#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.

[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.”

[rebelliousstories]

Toast

New Year/ New Fic

Relationship: David x Reader

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Neglectful Parents, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption

Word Count: 1,443

Main Masterlist: Here

The Lost Boys Masterlist: Here

Summary: A simple evening out at his girlfriend’s house that ends with a new tradition being started.

Consider Donating: Here

When David took off for the evening, his brothers could not resist the opportunity to make fun of him. They had been out on the boardwalk when David made a call on the pay phone nearby. He had not seen his girl all that evening and it concerned him. Not that he would ever admit that to his pack.

She was, unfortunately, stuck at a holiday party that her family was throwing. Uncharacteristically, he offered to at least come hang out, if not take her away from the scene entirely. Her laugh that came out made him smile softly. Tucking himself in further to the booth so that no one could catch it, David let her know that he would be at her house in twenty minutes.

All he gave his brothers, who were hanging near the bikes again, was that he would be back before sunrise. And then, he was off. Tearing down the concrete streets of Santa Carla, David just had one goal in mind. Weaving in and out of lanes while the lights flashed by. It was almost serene for him. One of the few joys that was able to bring him peace.

Pulling up to her house, David put the kickstand down on his bike while seeing all the different cars already littering the yard, driveway, and street. He lit up a cigarette as he walked around to the back of the house where her bedroom window was. Stubbing out the smoke that he had quickly in haled, not wanting to stain her room with smoke and risk her parents putting her on lockdown, David made the quick ascension up to the glass. Inside, he saw his girl already beginning to shut the door as a tired sigh left her. Tapping with one claw, he was rewarded with a smile.

“David!” She exclaimed quietly, rushing over to open the latch on her window.

“Welcome inside,” came her whisper as she let him float in. It was a small thing, but she knew that if he were ever caught in her house, it might just save him.

“Hey, kitten.” He pulled her not his arms, burying his face in her hair. While she nuzzled into his chest, pulling in a whiff of cigarette and cologne to hide the dead body smell, David got to breathe in her strawberries and cream hair products.

“I missed you.” She stated even though they came out muffled because of her position.

“And I missed you. What’s going on?” David led them over and plopped both bodies on the bed, draping her over his chest.

“Same old, same old. My parents are instant on selling me off to that Johnson kid. You know, the one with the CEO rich dad that lives in the mansion on the hill?”

“Yeah, I know the one. Always has a new girl on his arm at the boardwalk.” He added softly, kissing her hair.

“Well, mommy and daddy dearest want me to marry that boy so that they can hopefully get a better social status. I just hate the politics of that world.” She lamented, sighing softly.

After a moment of silence, David spoke up again. “How much have your parents drank tonight?”

“Oh, they won’t realize that I’m gone. If that’s what you’re wondering. But I’d say, give it another twenty before we actually leave. Then they’ll really be out of their minds.”

David chuckled, but just got her snuggled into his chest more. For the next twenty odd minutes, the couple jut laid there, chatting softly and letting the time pass. They were in no rush as they wanted the other’s downstairs to be focused on what they were doing that no one bothered looking upstairs. As the noise grew louder below, the couple began to rise.

“I think the coast is clear. Come on.” She stated, pulling her boyfriend from the bed. Before she could go out the window though, David pulled her back, causing her to stumble. However, the hand that landed on her jaw stabilized her, but also drew her in for a deep kiss.

Parting after she needed air, the woman was left breathless. “Been waiting all night for that.”

David’s comment made her giggle. “Well, come on, Romeo. I wanna get going.”

Stepping ahead of her, the vampire left the room first, floating above the windowsill. All this did was make his human girlfriend roll her eyes.

“Okay, we get it. You have cool powers. God, you’re not special.” But her words held no malice.

Scooping her up in his arms, David safely brought her down to the ground, before round the corner of the house. Saddling the bike, no sooner had she wrapped her arms around him that he took off back towards the pier. He still sped the bike up far beyond what the legal limit was, but he did make sure to take corners a little softer with her on the back. She was still fragile.

In record time, David had made it down to the pier, where he caught his brothers finally getting back on their bikes themselves. No words were needed as everyone caught sight of who had rolled up. They just followed after him. This was the kind of celebration that she was needing. Not stuck in a boring house, with parents that tried to act better than everyone else. She just needed her David, his pack, and the cave.

It was a special place for her, the cave. She remembered when David had first brought her down here, and explained the story. No matter how many times he told it, it was always a joy to listen to. As soon as David sat down n his beloved chair, she was yanked into his lap while everyone went to do their own thing for a minute.

He was much more relaxed her in the cave, rather than on the boardwalk. Although that could have been because he finally had his girlfriend in his lap. Marko passed around some food, which she was more than grateful for. The small courses that she had been served at her house were unbearable, so the rice was a nice reprieve from hunger.

David listened as she spoke about her week, picking up from where they left off in her bedroom. But as he did, a strange feeling came over him. A feeling he had almost forgotten he could feel. So, as he listened, he had Marko bring him the bottle. David had told her before what this was, but he did not want another Star situation, so he was waiting till she was ready. However, asking again could not hurt right?

When she took a break from yapping, slightly feeling bad that she had spent so long talking, David spoke. “Kitten, have you given our situation anymore thought?”

She paused, and set her fork down into her rice. Settling her eyes on his chest, she truly thought hard about it. For weeks, she had made a list of pros and cons, weighing each choice carefully. But the thought of being made to marry the Johnson kid, who was a serial cheater made her skin crawl.

“Let me show you what life is supposed to be.” David whispered softly, pressing the words into her neck as he kissed it.

“Guess there are worse things to ring in the new year with.” She stated, after a long moment. The biggest grin spread across David’s face. His eyes lit up and looked like sparkling gems in the dim light.

“Really? You’ll do it?” His asks were almost that of disbelief, like he could not believe that she was finally joining them.

“I would rather be with you, David, than my parents any day of the week. You care for me. All of you down here do. I don’t get that above. I’d be thrilled to join you.” Surging forward, the bleach blonde vampire smashed their lips together as he stood with her in his arms. Their food went tumbling, but they did not care. David spun them around, unable to contain his joy. Setting her down, he disconnected from her for but a moment to retrieve the bottle at the side of his chair.

“There’s only one thing left to do, kitten.” He popped the top, and took a swig, relishing the taste on his tongue. Hooded eyes gazed into her own as she took the bottle from in, and in a beat of confidence drank some down.

Distant cheers reached their ears, but the happy couple could only stand there together. This was going to be the best year for them yet.

[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.

[baronessvonglitter]

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 4

Rom Con AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader

Word count: 2,759

Summary: You and Dave naturally become closer in a friendship comprised of two lonely people.

WARNINGS: Rated T. No smut, but there is brief mention of a fantasy (nothing described). Dave is a capital S - Simp! No physical infidelity but definitely an emotional affair. Fluff. Idiots falling in love and they don't even know it yet. No use of y/n.

Author's note: I wanted to give these two some more time together to let their romance blossom. They keep going on dates that are not dates but are totally dates. I want to thank everyone who's shown love for this lil series of mine, which is honestly such a surprise because I wrote it thinking people would pan it. I will strive to keep bringing y'all some rom com goodness 🩷

Series Masterlist

Out of sight, out of mind. But even when you're not in sight, you're still on Dave's mind.

He starts his morning early, a brisk run through the park, a shower, selecting a suit for that day, rifling through the abundance of ties he has on a spinning rack in the walk-in close he shares with Carol.

Nine times out of ten she disapproves, making a face when he comes down, swiftly putting down her tea so she can remove whatever color or print has offended her eyes and telling him which one to wear. Though he's a lawyer he's not going to argue with his wife. He goes upstairs and switches it out for the one Carol wants.

Breakfast is usually had on the go, but he makes sure the girls get to school with something nutritious in their bellies, walking them to the school doors and kissing the tops of their heads before they disappear inside. He's aware of the looks some of the mothers and even the teachers give him, and he gives a friendly wave or smile to each, but he's not thinking about their smiles and sultry 'good morning' greetings.

He thinks about you more often than he should, considering you're no longer his client. But he appreciates that you promote his services on the corkboard near the register at your bakery.

A smile stays on his face all day when you send over a thank-you gift of an assortment of bagels and muffins, complete with flavored cream cheese, butter, and jam. It's the most thoughtful thing anyone's done for him in a long time, made concrete when he spots a special blueberry muffin in a separate pastry box from the others, with a little note tucked inside:

I can't thank you enough, Dave. I'll always appreciate what you've done for me. Your name is signed on the bottom.

There's a slight scent on the paper, probably the perfume on your wrist that rubbed off as you wrote the note. He presses it to his lips just briefly.

He goes to your cafe every morning, heart racing, gut twisting with anticipation of seeing you. He subtly checks himself in the window before going in, making sure his hair looks okay and his tie is straight.

On the days he doesn't see you there, disappointment sits heavy in his chest, similar to a kind of heartbreak, as he orders his coffee and heads across the street to work.

He tries not to look overeager when he does see you behind the counter, though he feels the blood rush to his face (and even lower, if he's honest). Sure, he's found other women attractive, but he hasn't had a crush since high school.

And that's just what this is - a crush.

You're beautiful and kind and funny and smart. And single.

And he's married.

Still, it's not a crime to get a coffee and a raspberry danish just because the owner is a stunning and sweet former client.

You greet him with a smile that's different from others, special, set aside, more genuine. And he returns that smile. You've stopped insisting he doesn't need to pay, and take his credit card with a little smirk as you spy him putting money in the tip jar.

"What? Business is obviously terrible," he returns your smirk, glancing back at the line that's formed, that forms every day in fact. You haven't had a bad business day in awhile, and he's happy to be a small part of your patronage.

Every day is too much, right? It's not like you have much time to chat anyway. A quick hello, do anything fun over the weekend, hope you have a good day.

He makes the choice to go just three days a week. He's worried he might come off as a stalker, some deranged guy wanting your attention because you're single now. On the days he doesn't come to your cafe he stays at the office, puts his coffee order in with a group DoorDashing from Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts, and it never tastes the same as yours.

It doesn't help that you're suddenly gone for a week. Then two. The last time you'd been absent was right after your breakup with that asshole Javier, and he worries about you. In between meetings and consultations, he finds your file with your phone number, but thinks twice about calling or texting you.

The next time he's at the cafe he casually asks the young man at the register, "Hey, I haven't seen the big boss in awhile," and the cashier tells him your on a vacation with your family.

He's grateful you're okay, and glad you're enjoying yourself after all you've been through so far. But it doesn't really ease the ache that gnaws at him like a fresh bruise that has yet to turn an odd color.

It takes him completely by surprise when, the next time he does see you, you pull him aside to show him your photos from the cruise you took with your parents and siblings, turquoise-polished thumb swiping gracefully over photos of you with your family posing in front of a huge cruise ship; some scenery shots of the ocean and pink sands of the Bahamas; and others of you hanging out on the pool deck sipping a fruity orange drink, a beatific smile on your lips. Dave gives a small cough when he sees one of you in your swimsuit, obviously just a selfie and not meant to be seen by him. He blushes as you click out of the photos.

"Sorry, I guess I just wanted to tell someone how it went," you tell him, putting your phone away.

"Don't be sorry. Looks like you had fun."

"I was a little seasick the first few days. It was awful," you laugh.

"I know how you feel. My wife and I took the kids on one of those Disney cruises last year, and I'd never been happier to set foot on dry land."

He asks you more about the sights, the beaches, the restaurants. There's nothing better than the smile that lights up your face as you talk about your experiences, and he hangs onto every word.

Suddenly there's a buzzing in his pocket. He reaches quickly for his phone and learns he's late for a meeting with a new client. He curses quietly. "I have to go," he apologizes. "We should catch up later."

"Lunch tomorrow?" It's hard for him to ignore the hopefulness in your voice, the notes of which sing straight into his heart.

"Tomorrow," he nods and smiles, heading out.

It's just supposed to be one lunch. Just two people who know each other and get along well. Just friends, but even Dave doesn't dare to let his mind venture too far into any further possibilities because of the fact that you're vulnerable.

Dave wants to feel guilty for monopolizing your free time, especially considering the way he feels about you. But then one lunch turns into two, and then three. and it becomes the most natural thing in the world to meet with you for an hour or so during the day. There's a significance in carving out time for each other that neither of you mention as an easy, genuine affinity blooms between you.

He's never texted another woman simply because he wants to. Everything has been business related, but he catches the way his heart skips a beat when he receives a text from you. Due to the nature of his work he keeps some privacy by only showing your name and not the message itself on his home screen. It's usually something related to your plans:

I heard that new sandwich place is really good. We should lunch there soon.

I'm trying out a new muffin recipe. Stop by tomorrow and tell me what you think.

They're featuring Monet at the museum this week and I'd love to get you in for free again!

It's not a date, but quite reminiscent of one when he does meet you on the front steps of the museum. His hand naturally rests on the small of your back, a gesture born of protectiveness and intimacy. You don't smell of roses this time, but something softer, sweeter, indefinably you. Dressed all in pink, from the casual long sleeve shirt and sequined skirt to the flowers you're idly twirling in your fingers, you look like a dream.

He never feels at peace unless he's in your presence, a fact which he tries like hell not to think about. You're not even trying to be alluring, and that's the hard part. If you'd make a move he'd politely sidestep it (or at least he tells himself he would) but you're just friendly, approachable, sweet.

You watch the art and Dave watches you. Your profile, the way your eyes squint slightly when you're really trying to see the details of the paintings, the quick pink tongue that peeks out to wet your lips now and then. And when you catch him staring at you, you have the audacity to smile, give him a playful shove. It could be your slight warning, your reminder that he's married and you're friends. But he doesn't mind the contact, as brief as it is.

As he walks you to your car it starts pouring down rain. Sans umbrella, he whisks you under the nearest canopy to wait out the sudden shower.

"How did you know I wanted to see a movie?" you tease him, and he looks up to see you're taking shelter under a marquee heralding classic films.

"Shall we?" he asks, and after purchasing two tickets you find your way inside. The theater is cozy and warm as The Apartment plays onscreen. Your fingers touch while you share the popcorn bucket, and he chuckles when you get brain freeze from your cherry icee.

"Are you okay?" he asks, slipping his arm around your shoulders. It's an involuntary act that doesn't register until he feels the warmth of your body under his touch and he tenses around you for a moment.

He's tempted to leave it there for the rest of the movie, but he knows how it would sound if someone saw him here with you and it got back to Carol. He could probably talk his way out of it if she ever questioned him, but he also knows she's so preoccupied with her own life that she'd be completely oblivious if he were to bring you home and do ungentlemanly things to you in front of her.

"What does she do?" you ask as you're sharing a post-movie snack at the cafe. It's near closing time and you've whipped up Monte Cristo sandwiches and hot herbal tea. ("I just love tea after a good rain," you'd told him, and he stashed away that little fact in his ever-growing file of you in his brain.)

"Carol's a hospital director at Mercy Memorial," he says, hoping that saying her name out loud will ward off the thoughts he's having about you.

"That sounds pretty important. A lawyer and a hospital director.." you sip your drink, letting the heat from the cup warm your hands.

"She likes taking charge and making decisions," he shrugs. "I guess you could say it suits her."

You'd brought her up simply because you felt you needed to. Spending all this extra time with someone whose wife you weren't even acquainted with was starting to feel like a secret you could never spill. You thought about all the women you know Javier had been involved with, knowing he was taken. Did they ever stop and think about you and how their actions would hurt you?

Then again, you doubt any of Javier's whores had daydreamed over Monet paintings with him, or shared a laugh over an old black and white film. They likely never ran through rain sprinkles or cooked a late night meal together.

But it doesn't necessarily make you innocent.

"What would she say about us.. hanging out?"

Dave really thinks about the question. "I don't know, " he says at last. "She might not even care."

"Don't say that," you tell him immediately. "She's been with you for so long. She obviously loves you and the girls." When Dave goes quiet over this, you fill the silence before it can become awkward. "Sorry.. I didn't mean to put a damper on our day."

Our day. Dave has to smile at the comforting sound those words have."I'm sorry," he says. "I wish I knew what was going on in Carol's head. It sometimes feels like we're in a chess match and she's playing by a different set of rules that's never existed before."

You lean forward in your seat, listening.

"She's a control freak," he says at last. "She works too much and criticizes people for what they lack. I proposed to her when I was in law school and she refused, saying she wanted to be engaged to an actual attorney. She wouldn't say yes until I passed the bar."

That should have been the first red flag, he knows that now. But he was young and in love. Carol had first dated Dave's college roommate before things went sour with them. Now he knows she just wanted to marry status.

"She hated that I changed fields. Criminal law is where most of us can make a name for ourselves, but I wanted something else. She gave me the cold shoulder for three weeks when I switched to family law." He chuckles at it now, but at the time he felt like nothing he could do was ever good enough for her. Any time he was happy she seemed to be the opposite.

"And then the kids came and every perspective I had changed. Children can bring a couple together. But more often they split you apart."

"Alice and Molly are great," you tell him, sensing he needs some positive reassurance. "They're such sweet kids."

Dave agrees smiling. "And how are you doing? How's living on your own for the first time?"

A dry, bitter chuckle leaves you. "I'm considering getting a cat. But I know I'd pick up stray after stray.. I'm continually one cat away from being the Crazy Lonely Cat Woman."

"You should get a dog," he says.

"Do you have one?"

He shakes his head. "Can't. Carol's allergic."

"Then I'll definitely get one. We'll pick out a dog together and I'll keep it at my place, and you can come and visit whenever you want."

"That actually sounds like a nice idea.."

"What kind of dog should we get? A nice golden retriever? Labradoodle? Shiba Inu?"

"I'm pretty sure that last one's made up," he smirks. And yet it feels so normal, discussing something so domestic with you, and the thought of sharing any kind of space with you sets a new beat to his heart, as if redirecting and resetting it.

Later after you've closed up he walks you to your car. There's a chill in the air and you've rolled your sleeves down. You've put the pink flowers you had from earlier that day in your purse. When you release them they fill the air between you with their fragrance. "Give these to Carol," you tell him, hating to waste the last of their beauty forgotten on your dashboard.

"And, do me another favor, Dave?" He turns back to you when you call out.

You smile, holding his gaze a little longer. "Wear blue more often. It brings out your eyes.."

Carol doesn't come home until after Dave is already awake. She either ignores or doesn't notice the flowers he left on her pillow, and it pleases him to have a reminder of you in his own bed, as if you've already made your mark on something so intimate.

Later when he comes downstairs in a navy suit and royal blue tie, he ignores Carol's critical stare as he grabs an apple from the counter.

"Darling, change something about that suit. You look like you're going to a wedding."

He shakes his head, enjoying the look on his wife's face when he refuses to comply. "I like it. Blue's my color."

"At least get that ridiculous wilted flower out of your pocket."

He pats the pink bloom you gave him the night before, a small symbol of his insubordination and leaves without saying anything, pulling out his phone to text you good morning.

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

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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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[love-at-first-sight-23]

Heather 𓇢𓆸𓇢

Part 2 here—> Part 3 here—>

“I still remember the 3rd of December, me in your sweater”

Warnings: Angst, mentions of suicide, reader is gender-neutral

Plot: Based off of Heather by Conan Gray, reader is in love with JJ but he only has eyes for Kiara

A/n: Pretty appropriate for December 3rd, don’t you think? Get ready for Christmas!!

You and JJ are sitting together, you leaning your head against his shoulder. You take in his warmth and gentle expression. The sinking sun shines across the river from your place on the concrete edge. A breeze blows by, making you shudder.

“Hey, are you cold?” JJ turns to you, concern lacing his voice.

“No, I’m good—“ But you are, in truth, a little cold.

JJ smiles. “Here, take my sweater.” He takes the sweater he had been holding and wraps it around your shoulders. You’re enveloped by the simple, but soft, polyester.

“Thanks,” you say in gratitude.

“It looks good on you. I wasn’t going to wear it anyways,” he says. Then he checks his watch. “Oh shit, I’ve got to go. I’m so sorry.” He looks genuinely worried.

“Oh, no, it’s ok. Go on,” you reassure him. But secretly you’re disappointed. You really wanted to spend more time with him.

“You’re sure? It’s just that I promised Kie I’d meet up with her.”

Your spirits sink further. Kiara? Of course it was her. She was your friend, and you guys always hung out together. She was the only girl he talked about nowadays.

“Yes. It’s okay, go ahead.”

“Thanks, means a lot. See you around.” And with that he walks down the street, disappearing into the distance.

You realize his sweater is still on you. “Hey! Jay! Wait!” You call after him. He doesn’t turn around. You sigh and lean back on the concrete slab. Despite the fabric, everything feels colder without him there.

You sit on your bed, staring at the picture frame on your nightstand. It’s of you and JJ, both grinning and your hair mussed and salty from the ocean. The sun shines in the background.

You pick it up and hold it in your hands, brushing the dust off of it. You and JJ have always been best friends. You go to the beach together, hang out, and play video games together. Over time, your feelings grew for him. You should have told him you love him. But now it’s too late. Kiara has him.

The heavy bustle and the clink of glasses of the Wreck is what’s familiar. But it’s drowned out by the sound of JJ’s voice.

“And I was like, chill man! I’m just trying to get my free drink!”

You laugh as JJ tells his story animatedly. The sound is a little hollower than usual, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You soon find out why.

Kiara Carrera is walking into the restaurant, heading towards you and the Pogues. As she sits down at the table, you watch JJ’s eyes follow her. And just like that, you no longer exist. He’s paying close attention to her every move, down to the way she moves and flips her hair over her shoulder.

You do have to admit; Kiara is beautiful. Sun-tanned complexion, dark hair, contagious smile. Plus, she’s super nice. It’s no wonder JJ likes her so much. And, from the way she beams at him, it’s clear she likes him too.

The thought makes your heart ache.

You’re sitting at home, moping underneath the blankets. Feeling sorry for yourself. That’s when your phone rings.

Fumbling, you take it out of your pocket, to see JJ’s profile picture lit up on the screen. You answer it, and JJ’s voice sounds through the receiver.

“‘Sup, so uh, I think I left the sweater with you that I gave you yesterday, do you think you could drop it off?”

“Oh, of course! Sorry, I forgot!” The sweater is laying on the floor in your room, looking lonely.

“No problem.” He responds and hangs up the phone.

Picking it up off the rug, you grab your keys and rush out the door.

You’ve taken this route more times than you can count. It’s Friday, a day when you often go over to JJ’s house to watch movies and eat popcorn together.

You go up the front walk and raise your fist to knock on the door, but stop when you hear voices coming from inside.

You walk around the front of the house and peer through the window. You can make out JJ standing in the living room. And… Kiara is with him. Why is Kie here?

You look closer, and you can tell that they’re both smiling. Before you can comprehend what’s happening, JJ leans forward and kisses her gently on the lips. She reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck.

You drop the sweater on the ground and stumble backwards. Cold sweat pools on your neck. Your worst nightmare has come true. In shock, you leave the sweater on the front step and run home.

Bursting through the door, you shove off your shoes and sink against the wall. You begin sobbing. Tears stream down your face and collect on the floor. Any chance of JJ loving you is gone now. You’ve lost the man of your dreams.

You wish you could kill yourself. You wish you could kill Kiara.

Part II? Comment what you want!

[armpirate]

Until You're Mine || Choi San | Ch. 2

MASTERLIST Previous || Next

Pairings: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, obsession, mafia love

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, explicit language, mention of drug and guns, violence, rough sex.

Summary: San, a notorious and feared mafia boss, has always lived in the shadows of power and violence. When an ambush leaves him wounded and on the run, he finds refuge in an empty event hall. Inside, Y/n, a rising star in the world of event planning, is nursing her own wounds -a career on the line after a confrontation with a powerful client. The last thing she expects is for her night to take a dark turn when San stumbles into her life, bloodied and dangerous.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Y/n can't turn away. She helps him clean up, binding more than just his wounds in the process. What begins as an intense, chance encounter spirals into a dangerous obsession. San, used to being the hunter, becomes fixated on the one woman who dared to help him, even in his darkest moment. Meanwhile, Y/n, caught in the mystery of that powerful man, finds herself tracking his every move, unable to shake the dangerous allure of his world.

Neither knows that their fascination with each other is mutual. In a city teeming with danger, power, and deceit, their secret obsessions will pull them deeper into a deadly game -one where love, power, and obsession intertwine, and nothing is as it seems.

Chapter duration: 12 minutes

The air in the basement was thick with the stench of blood and sweat, the low hum of a single light bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. San stood motionless in the middle of the room, his sharp, dark eyes fixed on the man tied to the chair before him. Lucas, the man who had dared to betray him, was barely conscious -his face a swollen mess of bruises and cuts, his breaths coming in ragged, pained gasps.

San adjusted the cuff of his navy suit, still immaculate despite the violence that had unfolded here. His black coat hung open, a stark contrast to the gore that splattered the floor beneath him. There was no rush, no urgency in his movements. He was methodical, calculating, cold.

Lucas looked up, lifting his head weakly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He knew too well that was only the beginning.

—Stop with your campiness —he spit the blood piling up in his mouth—. Is this all you got?

San tilted his head, his expression unreadable. Instead of answering, his eyes moved toward his body, sitting on the old wood chair, tied up from every part of his body so he wouldn't be able to resist what was to come.

—Hyun Su, your turn —he signaled to the older man standing in the corner of the room, watching with casual detachment, before he looked back at Lucas—. Don't worry. I'm leaving you in good hands.

The middle aged man was next to San when he stepped back from the chair, waiting for instructions with two of his hands on his back.

—He was quite skillful with his hands, so why don't you show him how artistic you can also get with him? —his right eyebrow, with a small slit in the middle due to a scar, lifted when he looked at Hyun Su.

With a flick of his wrist, San signaled to Wooyoung as he made his way toward the stairs. He had always been loyal -his best friend and most trusted ally-; he two of them understood each other on a level beyond words

—Oh —he turned one last time—, but keep his face and head untouched. I want everyone to recognize him when I send the message. Make sure everyone knows what happens when they try to play me.

—Looks like your time's up —San heard Hyun Su say, his tone playful—. Mr. Choi wants to send a message, and it seems like you're going to be the messenger.

Lucas groaned, too weak to resist, too broken to fight back.

On his back, San ignored the exchange. It was business, nothing personal. Lucas had made his choice when he tried to double-cross him during the drug exchange, and now he was paying the price. There were no second chances in San's world, no room for forgiveness.

He walked to the stairs, followed by his friend, wiping the edge of his sleeve with a clean white cloth. He didn't need to witness anything, because he knew his men knew better than to disobey his orders.

Wooyoung was halfway up the stairs when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen -a text from Mingi. It was a simple message, but it stopped the man in his tracks, which indirectly caused San to stop as well just to check on him.

—They found something.

San frowned, his thumb hovering over the screen as he opened the message. A picture popped up -a grainy shot taken from a security camera. It was the woman from last night. Y/n.

He stared at the image for a long moment, the events of the night before replaying in his mind. The feel of her hands on him as she tried to stop the bleeding, the way her red-rimmed eyes had looked up at him in fear and something else -something that had stirred something deep inside him.

Instead of discussing her out for everyone to hear, San just nodded and continued his way, knowing his friend was following from behind until they reached one of the rooms in that house to give them the privacy they needed.

—Is that the girl? —Wooyoung asked, closing the door behind him.

—Yeah, that's her —San sighed, taking his jacket off while making his way to the wide armchair at the corner of the room.

—He sent a report on her as well —his friend continued—. Almost a saint. Your Guardian Angel was on your ass last night.

And San could only wonder if that was the reason she was in her head, and not for the obvious reason that she could snitch on him to the police.

He didn't even understand why he kissed her.

San clenched his jaw. He shouldn't care. She was just a random woman who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time... Who was he kidding? She wasn't just a woman. He owed her his life, sure, but that didn't mean that was the only reason he kept thinking about her.

—He looked into the events being held in that place last night, and the only one was a mediocre award ceremony —he shrugged, while scrolling down Mingi's message—. She works in the event planning company behind it, CloudGold.

That only made the spectrum of those who made her cry even bigger. Last night, his first thought was her boss being behind it, but with that new information, he knew the range went from her boss to any of the assistants to that event.

—Graduated from the Most Holy Trinity School, then on the Cristo Rey High School, and graduated with high honors at the University of Detroit. Not a single stain in her record. Not a missing assignment, not a failed exam. The good girl in all forms of its meaning —Wooyoung chuckled—. No wonder she helped you without a doubt. If she's as Christian as her studies, it was in her blood to help you. Do you think she's the type to go to mass on Sundays? —Wooyoung joked.

Although San's frown deepened. He hadn't asked for all that information, but his men knew him well enough to anticipate his thoughts.

His mind raced with possibilities, with what to do next. She wasn't even in his orbit, she wouldn't be in danger because no one knew he went for a shelter where she was. And, for some reason, he didn't think she'd spill anything of what had happened that same night, mainly because she didn't know who he was -most possibly.

He had no reason to care for her or dedicate a corner of his day to her, and yet...

San stared at the photo on his phone, at her face, and felt something unsettling. Her features were sweet and delicate, all of them creating the perfect balance to make her the pretty creature she was. Her smile was gentle, with a small dimple forming under the right corner of her lip. A bit lower on her neck he noticed the thin silver rosary hanging almost in the middle of her cleavage, remembering it was the same one she was wearing the night they met.

And suddenly, he wanted to know everything about that smile. What caused it? Who caused it? Was it a professional smile? Or one he aimed at people closer to her?

She had saved him without knowing who he was, without demanding anything in return. In his world, that kind of innocence was rare -dangerous, even. And it was something he couldn't ignore.

That same innocence was triggering something he wasn't sure he'd be able to control.

—Where is this picture from?

—They followed her this morning, just in case she'd go to the police station —he informed—. This picture was taken at the entrance of her workplace, so I guess we're safe for now.

Pocketing his phone, he made a decision.

—Wooyoung —San called down to his friend, earning his full attention, getting him to focus even more.

—Yeah? —came Wooyoung's voice, lifting his eyebrows while he waited for his friend to go on.

—I want to know her every move —he finally sentenced—. I want to know everything she does from the moment she leaves her house to the moment she comes back. Her circle, colleagues, family, even the priest she goes to confess her sins to... I want to know everything.

Without saying a word, Wooyoung just nodded before he stepped outside the room.

Y/n sat at her desk, hidden from those who came through the main entrance, staring blankly at the notebook she had been drawing on for the past thirty minutes. The night had ended hours ago, the venue was probably silent and empty, with only a flicker memory of everything that happened the previous night, but her mind refused to quiet down. She had done everything she could to scrub the image of him -the bleeding man in the grey suit, the stranger who had barged into her life without warning- from her thoughts, but it was no use.

Why am I thinking about him so much?, she asked herself, clicking her tongue when finding no logical answers for that question.

The tension in her shoulders remained, a reminder of the chaotic mess that had unfolded in the night, not only at the event but afterward with him. She should've been angry -furious, even. He had come into her life, covered in blood, and left without so much as a proper explanation. He gave her one sweet talk while he was using her to survive, and then kissed her without asking her if he could.

Everything about him was wrong, everything about that man screamed at her to step back. But instead, her mind replayed his every word, every glance. The brief touch of his hand on her wrist. The look in his eyes when he had said, "I'll find you". It sounded like a promise of how he'd think of her as much as she was going to think of him.

That was the part that unsettled her the most.

Y/n rubbed her temples, trying to shake the feeling, but she couldn't. She had spent half the day going over everything again and again, and by the time evening hit, she realized she couldn't let it go.

Then there was the car -the sleek black car that had picked him up that night. She hadn't gotten a great look at it in the dim light, but there was one thing she did remember clearly: the license plate.

The numbers and letters flashed in her mind, refusing to leave. She wasn't even sure why she had memorized it. Maybe it was a gut feeling. Or maybe it was something more.

Before she knew it, Y/n had turned the pages of the notebook and jotted the registration down, the numbers and letters scrawled in messy handwriting. Her pen hovered over the page for a long moment. It was insane. She didn't even know that guy, yet there she was, tracing a thread back to him, like some kind of... forced connection.

—God, what am I doing? —she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

It wasn't how she usually acted. She was level-headed, focused. She was careful, the type to walk the opposite side when seeing someone with one ugly look. Helping a man covered in blood, without letting justice get their piece of cake wasn't something she was educated to do. And definitely obsessing over a stranger wasn't something she did, nor expected to do.

And yet, she couldn't stop. That man got in her system like a disease, and it was so illogical she couldn't quite understand what happened the previous night for her to feel that way.

Her fingers itched for her phone, and before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled it out of her bag, scrolling through her contacts. She knew exactly who to call -Derek. He wasn't a close friend, at least not anymore. They were closer when they were kids, since they were constantly forced to be together because their parents were close, to the point of thinking of them celebrating their first holy communion together. Through the years, he became that good christian with a stable job, dedicating his life to protect those around him, becoming a police officer. As much as she didn't quite want to rekindle a friendship, he was the only person she knew who worked with car registrations and records. And, most importantly, he was the only person who wouldn't try to dig deeper on why she was asking him that favor.

After a few rings, Derek's gruff voice came through the line.

—Y/n? It's been a long time... What's up? Are your parents alright? —his voice turned concerned for a second.

—My parents are well —she hesitated for a second, gripping the phone tighter—. How are you?

—I'm okay —she could see his smile through the line—. So, anything new?

—Well, I'm calling you because I need a favor.

—Sure, what kind of favor? —there was a curious note in his voice.

—I need you to run a license plate for me —she took a deep breath, knowing how ridiculous that was sounding as she explained—. Can you do that?

There was a pause on the other end.

—You're not in trouble, are you?

—No —she said quickly, forcing a laugh—. Nothing like that. I just... I saw something weird the other night, and it's been bothering me. I just want to know who the car belongs to.

That click of tongue on the other side gave her a hint on what was coming up, and it was the reason why she cut all types of connection with him.

—You'd be doing way better if you had stayed in your mother's bakery.

There was nothing more tempting than thinking of tying herself to a bakery in Farmington Hills, only because her parents were convinced that living and working in Detroit was going to put her life at risk every day.

Out of her twenty six years of life, that happened only once. And it wasn't like she was completely in danger...

—Alright. I'll do it —he finally said, following her thick silence—. What's the plate number?

Y/n glanced down at the notepad, reading off the numbers and letters she had memorized so easily.

—It's... XXV-435.

There was a brief silence on the other end as Derek likely typed the number into his system.

—Give me a minute —he said, his voice turning more serious—. I'll see what I can find.

There was a big chance that the license plate was fake, although she didn't think of that possibility until she was already on that call.

As the seconds ticked by, Y/n stared at the night outside the window at her right, her heart pounding faster than it should've been. What was she doing? Why was she chasing this down like it meant something?

—Okay... —Derek's voice returned, slower this time—. This car's registered to a real estate business. High-end stuff, nothing public.

—What? Real estate? —she sighed— So I guess there's no way to know what person that car belongs to.

—It's a company's car, so it's difficult to know —he said, the tone in his voice shifting—. Why do you want to know? Y/n, if it's something that happened, it's better to let authorities work with it instead of doing it on your own, I...

—Can you say what's the name of the real estate?

—Obsidian Ventures.

A chill ran down her spine. Of course. The man she had met -who she didn't know the name of yet- hadn't exactly screamed "ordinary". The way he had carried himself, even bleeding and half-conscious, had exuded control and power. Who else would be behind one of the most important companies in Michigan if it wasn't him?

—Look, I don't know why you're looking into this, but... be careful —Derek warned—. Rich people are the most dangerous out there.

—Thanks —she swallowed, her grip tightening on the phone—, but I'll be fine.

She hung up before he could say anything more, her heart racing as she stared at the dark screen. She shouldn't have done this. She should have let it go, walked away, pretended like that night never happened.

But now that she had a sliver of information, she couldn't stop.

She already had the company he owned, which opened a new door for her to think of a possible new connection, or an excuse, to see him again.

And why couldn't she shake the feeling that this wasn't the end?

Her fingers hovered over her phone, debating. She could leave it alone. She could forget about the car, about him, and go back to her life. But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't possible.

Because he had already left his mark on her, and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever be able to shake it.

Taglist: @a-tiny-thing

[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."