking help him, Spencer vows in that moment that he will see her in this state again, and he will not have any obstacles like wounded hands getting in his way of the job. It will be thorough and deliberate and he will not stop until the wicked words spewing past her lips have dissipated into breathless gasping pleas.

Just not today.

"Will you help me, please?" she asks softly.

He nods, gesturing for her to sit down. "Of course." Then, he notices stains of red littering his arm. Studying them, then her, then his arm again, Spencer can't help but laugh. "First you bleed on my porch, and now my favorite shirt?"

It isn't his favorite shirt really, but for the sake of their dynamic, it's worth the look she gives him. She scrunches her eyebrows in an adorable stabbing glare, her lips pouting again, and his heart races. "You're a doctor, get fucking used to it."

As he pulls up a chair and gets out his first aid kit, he shakes his head, refusing to meet her eyes when he tells her, "That mouth of yours is going to get you in a lot of trouble one of these days, Y/N."

"Hasn't yet."

When he finally does meet her eyes, she almost breaks down, her pupils flexing and her body going frigid as he gently grabs her hand without breaking eye contact. But then he glances down at her mouth, and back up again with a contemplative hum.

"It will."

He doesn't know why, or how he's even managing to flirt with her like this, but for some reason it comes as the most natural thing in the world. He likes making her react, he likes hearing her scoff at him and swear at him under her breath. He likes how as he tends to her gashes with tender hands, she watches him intently without saying a word. She'll wince when it hurts, and he'll apologize in a whisper, but she doesn't say anything, like she's refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He could play this game forever, probably.

When he's done stitching her hand up, he places it in her lap and looks up at her through his eyelashes. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You're lucky, it's a minor cut, and you cleaned it up pretty well yourself before help arrived. Just don't do any hard work with that hand for two weeks, and you can come back to see me then to have them removed. Sound good?"

"Mhm."

"Good. Then... I'll be on my way."

For the smallest of milliseconds, Spencer swears she looks disappointed. But as quickly as the look appears, it vanishes, replaced by an indifference that would have stung him otherwise, had he not just felt her desperation as it seeped into his bloodstream with every breath they exchanged.

He tries to hold back a knowing smile as she gets up to walk away. "Thank you. I should probably go see Roberta and give her a piece of my mind."

"That's a good idea, I'm sure she'd be glad to know you're okay."

Though her back is turned to him, he feels her eyes rolling and it makes it harder to hide his joy. He's practically radiating with it when he packs up his things and leaves, and he hopes she can feel it.

He doesn't know it, but she does.

[p0orbaby]

One to many request

How about one where Wanda is walking and slips nothing to big/or big idk and reader wasn’t there and Wanda goes to the doctor to make sure everything is okay and when they call reader, reader goes into full panic rushing to drive to the infirmary to see Wanda….oh just ignore this request LMFAO

I Told You So

a/n: and unofficial official part two to this bad boy. P.S to the anon who requested this, sorry for the delay. Hope it’s worth the wait!

warnings: very small visit to the emergency room, brief hospital setting and immaculate medical talk/scenarios, pregnancy, language, I think that’s it

word count: 1.3k

-

Wanda's pregnancy had brought her an overwhelming sense of joy. The idea of becoming a parent was the only thing she was able to think about most days. That and what ways she could wrangle you into acquiring whatever food she was craving at 3am.

But along with joy, a heightened awareness of her every move came just as intensely. Or more accurately, her lack thereof. Bending over to put her shoes on was a struggle. Standing up on her own sometimes caused her strife. You’d told her to not do things of her own accord. If she needed something, ask. No matter how small.

Wanda was sick to death of asking. She felt like a child. She wanted her independence back, despite your willingness to wait on her hand and foot.

It was a rare day when she was left alone. You’d needed to run some errands across town, and deemed the amount of tasks too many for Wanda to accompany you comfortably. So you’d instructed her to stay put. To phone as soon as she needed anything. The kitchen chair incident making you acutely aware of your wife’s inability to follow your simple rules. Leaving her alone was a struggle in its own right.

A walk couldn’t be much harm, she decided. The warm weather making her want to get out of the house. To breathe in some fresh air. One lap around the neighbourhood. Simple in theory. Not so much in practice.

She must’ve not been paying attention. Too lost in her new found sense of freedom that she didn’t see the loose paving stone ahead. Tripping over it suddenly, stumbling a little as the toe of her sneaker caught the corner of upturned slab concrete. She managed to steady herself, reaching her hand out for a tree that had to have only been there serendipitously to save her. She’s never felt so happy to have two feet on solid ground.

Wanda was shaken up. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. And not from embarrassment of being caught, but from guilt and fear of what may have happened if she didn’t catch herself.

It was that guilt that led her home, into her car, and drove her to the hospital. Alone. No outbound call to your cell. No text about what had happened or where she was going.

-

“Everything looks perfectly fine, Mrs Maximoff” the doctor informed her. “Your heart rate has increased a little, naturally, but I can send the full results over to your OBGYN to include in your personal records”

“Are you sure?” She questioned. Not because she didn’t believe the doctor, but she wanted to be doubly certain no harm was caused to her sons.

“Squeaky clean. As I said, your heart rate has spiked. But that’s a natural reaction to stress so there’s nothing too much to worry about” they continued. The plastic of their gloves snapping as they were removed. “I will however suggest not taking walks alone at this stage in your pregnancy. Just to be on the safe side.

Wanda’s body flushed with humiliation. She, a grown woman, was getting ridiculed by a doctor about risks she’d already been warned about.

-

She winced when the door closed a little heavier behind her than she wanted.

She wasn’t hiding from you, per say, but she was avoiding your calls. She was embarrassed. And if she was being honest, a little scared of what your reaction was going to be. So maybe she was hiding from you.

“Are you for real! Seriously, Wanda! Have you lost your damn mind?”

There it was. The reaction she had was trying to avoid.

You’d come storming in from where you were pacing through the house, and stood toe to toe with wanda in the foyer. Tips of your ears red and your nostrils flaring as you looked down on your wife. Who was MIA until moments ago.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“I went for a walk,” Wanda replied as she tied off her shoes and tried to slip past you. You grabbed her wrist before she got the chance to flee.

“A walk with your car? Do you think I’m stupid?” The tone of your voice was angry, sure. But there was an underlying level of hurt too.

“I’m not lying,” she insisted. “I did go for a walk. Through the neighbourhood. But something happened and so I had to use the car”

Why was this so hard? You’d been together for years. Told each other your deepest darkest secrets. So why was this so much different?

“Wanda, I’m being serious”

You were. Wanda could tell by the way your voice was clipped. Stern. It’s the way you spoke to uncooperative clientele.

Wanda let out a defeated sigh, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep it up any longer. Guilt would eat away at her if she didn’t come clean.

“I was at the hospital” she treaded carefully. “And before you start, everything is fine! But I did have a little bit of a fall when I was on my walk”

Your eyes bulged. Mouth opening and closing as you tried to make sense of what she had just admitted.

“Well, not a fall really. I tripped on an uneven-“

“Stop talking” you breathe. A hand rubbing at your forehead as the other rested on your waist. “Please, just… don’t say anything else”

Wanda obeyed your wishes and shut up. Mouth forming a thin line as she waited patiently in front of you.

“I thought we talked about this,” you muttered. “You said you’d listen”

“I did,” she argued. “I haven’t climbed on any chairs, or lifted heavy things since. I was just so over feeling useless. But apparently I can’t even go for a walk without almost falling flat on my face”

You cringed at the prospect of that happening. Eyes squeezing shut as if to block out any mental images of what that might entail.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and gently held Wanda's hands. "I know you're frustrated, and I'm sorry if I came across as harsh. I just worry about your safety. You're not useless, you’re pregnant, there’s a big difference, okay?”

Wanda’s eyes welled up with tears, and she nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just… I miss feeling like I can do things on my own”

You squeezed her hands reassuringly. “I know, baby. I truly do. But I need you to understand that your safety and the well-being of our children are my top concerns. We’re in this together, and I want to be there for you every step of the way. Even if it’s as simple as helping you put on your socks”

She let out a soft laugh, wiping away a tear. “I guess I’ll have to get used to it, won’t I?”

“Absolutely,” you said, gently wiping away another stray tear with the pad of your thumb “And I promise to be the best sock assistant you could ever ask for”

Wanda’s smile grew wider, and she leaned in to give you a quick kiss. “Thank you for understanding, and for always being here for me, even when I’m being a stubborn hormonal mess”

“Hey, we’re a team,” you replied with a grin. “Stubborn hormonal messes and all. And remember, I’ll always be just a call away, whether it’s for socks or anything else”

She nodded, a mixture of gratitude and affection in her gaze. “I won’t hesitate to ask for help. And no more solo walks, I promise.”

“Deal,” you said, pulling her into a warm embrace. “And as for those 3am food cravings, well, I’m on standby for those too”

Wanda chuckled, resting her head on your shoulder. “You’re my hero, you know that?”

You chuckled back. “Well, I don’t have a cape, but I’ll take the title”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 3 “Make It Stop.” | No. 30 Bridal Carry

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Pre-relationship)

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Gunshot wound, mentions of blood

“It… hurts.”

“I gotcha, Y/N. Ya jus’ hang on fer me, girl, y’hear?” Daryl was running as fast as he humanly could with you cradled against his chest in a bridal carry, desperate to get back to the prison. You needed Hershel and you needed him now. 

He should have never taken you out with him. You were inexperienced, clumsy. He had really just wanted to spend some time with you away from the prying eyes of your home. Those knowing smiles and giddy whispers were enough to set his nerves on edge. 

He couldn’t have known someone else would be hunting the same area. He couldn’t have known they would be tracking the same buck. He couldn’t have known that they would lay claim even though it was his bolt that took down the animal. And he definitely couldn’t have known the man would aim his gun at an innocent woman and pull the trigger before Daryl could even blink. The man went down fast with a bolt to the brain but the damage was done. 

“Make it stop. Please, Daryl.”

His heart felt as if it were being crushed in a vice, your strained pleas tearing away at him like a walker on flesh. “Almos’ there. Doc’ll fix ya righ’ up.” He could feel the warm, sticky blood spreading onto his own shirt and knew he was running out of time. His legs were burning, threatening to give out. He could barely manage a full breath. But he couldn’t stop. 

When the gates of the prison came into view, he nearly sobbed with relief. It was short lived. “Y’see? We made it.” You didn’t respond. “Y/N?” Your eyes were closed, face pale. “Fuck!” He was stumbling with exhaustion as he rushed past the few walkers shuffling around in the grass. “Open the gate!” He didn’t have to say it twice. 

Daryl made sure to stay close enough to the make-shift infirmary to be called if needed but far enough away so he couldn’t hear the urgent demands of the veterinarian as he tried to save your life. The archer sat on the floor, face in his hands, kicking himself for ever putting you in this position. He had been selfish and you were paying the price. 

“Daryl.”

The bowman quickly met Carol’s exhausted gaze. The weariness made it hard to read whether she was bringing good news or coming to tell him you were gone. 

“She… is she…?”

“She’s alive.”

Daryl let himself fall back against the wall. He felt a familiar sting behind his eyes and did his best to push it back, but the shine of tears was already evident. 

“Hershel says any longer and…. Anyway, she’s going to be fine.”

The archer nodded, not trusting his voice. Carol, ever vigilant, noticed his plight and slid down the wall next to him. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Pfft.” He responded too quickly. There was one of those knowing smiles he couldn’t stand. “She ain’t the wors’ person ta be ‘round.” The silver haired woman hummed and nodded. 

“She was thrilled you asked her to go with you.” She offered, twisting the bloody cloth in her hands. Daryl looked over at her but quickly looked away when she tried to meet his eyes. “She’s sweet on you. Has been for a while.”

“Stop.” 

“She really is, and what’s so terrible about that?”

Daryl’s face burned hot. “She can do a lot better than me.”

Carol reached out to brush his longer hair away from his face. He never flinched from her touch anymore. Hers or yours. “I don’t think so.” And with that, she stood and padded across the concrete to disappear back into the cell where you currently lay resting. 

Daryl let his friend’s words tumble around in his head, equal parts hope and fear spreading throughout. There was no way a classy little thing like you could ever be interested in a grumpy old redneck. But…maybe you had said something. Carol seemed so sure of it. 

With a shaky breath and trembling hands, the archer climbed to his feet and forced himself forward. He would sit with you until you awoke. And when you were stable enough, he would talk to you. Maybe. No, he would. He would.