#but of course he was doubting about Will’s words

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

You land hard, elbows hitting the ground with a jolt of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the realization that someone is screaming—Blue is screaming. The heat in your veins fizzles, your heart jolting. Ghost has already sped off toward camp, pulling a knife from his ankle, and you scramble to your feet to follow.

Your movements are clumsy, your mind replaying the last few seconds, searching for any signs of trouble you might have missed. The air is clear, the trees are quiet, the ground is still. Yet, as you weave through the tall grasses that swipe at your ankles, you finally hear it—muffled voices, unmistakably human. They grow sharper with each step you take. 

Ghost reaches camp first, stopping in a lethal stance. You roll in just behind him, eyes snapping to where Blue stands behind the fence, alive and aiming one of her dad’s rifles at four strangers. Still dressed in an oversized sleep shirt, she juts the rifle through a gap in the fortification. Two of the strangers are mounted on a brown horse, while the other two flank their sides, backs swollen with rucksacks and chests thick with gear. There is no doubt they have weapons.

"D-don't come any closer or I'll blow your heads off! I mean it!"

“We’re not here to hurt you,” one of them says calmly. A man.

“I don’t care why you’re here! You need to leave before my dad…” Her eyes flicker to you. “Dad!”

When their heads turn in your direction, you waste no time arching the knife over your head. You’re not much without your bow, but this is all you have.

In a split second, your eyes land on the burliest of the group, a man with a boonie hat and a dense, brown beard. He was the one speaking. The leader, maybe. You aim the knife for his head, but before you can throw it, Ghost grabs your wrist, wrenching you to his chest without warning, the knife falling to the ground.

"Wait," he says in your ear, his breath steady against your skin. There’s a detectable lilt of surprise in his voice. You try to squirm free, but he holds tight. "Stay here."

He lets go. Confusion reels through you. Everything in you screams to pick up the knife, but you hesitate as Ghost signals for Blue to lower the gun.

He calmly walks over to the intruders, heading to the man you were aiming for. The air feels thick as you watch with parted lips, stance still readied and breath racing. Ghost stops in front of him, and the two stare at each other strangely before the man smiles.

A strong hand reaches for Ghost’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, Simon.”

The clanking of metal against ceramic plates and the low murmurs of a fire fill the cabin.

Your spine presses into the wall.

There isn’t a free chair at the table, but you’re not sure you’d sit in one even if there was. Blue stands beside you, hands laced in front of her. She’s silent. You are, too. The cabin feels cramped with seven people in it. It makes your skin itch. 

You can inspect them more thoroughly now that you’re not thinking about who to kill first. 

There are two men—the older one you believe Ghost called Price, and a younger one you think he called Kyle. He’s fine-looking, you figure, underneath the overgrowth of facial hair and grime smudged on his dark skin. He had a tan cap on earlier but now a head of short, black hair is free for him to slick fingers through every now and then. Then there is a woman, some years older than you. She’s beautiful in a raw, Grecian sort of way, with long black hair and a violet undertone to her skin. Lastly, a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen. It doesn't take much to discern he is related to Kyle in some way.

They all look starving, though not as much as you once were. Nevertheless, Ghost is feeding them more than scraps. Canned beans, rice, and rabbit. They shovel it into their mouths. The men have muscles on them, so they can’t have been struggling much. Based on all the supplies they carry and the horse tied to a tree outside, you’ve figured they’ve been traveling for some time. A flurry of questions runs through your brain, but your lips remain in a tight line.

Ghost hasn’t said much yet. He hasn't even explained who they are. Your slitted eyes flicker to him. While the strangers fill up the table, he hovers beside it. His body speaks more than his expression. His shoulders are not tense and lethal as they'd been when you first sat at that table scarfing down food. But they're not relaxed, either; his arms crossed, still exposed from the black tee he'd put on for training, giving way to the slight flexes in his corded muscles that signal even he is thrown off by their presence. 

But he trusts them enough to let them in here. With the way they carry themselves, and the fact that Ghost hasn't killed them, they must've been in the military together. He doesn't seem like the type to have had normal friends. 

Kyle speaks first.

He thrums the pads of his fingertips against the wood and clears his throat, breaking your thoughts. "We were hoping you'd still be here, but it was a shot in the dark."

"I’ve never left," Ghost says, plainly.

Kyle sips from his mug and wipes his mouth, then his eyes shift toward you. You meet his gaze with a hardened look. 

"We're sorry for scaring you."

It takes a moment to realize his words aren't for you. Blue glances to her toes. "I wasn't scared." 

His lips lift. "Of course not. It's us who should've been scared of crossing paths with Simon Riley's kid. You did the right thing, you know. Protecting yourself."

"I didn't realize you knew my dad." She nibbles her lip and looks up. "My name is Blue, by the way. And this is..." Her eyes flick to you. "My friend, Twix."

Your tongue pokes your cheek as you look over the new faces. What are you supposed to say? 

"Hi," is all you settle on.

Ghost clears his throat. "Kid, why don't you clean some more water for them."

Blue nods dutifully, lingering only a second before pouring more river water into the pot over the fire.

"Thank you for your kindness. We haven't had a warm meal like this in days," the woman says kindly.

"It's a strong setup you've made for yourself," Price speaks, one hand stroking his beard while he pushes the cleared plate away with the other. He leans back, boonie hat still cradling his head and casting a shadow over his eyes, but you catch a glimpse of warm brown irises that might've comforted you in any other circumstance.

"It's lasted me this long." Ghost shifts his weight slightly. "Where are you coming from?"

"Near the base by the border, further north."

"Last I heard you were in Manchester."

"Once the radios went out, we picked up my wife," he touches the woman's shoulder, "Nereida, and Kyle's nephew here, Ari, from Newcastle. Made camp with a few others. Served us well for the past five years."

Ghost slowly nods and then drawls, "And Soap?”

Price leans his forearms on the table. "Not quite sure. The base was falling apart, but he stayed back, saying he'd meet up with us once he could. That was five years ago."

You're not sure who Soap is, someone else they worked with, maybe. There is a brief pause before Ghost asks, "Why did you leave?"

"More and more of 'em, Simon," Price replies with a slight shake of his head, emitting a low breath. "Made it difficult to even get food."

"Too many of them, not enough of us," Nereida murmurs distantly. Her hand slips under the table, out of view. You imagine it resting on Price's thigh as she leans into him with a weighted sigh. "They always seem to be moving. Not with a destination in mind, of course, but it was only a matter of time before they ruined our setup. We decided to leave before that could happen."

Kyles adds, "It wasn't an easy decision, but living in anticipation of the worst isn't really living at all."

Your brows lower. “Where exactly could you be headed that wouldn't mean living in anticipation of the worst?” you can't stop yourself from asking, the question burning in your mind. 

Price leans back, those warm brown eyes finding yours. A short heartbeat passes before he answers simply, "Switzerland."

The absurdity of that single word response forces a disbelieving, chuffed breath through your nose. Of all the things this stranger could have said, that would have to be the least expected. You anticipate an equally surprised reaction from Ghost, but he seems unnervingly unfazed. Blue, however, swivels her head from where she sits cross-legged in front of the fire.

"What the fuck is Switzerland?"

"It's another country," the boy��Ari—answers.

Blue glances between him and her dad. "Like... not in England?"

Ari snorts softly. "No, not in England. It's across the channel."

"The channel?" Blue frowns. "That's... far, isn't it?"

"Very far," Nereida confirms with a nod.

The subject is brusquely dropped when Ghost reaches for their cleared plates. "You must want to bathe while you're here. There's a river nearby."

Price clears his throat. "These two can go first." He gestures to the woman and child.

Soon enough, you become irritatingly aware of what's happening; you're being shooed away, along with the kids and Nereida, so the three of them can speak privately. There isn't much room to object as you shuffle out of the cabin, carrying a handful of rags for them to wash with along with the homemade soap that you once used to wash away the grime and earth that caked up from traveling. 

The sun beats hard, the river warmer now that spring has aged. Dried sweat clings to your spine from this morning, but bathing yourself is the last thing on your mind now, not when you're still reeling in the presence of people you don't know. You swing a glance at the cabin behind your shoulder, something in your gut twisting. Ghost doesn't want you there to hear whatever they're talking about. 

"This is a good spot," Blue says, stopping in front of a shallow part of the bank where the water is warmest. She hands Ari some soap and teeters on her toes. You realize why she keeps staring at him like that; he's probably the only other kid she's met in years. She is even more shy than when she first met you. "Twix and I will look away, don't worry."

You and Blue sit perched on a rock as they wash themselves. 

"This is weird," she admits quietly to you.

"Very," you mumble.

When they're done, you offer Nereida the only clean clothes you have at the moment: one of the oversized shirts Ghost gave you and some jeans. An annoyingly strange thought brandishes your brain... you don't like the way the black fabric sits on her bare chest, nipples poking through, and the hem hanging down to her knees as it does on you. You should've just given her the dirty blouse to wear.

She sits at the edge of the river, wringing her soaked hair with a rag. From the corner of your eye, you catch Blue helping Ari rinse his dirty clothes in the water. You want to keep an eye on him; your knife is still nestled around your ankle in case they try anything, though a woman and preteen don't heighten your paranoia as much. 

"How long have you two been together?"

Her soft voice makes you blink. "What?"

"You and Simon."

You're confused until you recall the revelation from earlier—the man you've known the past few months as Ghost, the one whose hard form laid beneath you just hours ago, is actually Simon. Simon Riley. You're tempted to say the name; try it out. But it is hard to reconcile with. It might taste strange on your tongue. The name fits a version of him that doesn't exist in this world now, you suppose. British. Simple. Like John or Kyle. The name of a lieutenant. The bits of his face you've witnessed crosses your mind; his nose, lips, and chin seem like Simon. The damn mask is Ghost, though.

"Jesus... I am not—" You shake your head, the sun even hotter on your neck. "I'm not with him like that. We're just allies." You glance back at the cabin in the distance and you fight a scowl. "If that."

She runs her fingers through ravenous tendrils. "Oh. I apologize for assuming."

You offer a small smile. "It's fine."

"How long have you been staying here then?"

"Um, a few months now. I used to stay with my sister and a friend, but they died."

Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry for your loss."

You shrug. "Everyone has lost important people."

"Doesn't make it easier," she says. "Ari's mom and younger sister used to be with us," she adds quietly with a solemn downward cast of her eyes, as if a memory has taken her for a moment. "They passed two years ago during a really rough winter along with this other couple we knew. Then it was just the four of us."

You inhale through your nose and release, frowning. "No child should have to experience that."

"No," she agrees, nodding. "They shouldn't. Which is why we're looking for a better life for him."

"And you think you'll find it in... Switzerland."

Nereida offers a half-smile, as if reading your thoughts. "We'd heard of a commune there, up in the mountains."

"A commune? Like what, a town?" 

"Sort of. Just... more people, living together. Protected. Greys make awful climbers, and the mountains there are much higher than anything in the UK."

This catches your attention, and the divot between your brows deepens. "How do you know it exists?"

"Well, we can't know for certain. John heard about it at the beginning of the spread, but it was too difficult to make arrangements at the time, especially when he had to help out at the medical site and then come find me. Things were a mess, I'm sure you remember."

"Yeah, I do." You reel in her words, thinking. "That was... years ago, though. Aren't you taking a huge risk going there now? What if nothing is there?"

"Staying in England would be a risk, too," she counters. "There is nothing here except death and hardship. You can't hide from it forever."

You look down at the water. Cicadas fill your ears, the buzzing drowning out your voice. "No, you can't."

You go on a hunt that afternoon, itching for some space to breathe. Deer tracks are harder to spot without the snow, but you find the unmistakeable marks of antlers against a tree and follow them. You glance around the forest. It feels endless and like a cage at the same time. Which way did they come from? If they made it to camp by morning, that means they spent the night here somewhere. You don't like the idea that others could be so close by, like that car.

The sun has turned orange by the time a healthy doe skirts in your peripherals. You stalk it behind an oak. An arrow flies from your bow, but you miss; the deer flees. You return in the dark empty-handed. No doubt, the visitors are fatigued, with Ghost already setting blankets across the cabin's floor for them to sleep on. You offer Ari the couch, figuring an exhausted kid needs it more than you do. He knocks out the moment he lays down.

"Here. For the night." Ghost offers you a heavy blanket and nods to the only bare spot of floor left after they've all settled down. 

You avoid his eyes and accept it. The moment he's disappeared to his room, you slip outside under the starlit night, finding the flattest patch of ground to lay the blanket down, which happens to be only a few paces away from a sleeping horse. It's not the couch, but it'll do for a night or two, and you refuse to sleep in the shed again. 

You're in the midst of standing back up after straightening out your makeshift bed when you bump into something solid. A hand grips your bicep and whirls you around, a pair of darkened eyes glowering down at you.

"What are you doing?" you breathe up at him. "I don't like when you grab me like that."

"What are you doing?" he retorts, voice low and hard.

"Trying to get some sleep."

"Out here?"

You look away and shimmy out of his hold. "Does it matter where I sleep?"

"It's not safe out here."

"You had no problem sending me out here before."

"You have since earned your keep," he mutters, as if annoyed you're even mentioning the past. 

"My spot is taken for the night by your lovely friends, so for however long you plan to let them stay, I will sleep out here."

"There is a spot on the floor for you inside."

"I'm not sleeping in there." With them. 

The whites of his eyes flash as he darts his gaze over your face. His tone softens perceptibly. A mere breath. "They won't hurt you, Twix."

You roll your eyes away from him. "I would just rather sleep out here by myself, okay? I prefer solitude at my most vulnerable. And it's not like my experiences with militant men have been pleasant so far." You keep your tone neutral, but a chill touches your spine at the memory.

Ghost emits a low huff. He suddenly rips the blanket from the ground and turns his back to you. "What are you doing?" you gape at him.

"You'll take my bed," he throws over his shoulder.

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Her dad was right, of course. She should be cautious. It was good, that she was cautious. It was her survival instinct talking. Alarm bells ringing every time she even thought about Evil Theo. But in a way, it made her feel like she had lost, and he had won. "It's not your fault," she replied with a little smile. But maybe it was her fault. She shouldn't have called Evil Theo insane, she shouldn't have attacked him. Violet didn't say any of that, though. She let the words (his words) sit in her mind, like rust.

Violet's smile widened. "The sweetest." And she had no doubt that he was far sweeter than the agents her dad had to go and lecture. "What do you lecture them about? The agents? Is it when they haven't done a good job?" Violet couldn't even begin to imagine the extent of what 'a bad job' entailed, in Delta Green. The dead civilians, the monsters that managed to escape, the stolen rituals... She didn't know any of it.

"I'm sorry I worried you," she said a little sheepishly. It wasn't that she meant to worry him -even though she did, and abundantly so. "I didn't know... how bad they really were. You work for them, and so I thought they were noble and good, like you." She had no trouble imagining why her dad didn't trust them, now.

"I know..." Yes, she knew better than most how dangerous the world was. How really dangerous it was. And, even though she didn't want to work for Delta Green anymore, she hadn't given up on her ambition to fight monsters and protect the world from them.

Theo wanted to move and sit beside her to wrap her into a hug in an attempt to comfort her about his cultist counter part. However he was still flinching at contact and was nervous about getting in trouble from absent orderlies if he was caught too close to someone else. It broke his heart though, that he wasn't able to offer it in the moment and worse that a version of himself had done so much damage to Violet. To the point he had scared her far worse than Sloane could have ever managed. It also worried him what might happen if he one day lost all control and sense. "I am sorry he got to you," Theo voiced cautiously instead. "It is awful what he did to you and you have every right and reason to be cautious now."

He let out another low and short chuckle at him being able to handle Ben and therefore most agents. "He has been a great test for sure," he said fondly, still of course very proud and protective of his family. "He's a very sweet boy," he smiled to himself again and toyed absently with the cuff of his shirt. "Not a lot of agents are all too sweet though, I am rarely good news for them." At least he was much better news that some of the alternatives, right?

Glad that the topic of the Apocalypse Club was dropped, Theo nodded his understanding of her promise around future letters from Delta Green. "I would appreciate that. And I am very glad to hear you have reconsidered." He told her in perhaps quite a corporate way but it was at least well meant.

"You had me very worried for a long time when you said you wanted to become an agent," he confessed as carefully as those words could be said, worried about her taking offense somehow. "While your inventions are brilliant, I don't trust them not to put you in harms way unnecessarily. You're well aware of how dangerous it is out there and there's a war on two fronts with monsters and cultists around the rest of humanity." He let his eyes settle on her for a moment as he considered all the danger that actually surrounded them. "I just want you all to be safe." It was all he ever wanted.

[justmymindandstuff]

Hello I have a request for you: can you please please please write jealousCregan again? Maybe he is jealous of Jace because he thinks he can not compete with a prince

Sunrays and Snowflakes - Cregan Stark x MartellReader

summary: Jacaerys comes to Winterfell to secure the North for Queen Rhaenyra. He is greeted warmly and friendly. But Cregan doesn't like how friendly Jace is with his wife. But what can he say? You are a princess and he is a prince. Maybe this is the match you deserve.

words: 6.425

warnings: jealousy, self-doubt, miscommunication, fluff

a/n: of course I will write jealous Creagn again. Thank you so much for your ask anon. Hope you like it.

English is not my first language // not proofread // Ao3 // no use of Y/N

requests are open // main- masterlist // HotD - masterlist

You stand in the courtyard of Winterfell. Cold wind and snowflakes swirl around you. Nevertheless, you are not freezing. Your husband has made sure that you are always dressed in warm fur coats and thick fabrics.

When you first arrived in Winterfell, you froze for weeks. You grew up under the hot sun, in deserts, water gardens, and heat. Winterfell is the complete opposite.

Nevertheless, you are happy here. You never would have thought that you could be happy here in the cold North. This macgt began purely politically. After the death of his first wife in childbirth, the Lord of Winterfell needed a new wife. To have another heir, just in case. For House Stark.

Your family needed allies in the seven Kingdomes. To secure independence from the Iron Throne. For House Martell.

So ravens were sent back and forth, and shortly after, you were on your way to Winterfell to marry Lord Stark. A Dornish princess for the North.

It was not easy for you to adjust. Cregan had been distant at first, but quickly thawed out. Not even three months into your marriage, it was no longer a political marriage, but love.

Your stepson Rickon is the apple of your eye. A nice, well-mannered, friendly boy, just four years old, but already behaving like an honorable Lord. At least that's what you think, but you are his stepmother after all.

Excited, he stands next to you and watches the sky. His small hand in yours. He wants to see the prince's dragon. Of course, it's all terribly exciting for him.

"Do you think I can pet the dragon?"

Cold fear runs down your spine at the thought of your little boy approaching a fire-breathing monster. Nevertheless, you smile at him before responding.

"You'll have to ask the prince about that."

Heavy footsteps behind you reveal your husband before you hear his voice. "As far as I've heard, the prince is very friendly so don't be afraid to ask."

Cregan places his hand on your lower back as he stands next to you. A smile immediately appears on your face, and you lean slightly into your husband's arms. For a moment, you simply enjoy being with your little family.

"He is a prince just like you are a princess, right?" asks Rickon with the curiosity that only children have.

"Exactly."

"Why didn't you marry a prince instead of father?"

Cregan looks at his son. His jaw tightens slightly, as it always does when he is angry. But you can only laugh and squeeze Rickon's hand.

"I don't need a prince." you say then.

A restlessness spreads among the guards on Winterfell's walls, and immediately Rickon turns his attention back to the sky.

You notice how Cregan tenses slightly next to you. The next few days, the negotiations with the prince, will seal the fate of your house in this Targaryen war. He must now sovereignly fulfill the role of the Lord.You don’t doubt for a second that he will be successful with this task and lead your family out of this crisis.

You stand on your tiptoes and press a kiss on his cold cheek. You want to say something else, but a shadow flies over you. You look up and see a dragon circling above the courtyard. You are almost relieved when you see the dragon, you had feared it would be larger.Nevertheless, the ground trembles slightly as the dragon lands. Prince Jacaerys slips out of the saddle and lands firmly on the ground.

You sink into a curtsy while your husband and your stepson bow.

"Welcome to Winterfell. It is an honor for me and my family to welcome you here."

You straighten up again and look at the prince closely. Dark curls, tousled by the wind. Noble clothing in the colors of his house, red and black. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the wind and the cold, a friendly smile on his face.

"The honor is on my side, Lord Stark. I am grateful that you are receiving me."

You can hear in his voice that he is unsure, but he is trying to hide it. For a moment, their silence lingers. Jacaerys shifts nervously from one foot to the other.

"You must be cold, my prince. Please come inside, we have warm food and drinks prepared." you say with a gesture towards the castle, fully in your role as Lady Stark.

The prince nods and says a word in a language you don't understand. The dragon behind him takes to the air again and flies away.

"He won't attack any people, will he?"" asks Cregan, his voice controlled but worried.

The prince begins to laugh but quickly becomes serious again at a glance into your husband's face. "No. Of course not. Vermax hunts exclusively venison. Even your farmers' cattle is safe. Should it still occur, House Targaryen is, of course, ready to pay compensation."

You immediately recognize that he has memorized this. Cregan nods, he is not yet fully convinced. Tension runs through his shoulders. Quickly, you force a smile onto your lips.

"Your words reassured us. Thank you my Prince." you say, giving Cregan's hand a light squeeze.

Together, you go inside. The halls of Winterfell are warm. A nursemaid takes Rickon while the Prince, Cregan, and you make your way to the great hall. There, bread and salt are first shared before the servants bring warm soup, meat, wine, and beer.

Jacaerys' insecurity falls away a little and he seems to relax. It calms you a little as well. The Targaryens and the Martells have had a rather tense relationship for a long time. It follows from the unwillingness of your people to bend the knee before the Conqueror and the subsequent dragon attacks. You cannot focus on the past now but must support your husband and the North. So you greet Jacaerys with emphasized friendliness while the usual pleasantries are exchanged. Jacaerys praises the beauty of Winterfell, Cregan asks if his journey was pleasant. However, you notice that the longer the meal goes on, the more nervous the prince becomes.

"You surely know by now what has brought me so far north," he begins after the last course is finished.

"The news of your war has reached us, yes," Cregan replies. You place your hand on his thigh and give it a gentle squeeze. Show him your support.

"My mother's birthright was stolen from her." Jacaerys begins, sounding as if he has rehearsed it again.

"One might see it that way." you respond as diplomatically as possible. You don't want Cregan to go to war for the queen. You want him here with you in Winterfell and far away from the battlefield. The mood is a bit tense again. Jacaerys looks at you for a moment. His gaze is uncomfortable for you. Nevertheless, you smile.

"You want my armies and support for your mother's claim." Cregan's words are a statement, not a question.

Jacaerys nods. "Lady Arryn from the Vale has ..."

Cregan raises his hand to interrupt him. "It is of no importance what Lady Arryn promised."

"House Stark swore an oath. An oath of loyalty to the Iron Throne."

"I know. But House Stark also swore an oath to protect the people of the realm. And this oath is a thousand years older than the one made to your ancestor, the Conqueror."

Jacaerys looks at Cregan, confused. "I don't understand, my Lord Stark."

"It's hard to explain. Accompany me to the Wall. Then we'll continue talking about oath and armies."

The prince hesitates for a moment, then he nods."Fine."

"Good, now that that's settled, my prince," you begin, giving him one of your wider smiles. You want to dissolve the tense atmosphere. "We have prepared a small celebration this evening to properly honor your visit. You probably want to rest beforehand. Your journey was long and arduous."

"Yes, of course, thank you, Princess."

"A servant will show you to your guest chambers." says Cregan, already beckoning a servant over.

"I will take care of that. It is an honor and my duty as Lady Stark to host our guests, husband."

Cregan glances briefly at you, then at the prince. He nods. "Fine."

You rise, kiss his cheek, and then turn to the prince. "Please follow me."

He gets up and you accompany him through the halls of your home to the guest chambers. You both remain silent, but you can hardly bear the tense atmosphere.

"My husband doesn't mean any harm. It´s just that is duties as Lord of Winterfell are very important to him."

"I understand, Princess."

You can understand that he feels rejected about the postponement of the negotiations. "The war, however, is of great importance for the future of the kingdom."

"Of course."

"It probably doesn't interest you.House Martell is, after all, independent."

You're trying not to let the insult, which lingers in his tone, get to you and instead smile politely.

"House Martell, perhaps. But House Stark is my family. We keep our vows."

Jacaerys suddenly stops. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry. I'm just." he interrupts himself.

"I can understand that it is a difficult situation. Your house was certainly not prepared for a war against your own blood."

"No, we weren't," he admits. "I don't have much practice being an envoy."

"You are doing well. Come now, my prince. Everything will surely be fine. Have faith in the oaths of the Lords. They all knelt before your mother and swore loyalty."

Jacaerys nods and smiles slightly. "Yes, I'll try."

Winterfell is showing itself form his best side. The great hall is filled with laughter and music. The food was exquisite. Jacaerys followed your husband's invitation and left his honored seat at the high table to walk beside Cregan through the great hall and speak with the bannermen of House Stark. The mood is good. People are dancing, and for this evening, you can also forget the looming danger. The wine tastes you a little too good today, the warm air in the hall doesn't help, and you notice your mind becoming slightly hazy as the wine takes effect.

You are engrossed in a conversation with Lady Mormont and your cousin Elisan Sand when the prince approaches you. "Princess. A dance?" he asks. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the wine, and he smiles kindly.

"Of course, my prince."

You stand up and let Jacaerys lead you to the dance floor. He leads you through the dance steps elegantly.

"I would like to thank you," he begins. His steps are confident. You have to think for a second about your first dance with your husband. He stepped on your feet three times back then. Even after all the years of your marriage, you couldn't turn Cregan into a dancer. No matter how much you love to dance, your husband rarely joins you on the dance floor. Only in the privacy of your chambers, without an audience, does he sway you to the music.

"For what?"

"Your words this noon. Your trust in your husband and in the oaths of the Lords have reassured me a little."

"The realm would fall apart if Lords did not remember their oaths," you say confidently. The Lords of the Seven Kingdoms cannot be so foolish as to risk a civil war among the dragons. The dispute over the throne would surely be over quickly. Who will supports a usurper?

"I hope so." says the prince. "Still, thank you Lady Stark or Princess. What do you prefer?"

"My name."

He says your name as if to try it on his tongue. "Under one condition, princess." a smile flickers across his lips as he sees your confused look.

"Which one, my prince?"

"Call me Jace."

"Jace it is."

He smiles at you. You wouldn't have expected this kind of kindness from him. At least not towards you. When you look at the history of your families, there has always been nothing but bad blood. But neither Jace nor you seem to care about the past. While you dance, you fall into a pleasant conversation. You are surprised by his sharp mind and friendly demeanor. He is well-read, clever, witty, and charming. In addition, his dance steps are confident and elegant. Jace is not at all the spoiled prince you had imagined. He elicits laughter from you with a few of his jokes, the wine you've drunk contributes, and you join in on his banter. You give him a few clever remarks on his jokes, which makes him laugh. He laughs openly and warmly, so you can't help but laugh along with him. Jacaerys spins you around a few times to the music before pulling you back into his arms. His hand lands a little too low on your lower back, but before you can say anything, he corrects his grip upwards. His cheeks turn a little redder, but you decide to ignore the little accident. Before you can resume your conversation, you are suddenly pulled away from Jace. The tight grip is almost painful. Immediately, you tense up and are about to complain, but the sound of your husband's voice reaches your ears. A smile immediately appears on your lips, the sound of his voice is enough to make your heart beat faster. Sometimes you feel sick of yourself because you love your husband so much that your thoughts are cheesy and full of love.

"You excus, my prince?" Cregan reaches for your hand before Jacaerys can respond.

"Of course." he gives you a slight nod and then leaves the dance floor.

You smile at your husband as you begin to dance. He still seems slightly tense.

"Have you spoken with your bannermen?"

"Yes," he replies shortly.

"They are not thrilled about the prospect of going to war."

"Of course not. Winter is coming. It's not time for war."

You almost have to sigh. Winter always comes. "The prince will surely understand if you can't provide him with any or only a few men."

"I honestly doubt that." his voice is unusually cold. "I just hope he won't burn Winterfell down with his dragon if we really turn him down."

"He wouldn't do that," you say confidently.

"Seems like you know him well already." his jaw tightens and he avoids your gaze. You furrow your eyebrows at his unusual behavior. Cregan is a serious man, but he is not suspicious. He trusts a man's word. Because he always keeps his word. That's how the Stark men are, it's in their blood.

The song ends, but instead of leading you through the next dance, Cregan steps back. He gives you a brief nod.

"I still have to talk with a few Lords." he turns away and just leaves you standing there. He didn't even give you a kiss. Confused, you stand still for a moment before leaving the dance floor. Actually, you would like to dance with your husband a little longer, but you can also understand that he has duties to fulfill.

Your gaze sweeps through the hall. Jace is already dancing again. This time with your sister-in-law Sara.

You are surprised to see her here. Normally, she stays away from such feasts, she doesn't like the looks and the whispers that come with her status as Snow, a bastard from the North. Here in the North, bastards are despised. At your home, it's different. You never had a problem with Sara being a Snow and not a Stark and love her like a sister.

You return to your seat and take another cup of wine. Quickly, you find yourself drawn back into a conversation with Lord Karstark and Lady Pole, so much so that you don't even notice how time flies. Only when you interrupt yourself for the second time in a sentence to yawn you decide that the evening is over for you now. You look around for your husband to let him know that you will be withdrawing. But you can't find him. Confused, you beckon a guard over.

"Where is my husband?"

"Lord Stark has already retired."

Without telling you? That's more than unusual. Once again, you are puzzled by his strange behavior. Nevertheless, you smile at the guard and send him back to his duties. Then you stand up and clap your hands. Immediately, the music falls silent and all attention is on you.

"I will now withdraw. I thank you all for your presence and the kindness with which you welcomed Prince Jacaerys here in Winterfell. Please, drink, dance, and continue to enjoy yourselves. I wish you a pleasant night, my Lords and Ladies."

The attendees, except for Jace, bow to you and you make your way out of the great hall. The door is not yet fully closed when the music starts again and the room is once more filled with loud voices and laughter.

You shiver slightly as the cold air surrounds you and quickly make your way back to your chambers. You are worried. Has something happened that required Cregan's attention and he left the feast because of it? Where could he be? Why didn't he let you know?

As you enter your chambers, you realize that your worry was unfounded. Your husband is already in bed. The chambers are dark, only a single candle still burns on your side of the bed. Cregan lies with his face turned away from you, his breath steady.

"Are you awake, Love?" you ask, but get no response. You quietly slip out of your dress and then into bed. The furs are cold, and you shiver again. You are used to falling asleep in Cregan's warm embrace. It takes a long time for sleep to find you.

When you wake up the next morning, the other side of the bed is empty. You stroke the furs on Cregan's side of the bed. They are already cold. You sigh. Why is he acting so strangely? Where is he? Normally, you wake up together, usually stay in bed for a while longer, cuddle and enjoy the morning together for as long as possible before your duties pull you apart.

A strange feeling spreads within you. You push it aside and swing yourself out of bed. You long for your husband. Nevertheless, you call your maid to help you get dressed and make your way to the nursery to pick up Rickon to break the fast with him.

All morning you have been busy with your duties. Rickon is sitting nearby with his nanny and plays. He keeps asking impatiently when you will finally have time for him. You promised him that today you would go with him to the prince and ask if he could pet the dragon, Vermo,or something like this.

Finally, all the important things are done, and you turn to the little Stark.

"Shall we look for the prince?"

His toys are immediately forgotten, and he runs to you. "Yes, Mother."

Cregan had allowed Rickon to call you that as long as he swore not to forget his real mother. You make sure that Rickon visits the crypt regularly. You also haven't dismissed the friends and ladies of the former Lady Stark from the household. You want to make sure that Rickon grows up with stories of his real mother, from people who truly knew her.

You drape a cloak over him before reaching for your own. For a moment, your fingertips hover over the silver buckle with the direwolf. Once again, you are overcome with longing for your husband. You haven't seen him all morning. That is also unusual. Is he so preoccupied with Jace's visit? Why doesn't he share his worries with you like he usually does?

You take Rickon by the hand and make your way to the guest chambers. There you meet Jace. He greets you with a friendly smile.

"What can I do for you?" he asks.

You gently nudge Rickon and smile encouragingly at him so that he gathers his courage. "Prince Jacaerys. I wanted to ask if I could maybe pet your dragon?" asks Rickon with red cheeks and then shyly hides behind your leg.

Jace kneels down to be at eye level with the little Stark. He smiles warmly. "Of course. Come on, Vermax will surely be happy to have visitors."

Rickon's eyes begin to shine, and he lets go of your hand to run ahead. Jace holds out his arm to you, and together you follow Rickon into the courtyard. So his name is Vermax, you weren't so far off with Vermo after all.

"Vermax hasn't been spotted by the guards. How do you know where he is?" you ask curiously. The hatred between your families has made you ignore everything there is to know about Targaryen and their dragons. That might have been a mistake.

"We share a bond. I can feel him just as he can feel me. I can call him and he will come."

The prince is right, only a few minutes after you enter the courtyard, Vermax lands in front of you.

Jace says a few Valyrian words to him, the dragon makes a whistling sound that resembles a melody before it blows smoke from its nostrils. Jace laughs happily and strokes the scaly monster. You recognize strong affection in his gaze. It surprises you. You always thought the dragons were a means to an end for the Targaryens. A weapon to oppress the people and to justify and secure their claim of power. You were obviously wrong.

Rickon jumps up and down next to you. His gaze is glued to Vermax, and he tugs at your skirt. "May I go to him?"

"Jace?" you ask a little uncertainly. The thought of the little one strokes the dragon definitely makes your stomach turn. But Rickon hasn't talked about anything else for days. You don't want to spoil his joy, so you keep your worries to yourself. The little one doesn't understand how dangerous the dragon actually is. He could easily destroy Winterfell.

Jace turns away from his dragon and reaches out his hand to Rickon.

"Come here. No need for fear."

"I am not afraid," he says, but his voice trembles slightly. Little liar, you think to yourself. Nevertheless, Rickon goes to Jace and reaches for his hand. Slowly, the two approach the dragon. Vermax seems to be completely calm, yet you are tense. A snap and Rickon could be seriously injured or even die. You would personally snap Jace's neck if he endangered the boy.

Jace says something to Rickon, he nods and slowly reaches out his hand. When his small hand touches the scales on the dragon's nose, it squeaks excitedly and he quickly pulls it back. "He feels warm." he exclaims, turning to you. His eyes sparkle with excitement and his smile is so wide and cheerful that despite your worry, you can't help but smile too. "Come on Mother, pet him too." Uncertain, you look at Jace. He nods encouragingly at you.

Slowly, you walk towards the dragon. As you stretch out your hand, it trembles slightly. Vermax whips his head around and you flinch back in shock. Rickon giggles joyfully, his fear seems to have vanished.

"May I?" asks Jace, nodding towards your hand. You hesitate for a moment but then nod. Jace reaches for your hand and gently places it on Vermax's nose. You can feel the warmth of his scales even through your glove. For a moment, you hesitate, then you stroke the dragon. Excitement floods through you and you have to laugh. You are petting a dragon. Probably the first person from House Martell to ever pet a dragon. But when Vermax lets out a growl, you quickly step back. You don't want to push your luck.

Rickon pulls on Jace's cloak. "How often do you ride him? How does it feel? Do you have a fear of heights when you fly? Is the saddle comfortable?" he bombards him with questions. Jace and you both chuckle lightly, then the prince kneels again to be at eye level with Rickon.

"I fly with him at every opportunity I get. It is incredibly fun to fly, and no, I am not afraid of heights. As for the saddle, there are more comfortable seats but I'm not complaining." he answers patiently to every question.

"Can I sit on it too?"

Jace looks at you at this question. Uncertain, you shrug your shoulders. You are not sure if Cregan would like it if his son goes this close to the dragon.

"Sure, but it's not my permission that counts."

"Please, please, Mother." Rickon begs, and at the look from his large dark eyes that he inherited from his father, you weaken.

"But only for a short moment and you do exactly what Jace tells you."

"Yes, of course." he jumps up and down excitedly before moving closer to Vermax again. Jace picks him up and approaches his dragon. He lowers his front leg slightly and lets Jace climb onto him. The dragon is completely calm, and you are glad about it.

As the two sit on the dragon's back, Jace begins to explain what all the buckles are for, how to hold the reins, and how he communicates with Vermax while flying using commands and shifting his weight.

You almost have a heart attack at the sight of Rickon on the dragon. You breathe a sigh of relief as Rickon slides down Vermax's wings after Jace's explain him how to do it. Laughing, he runs to you.

"Did you see how I rode the dragon?"

"Yes, of course. That looked really great. Like a real dragon rider," you say to him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"Do you want to try it ?" Jace asks from the dragon's back.

You quickly shake your head. "Absolutely not." you say.

Jace starts laughing again, but it's a warm laugh, the kind that's so contagious. He is not laughing at you. You laugh with him.

The prince also slides down the wing of his dragon. "Maybe another time," he says then.

"Probably not." you contradict.

"Don't be so sure, I can be very convincing." he winks at you, and you roll your eyes at his banter.

"Rickon." Cregan's voice echoes across the courtyard. You turn around immediately, hoping to finally be able to hold your husband in your arms. Cregan stands on the gallery above the courtyard and looks down at you. Even from down here, you can see his tense posture and his angry gaze. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let Rickon sit on Vermax after all. "You have lessons."

You pause, confused. You are sure that you did not schedule any lessons for Rickon today. His teacher would not visit him again until tomorrow. But perhaps you messed up the plans with all the excitement about the prince's visit and the organization of yesterday's feast.

"Yes, Father." says Rickon quickly and takes a few steps towards the entrance before stopping and turning back to Jace once more. "Thank you for letting me pet the dragon," he says politely and bows before running inside.

You almost burst with pride for the boy when you see that your upbringing is showing. He would become a fine Lord of Winterfell, you are sure of that.

"Thank you, he hasn't talked about anything else. It's very exciting for him that you're here."

Jace smiles. "Gladly. He reminds me of my little brothers. I miss them."

You nod slightly, understanding the homesickness. "I also have to excuse myself, I have duties to attend to." you want to turn away and go to Cregan to finally have a moment alone with him.

"Please give me just one more moment."

You would prefer to refuse and run to Cregan, but politeness forbids it, so you nod and wait eagerly to see what Jace wants from you. He retrieves something from Vermax's saddle and hands you a small box. Confused, you open it, and a necklace comes into view. Pure gold is intricately crafted into suns with spears and three-headed dragons. The seals of House Martell and House Targaryen. A beautiful piece of work. Probably more expensive than most of your wardrobe.

"My mother asked me to hand this to you to remind you of the friendship between our houses."

She wants support from Dorne. She wants to buy you. It annoys you. Nevertheless, you smile.

"Please give your mother my thanks. I will cherish this friendship. But please remind them that I cannot speak for my brother and House Martell. I am a Stark."

Jace face tenses up slightly and his smile looks forced. To save the mood, you take the necklace out of the box.

"Would you help me?"

"Of course." he takes the necklace and you turn around so he can put it on you. When the necklace falls into place, you turn around again. "Thank you." you say and smile. "But I have to go now. You know, duties and that kind of stuff." you try to joke to get out of this irritating moment.

"Yes, of course."

You turn away and go inside. The necklace feels cold against your skin and is heavy. You will wear it as long as Jace visits Winterfell and then simply take it off. Of course, the necklace is beautiful, but you don't necessarily feel the need to carry House Targaryen's sigil with you. Besides, your husband has given you enough necklaces. All made of silver and with the Stark family crest. You like these necklaces a thousand times better even though they are not quite as finely crafted. They are gifts from your husband. He could give you a leather strap, and you would treat it like your greatest treasure. Just because it is a gift from Cregan.

When you arrive inside, unfortunately, you can't find your husband. Frustrated, you exhale. Maybe the Maester knows where he is. But before you can make your way to Winterfell's Maester, you are stopped by the blacksmith. He has an important matter, so you postpone the search for your husband.

Fate, however, is not kind to you, and so you are constantly pulled from one duty to another, and when you finally finish all your tasks, the sun has already set. But even now you can't give in to your need to search for your husband. Jace comes towards you.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, to be honest. I have a letter for my fiancée Baela. Could I borrow a raven?" his cheeks turn slightly red as he holds up the scroll. The thought that the prince took the time to write a love letter in the middle of negotiations about troops for the war makes you smile.

"Of course. Come, I'll show you the way."

Hopefully this is really your last task for today. The longing for your husband is terrible. You can't remember the last time you went a whole day without talking to each other. You long to be pulled into his arms, to feel his kisses, to hear his voice.

You enter your shared chambers. You almost worry that Cregan is already asleep again, but he is sitting by the fireplace. A cup of wine in his hand. His long legs stretched out on the furs, yet his posture is tense. As the door behind you clicks shut, he turns his head towards you. His gaze is angry, his jaw tense. Your smile slips from your face.

"What happened?" you ask worriedly.

"Where were you?" he is on his feet and with two steps by you. The air around him almost pulses with his anger. Confused, you have to blink. What's going on? Worry spreads within you. You want to reach for his hand, but Cregan pulls his arm away. Surprised, you stand there.

"Where were you?" he repeats in a dark voice.

"Um, with Jace we .."

He snorts and interrupts you. A little angry, you furrow your brows. What's wrong with him?

"Jace." he says the name like an insult. "Interesting how close you are to the prince."

You almost want to laugh when you finally understand why your husband is acting so strangely. He is jealous. But with that angry look and tense posture, the laughter get stuck in your throat.

"Cregan." you begin in a gentle voice and take a step towards him. His eyes radiate anger, his whole body is tense. For others, that might seem frightening, but not for you. But again he doesn't let you finish. He looks to the side. His eyebrows are drawn together, his jaw is tense.

"You quickly became good friends. I watched you and him. At the feast and today with his dragon and Rickon."

"I'm just being friendly. Like I am with every Lord who comes to visit us." you try to be reasonable. Your voice is calm even though his unfounded jealousy and his doubts about you makes you angry. You don't understand why he has a problem with Jace.

"Not so friendly. I haven't seen you laugh like that for a long time." Now his memory is playing tricks on him.

"That's not true," you say.

"It is." your husband insists. You want to shake some sense into him. "But I can understand you. A handsome prince, of course you're interested in him. He could offer you a lot."

"Do you really think I would care about what he can offer? You give me more than I ever dreamed of. He is a prince, yes. Well, and who cares? How could I be interested in him when I have you?"

Cregan snorts again, avoids your gaze, and crosses his arms over his chest. "He gave you jewelry."

"No! His mother gave me jewelry, he is just the deliverer. The queen wants the support of the Martells, that's why."

"Nevertheless, you strut around with the necklace around your neck as if it were your most precious possession. I understand that. You are used to wearing expensive jewelry and fine gold. The North cannot offer you that."

He is so angry that he doesn't really take in your words. He doesn't want it. He is getting worked up about it. But you know your husband. You know very well that words sometimes don't get through to him. Especially not when he is angry. Cregan is a man of action, not of words. You reach for the necklace and tear it off your own neck. The clasp clinks slightly as it hits the floor, you don't care. You simply throw the necklace into the nearest corner of your chambers. A servant can have it, or it can end up in the trash. You don't care. Who cares about gold necklaces, gemstones, and jewelry?

You approach Cregan, und despite his anger and tension, you are not deterred and simply reach for his hand again. This time he doesn't flinch, but he also doesn't uncross his arms and take your hand. His eyebrows are furrowed, and you can see that his mind is working.

"I am yours and you are mine." you repeat the vow you made years ago before the Heart Tree in Winterfell's Godswood. "Always. Do you really think my love for you is that fragile?" you're almost offended.

"No." Cregan sighs. "It's just. He is a prince. The future king of the Seven Kingdoms. What can I offer you that he can't? You are a princess and you deserve a prince. Even Rickon understood that. A princess belongs to a prince."

You shake your head slightly, reach for his face, and force him to look at you. Of course, he could easily break away from you, but he doesn't.

"Cregan Stark! Who do you think I am? What are the words of my house?"

"Winter is coming," he grumbles as if to make it clear once again that you are his wife. A Stark. Still, you shake your head.

"Not those words."

"Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken"

"Exactly! And so is my love for you. Do you think I would be impressed by a little prince with a pretty smile? Do you really think I would regret my life here? Regret our family? No. This here, Winterfell, you, our marriage is all I need. I am happy here. I don't want all the frills and fuss. Who needs a prince and a ridiculous Iron Throne anyway? I love you, Cregan. You. And your boy and our home."

"Your life with him would be much more pleasant. No deprivations like here in the cold north. You could live in all the luxury you deserve. Like a real princess. Not hidden and far away from everything. I can't give you the live you deserve. No matter how much I want it."

You put a hand on his cheek. Your thumb caress him gently while you look into his eyes.

"Listen to me carefully! I don't want luxury. I don't want a Red Keep, a court, or bended knees. I want you. I love you. Only you. No one else could ever have my heart. It belongs to you. Always. Completely. I love you with my heart and soul. I could never be happier than with you. Do you understand what I'm saying? There is no reason to be jealous of a little prince."

Cregan's gaze is upon you. His eyes dart over your face. Suddenly, he leans forward and his lips crash onto yours. You are startled for a moment but then you return his kiss. The passion washes over you like a wave, your hands burying themselves in his dark hair while Cregan's hands wander to your back and he pulls you closer to him. Breathless, you pull away from each other. Cregan leans his forehead against yours, holding you tightly in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I saw you and the prince and my thoughts got the better of me. I know that I am not good enough for you. I never was, I never will be. I'm sorry, love. I just love you so much." he kisses your forehead.

You smile and bury your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. Love and warmth course through you as he holds you so close.

"Never doubt yourself, my Love. As long as my heart beats, it beats for you and only for you."

[punkkture]

how i view simon riley

for a second, let’s just forget everything about him that actually is true and let me lie . . .

simon riley is 6’5” and is chubby with hella muscle underneath. hes got a lot of tattoos covering his arms and hands, and one on his torso thats battered with scars. i like to think he has dark brown hair, its just my type okay? his eyelashes are sooo long and his hands are always washed, he hates having dirty hands.

simon is a good leader, he kind of has to be. he is an amazing man when it comes to his job and his teammates, but when he gets home, thats the only chance he has to just let go. there isnt some persona he has to put on when hes home. his temper gets the best of him sometimes and hes lwk toxic asf.

“baby c’mon you know i didnt mean to, ‘m sorry” — “dont be dumb sweetie you know im busy right now, go somewhere else and leave me alone” — “stop acting like this, im tired of you right now”

but he will always come to bed with you. always kiss you goodnight. always fixes the covers back over you when he gets up in the morning. its not his fault that he just has some anger issues he never got over when he was a kid. simon is either a big teddy bear or a stone wall. hes hard to read on most days but his tone will always give it away. mf has an awful tone problem when hes having a bad day. simon’s words are often harsh when hes having a bad day but his physical nature says the complete opposite.

“just shut up baby, you sound so stupid” he’d groan at you, but at the same time he’d pull you closer into him, kneading your soft skin in his hands gently. as if he is always apologizing after every mean phrase that comes out from those parted lips. and when that hurt whine comes from your lips hes already ‘shh’-ing you and rubbing your side.

my simon riley is infatuated with his sweetheart being all dolled up and dumbed down. he loves himself a stupid dumb girl that just cant do anything by herself. of course he knows hes needed for work, but simon has never felt needed outside of his job title. even if he’d never admit it without some emotional talks, he could cry over the fact that you need him. that something as precious and pure as you needs a man as rough and battered as him. he knows deep down youre not a stupid girl, youre bright and just curious, as he likes to put it. he loves being able to explain simple things to you, loves that you call him because you forget how to turn the oven fan off and how to cut a mango. hes so thankful that hes not needed for life or death situations with you like he constantly is for work.

my simon riley is obsessed with the idea of getting you pregnant. he is a sucker for breeding. when hes left alone in thought he always, without a doubt, thinks about you having his babies and forever being in his life. he just knows you’d be such a good mom. you are the only person he can even picture caring for his own. your sweet and kind nature on the daily shows how maternal you are and it just makes that soft spot in his heart swell and get bigger every time he pictures it. hes also smitten with your waist line. oh god dont even get the man started on your back dimples and the curves of your hips. simon’s lips are always on your abdomen and tummy.

“gonna have my babies in here one day sweetie, youre gonna look so pretty all knocked up” he mumbles in between warm open-mouth kisses right under your belly button. his heavy fingers digging into the dips of your back as he pulls you inexplicably closer to him.

he really is such a sensitive man under all that scar tissue and bulky muscle. in my head simon is an april taurus sun, pisces moon, and rising gemini. so basically, the taurus in him showcases he has a very rough exterior that is great at displaying leadership and grounding skills, but the pisces on the inside makes him sensitive and he has a lot of emotions, then the gemini in him makes him come across as independent and deceitful at first. i could go on forever about this mans astrology chart.

simon riley who always brags about you to his friends. he’s very careful with talking about you at work though. he would most definitely set the world on fire if anything bad happened to his sweet angel girl. when he’s back from deployment, out at some shitty pub with johnny . . he can’t keep his lips sealed about you.

“i know ‘m gonna marry that girl. i know it, gonna give her my last name and at least four kids . . you wanna know what she made for dinner when i got home from the last deployment?” he rambles to poor soap who just wanted to get out of his apartment.

[capquinn]

how would quinn react to reader doing that prank about when he says “goodbye/goodnight i love you” and you don’t say “i love you” back just to mess with him

omg this guy avoids tiktok like it’s the plague so there is no doubt in my mind that he has absolutely no idea about this trend so he’d be SO confused and wouldn’t know what to do with himself except pout and stay close until he gets to the bottom as to why you hadn’t said it back 😭

Quinn’s brow furrowed the second the words left his mouth and yours didn’t follow.

“See you soon. I love you,” he had said, as casually as ever, tossing his backpack over one shoulder, leaning in for his usual goodbye kiss.

But instead of the automatic, almost musical "love you too," that always followed, there was… nothing. Just you, standing there, watching him with the faintest glimmer of mischief in your eyes. At first, he paused, waiting like you’d simply forgotten. Maybe you were distracted. Maybe you didn’t hear him. He glanced back at the door, then at you again, the crease between his brows deepening.

“You good?” he asked, his voice light but tinged with the slightest bit of uncertainty, like he wasn’t entirely sure if this was normal or if he’d just entered a parallel universe where you suddenly forgot how this whole goodbye thing worked.

“Yeah,” you said breezily, smiling just enough to make him squint.

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out as he shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.

He moved toward the door, opening it halfway before pausing again. And you could see it — really see it now — the way his mind was spinning, trying to figure out what he’d done, if he’d done anything, and why you weren’t playing along.

He half-turned, his hand on the doorknob, giving you one last expectant look.

“You, uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice quieter now. “You sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Yep.”

And that’s when the full force of Quinn’s what-the-hell-is-going-on face hit you. He didn’t look mad — not even close — but the confusion was written all over him. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again like he was about to ask a question but didn’t quite know how to phrase it. His hand fell from the door as he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You didn’t… You didn’t say it back,” he pointed out, almost cautiously, like maybe it wasn’t something you’d realised. “I said 'I love you.' You usually…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line as he waited for some kind of explanation, one that you weren’t giving because you were too busy pretending you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. You tilted your head, your expression perfectly blank except for the big, wide eyes you fixed on him.

“Do I not say it enough?” he asked, softer this time, like the words came with a little sting. “Is that what this is?”

And now you felt guilty because, of course, he’d think this was some kind of message, like you were trying to make a point instead of just pulling a dumb prank for no reason other than your own entertainment.

“Quinn,” you started, the smile breaking through despite yourself.

But he cut you off, shaking his head slightly, the tiniest bit of exasperation creeping in.

“Because, like… I mean it every time. You know that, right?”

And now you couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laugh bubbled out, loud and sudden, and you reached for his hand, tugging him closer. “Oh my God, Quinn. I’m kidding. It’s a prank.”

His brow shot up. “A prank?”

“Yeah,” you said, still laughing as you slid your arms around his waist.

He huffed, but there was relief in it, his hands settling on your hips as he gave you a halfhearted glare.

“Not funny,” he muttered, though his lips were already twitching. “I was about to cancel my flight.”

“Sure you were,” you teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. He didn’t move, but you could feel the smallest twitch of a smile forming despite the way he was still obviously trying to stay mock-annoyed. “See? You’re too sweet. That’s why I had to mess with you.”

Quinn let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like he was already filing this away as one of the countless pranks he’d endure over a lifetime with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff but too soft to be anything but affectionate. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You couldn’t help it — you started laughing again, the sound spilling out as you tucked your face against his chest, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you,” you said through your laughter, your voice muffled.

His smile finally broke free, slow and warm and just so Quinn.

“I love you too,” he said, his tone soft now, steady, like those words were always going to be there no matter how much you tried to mess with him.

[kaspbra-cant-even]

Never Tear Us Apart (Spencer Reid/Reader)

This is one of my works from AO3 where I post under the user-name fish_cloud. Under the cut will be the entire work as it is already finished. Have fun reading and feedback is always appreciated 💛

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: Criminal Minds (US TV) Relationship: Spencer Reid/Reader Characters: Spencer Reid, Reader, Elle Greenaway, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, Jason Gideon, Derek Morgan Additional Tags: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Mutual Pining, Angst, Violence, Torture, Sexual Content Language: English Chapters: 7/7 Words: 17k

Summary: Soulmates exist but they are rare. So rare, that some people doubt their existence. (Y/n) is already struggling trying to hide her feelings for Spencer but then she finds out they're soulmates, just as they take on a case about a serial killer targeting couples, he thinks are soulmates, things get complicated and dangerous.

Notes: The title is inspired by Never Tear Us Apart by Paloma Faith (I swear that woman has a voice to die for). Also this is kind of dedicated to my best friend, I love her so much. Enough from me, have fun reading :))

Chapter 1

Having a soulmate was a rare occurrence. You could consider yourself lucky if you had one and even luckier if you ever found them. It was kind of like winning the lottery. There were people who had devoted their entire life to finding their other half, without even knowing if they even existed. Isn’t it only human to crave connection? The longing to belong to someone. This is not to say, that you were alone, just because you didn’t have a soulmate or didn’t find them. But this kind of connection was hard to grasp for someone who hadn’t experienced it. A one in a million connection.

Most known things about soul-connections were purely speculative due to the fact that they were so rare and even when some would find each other, there was nothing easy about trying to explain it. Like with all spiritual things there were some people who chased the idea with cult-like devotion and there were people whose life remained inherently untouched by it.

(Y/n) was the latter. In her now 1 and a half years at the BAU she had come into contact with the subject. Mostly it had been people who justified their crimes with their search for their soulmate or they were fueled by their hate for others who had found “the one”. (Y/n) knew that their loneliness didn’t stem from the lack of a soulmate. It was just something to project their loneliness onto.

There were several ways to know if you even had a soulmate but like with most things, they weren’t scientifically accurate most of the time. Soulmates could feel each other’s pain, physical as well as mental. The problem is, who hasn’t had random bruises that showed up out of nowhere or a sudden change in mood. Do you just not remember where those injuries came from and maybe you’re more empathetic than some people or is it your soulmate? Of course, with major injuries there was no doubt but taking into consideration how few even were unmatched souls and out of those how many suffered such significant damage that anything else could be ruled out, needless to say it was an uncommon occurrence to find out this way.

Another thing were shared dreams. Not in the sense that soulmates would dream about the exact same thing, but the overall tone would synchronize. If one was having nightmares, the other would too. Psychological consequences were mostly unexplored.

The last known indicator was that once having met your soulmate you’re lives were intertwined, no matter if you knew they were your soulmate or not.

As you see, all of these indicators weren’t exactly clear. As a result, you could meet your soulmate without ever figuring out they were the one.

When she was younger (Y/n) had fantasized about having a soulmate, like most teenagers did, but as she got older, the fantasy faded. Other things had become more important. She had picked up on some signs but there had never been definite proof and after a while it wasn’t important anymore. She had started working for the FBI as a profiler and from that point on

her mind had been preoccupied with anything else. She wouldn’t waste her life searching for someone she didn’t even know existed.

As (Y/n) walked into the bullpen one morning, the bad dream from the night before still lingered. She couldn’t remember what it had been about, but she hadn’t gotten much rest. She sat down at her desk. She hadn’t even unpacked as Spencer walked up to her with an extra cup of coffee in his hand. (Y/n) couldn’t help but notice he looked tired. “Morning, panda boy.” “Panda what?” “Because of the bags under your...nevermind, you look tired.” Spencer let out a sigh. (Y/n) took a sip of coffee. “Nightmare again?” Spencer nodded and leaned on the edge of her desk.

When (Y/n) first started to take a liking to Spencer she couldn’t stop herself from interpreting something into every one of these common experiences but after a while she’d resigned herself to accepting the were just coincidences. She had read somewhere that people would sync up after spending a lot of time together and there wasn’t a person in the world, she spent more time with than Spencer Reid. The only people who came in close second were the others on the team. When you worked for the BAU, the people you worked with were your family, so much so, she barely had any relationships outside of work.

“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about it?” She brushed his arm ever so lightly with her fingertips as to not overstep any boundaries. Spencer and (Y/n) were close but she herself wasn’t a very physical person and so she would go out of her way as not to make other people uncomfortable. There were of course exceptions. One of those exceptions was Penelope Garcia, (Y/n)’s best friend at the BAU. Over time she had gotten so comfortable with Penelope that physical touch was a given.

But with Spencer it had always been something different. After they had become friends, it hadn’t taken too long until (Y/n) had caught feelings and she felt like taking advantage of their friendship if she used it to get closer to him.

Spencer’s eyes flickered to her hand on his arm for a split second before she retracted it quickly as to not make him uncomfortable. Their eyes met for a second but before she could try to read him and overthink the situation Spencer spoke up. “Conference room in 5.” He walked back to his desk to get some papers before heading to the conference room.

(Y/n) let out a sigh. Spending time with Spencer had become increasingly more difficult. It wasn’t his fault. It just became harder to hide her affections. She could feel them drifting apart in her effort not to jeopardize their friendship. She buried her face in her hands. There was no good way out of this. Clearly her feelings weren’t going away, and she knew she couldn’t hide them forever. The BAU must’ve been the worst place on earth to have a crush on your coworker.

The inevitable next step was Spencer finding out about it one way or another. The only question was how he’d react. (Y/n) had ruled out the possibility of him reciprocating her

feelings pretty fast. She remembered a case in LA where they had to catch Lila Archers stalker. Spencer had been smitten from the second he laid eyes on her. It had taken (Y/n) weeks and a few bottles of Hennessy to get the image of them kissing in the pool out of her head.

She shook her head as if to get rid of the memory. She stared at her desk from between her fingers. The other two options were either him being ok with her having feelings for him but at this point she doubted she could still be friends with him even if he had a good reaction, or he wouldn’t want anything to do with her anyway.

“Fuck...” (Y/n) whispered. She looked up, fixed herself and grabbed her cup before walking into the conference room. The only free seat was next to Spencer. He gave her a small smile before she sat down. Instantly she felt the small butterflies in her stomach. She smiled back and emptied her coffee hoping to drown those fuckers.

Jennifer Jareau was standing in the front explaining their new case. The unsub was targeting couples in the Las Vegas area. The couples went missing sometimes for weeks. There had been 16 bodies already. They showed clear signs of torture. JJ showed them pictures of the symbol every victim had carved into their chest. It resembled a stick figure of a human with four arms and four legs.

“We can safely assume that the killer’s motivation has something to do with the soulmate myth.” JJ concluded.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but smile. She knew Spencer was about to speak before he even opened his mouth.

“Plato said: According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

(Y/n) turned to the others. “So, what er we thinking? Is this guy delusional and chasing some fantasy or were those people actually soulmates he found somehow?” “We won’t have definite proof if these people were soulmate or not as they’re dead, but it would be statistically very unlikely that they were in fact actual soulmates.” Spencer responded.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment. He would never admit it but the way (Y/n) chewed on her pen when she was in deep thought made him feel things. It took him a second to tear his eyes away from her before turning his attention back to JJ.

“We’re dealing with a highly organized serial killer. His motivation is power and control, we’re looking for someone with an outwardly normal looking life, someone charming, charismatic and very intelligent. Later victims have shown signs of post-mortem sexual behavior. So, we’re dealing with someone who feels alone, who fears rejection. When his victims are dead the possibility of being rejected is gone. He also inserts himself into the couple’s relationship. We have to assume that whether they really are soulmates or not, he believes they are. It is possible that he also has some sort of god complex, putting himself in the role of Zeus who separates the soulmates from each other.”

The atmosphere on the jet was buzzing with conversation. The soulmate subject had that effect on people. It was a heavily discussed and controversial concept.

“I don’t think soulmates actually exist.” Morgan said and leaned back in his chair. “How can you say that? There have been cases where soulmates have actually found each other!” Elle protested. “It’s all fake, how can you believe them? Let me guess, you also read your horoscope every day too?” Morgan let out a light laugh but Elle furrowed her brows. “They’re two totally different things, even if I did believe in astrology, which has no relevance whatsoever in this discussion, you can’t just ignore facts!”

(Y/n) leaned back in her seat looking at Spencer, who sat next to her. “What do you think?” He seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment. “I mean there is some evidence but it’s all very speculative.” He looked at her for a second and he swore he saw a glint of disappointment in them but then it was gone. “But who knows,” He added quickly “maybe Soulmate are real, it’s a nice thought that there could be someone out there who has such a special connection to you.”

(Y/n) nodded. “But how is that even supposed to work? What if I do have a soulmate but I like someone else? Or I have a family or something?” “There are platonic soulmates as well, you know.” He gave her a small smile. For some reason this gave him comfort. Spencer wasn’t one to indulge in fantasies and he was decidedly to pragmatic to dream of his soulmate but if he had to chose someone it would be (Y/n). The probability of her liking him in a romantic way was even lower than her being his soulmate so the option of platonic soulmates eased his mind, even if just for a bit. He shoved those thought in the back of his head, he didn’t like to dwell on daydreams.

“Well, if some random guy walked in tomorrow and it turned out he was my soulmate, I’d still want to stay with you.” She said, decidedly, not really thinking about the implication. When she caught herself it was already too late. Spencer let out a small laugh. “You don’t have to stay with me, believe me you won’t want to when you find them.” “Shut up, more likely than not I don’t have one anyway, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”

Spencer let out another small laugh, but his heart sank a bit. If he was being honest with himself it was one of his greatest fears. That one day, (Y/n) would walk into the BAU and announce she’ found the one and she would quit to spend her life with them. He couldn’t bare the thought of someone taking her away from him. But this was totally normal for a friendship as deep as theirs, right?

After a while Spencer got up to get himself a cup of coffee. Elle and Morgan were still fighting, JJ had taken Elle’s side, Hotch just listened and Gideon sat by a window rereading the case file. No one was paying attention when it happened. Spencer had gotten distracted by something Elle had said to Morgan and almost tripped, a cup of hot coffee in his hand. As she saw the scene unravel before her, (Y/n) felt the burn on her hand. It took her every ounce of self-control not to make a sound. Spencer hissed and sat down next to her again. He handed her the coffee so he could clean up his hand with a napkin.

(Y/n) stared at him, her mind running a hundred miles per hour. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Spencer shot her a concerned look. “(Y/n) are you ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She stood up. “Excuse me for a second, I don’t feel so well, must’ve been the food or something.” She walked to the bathroom without looking back. After she closed the door behind her she sank to the ground with her back against the door.

(Y/n) felt panic rise in her chest. This was not possible. Sure there had been moments when she’d suspected something was up but she had always dismissed it but now it was so obvious there was no denying it. She felt tears of frustration gather in her eyes. As if everything hadn’t been already complicated enough. Not just did she have feelings for Spencer but now she knew almost certainly that they were also soulmates. She felt anger build up. Whoever came up with this soulmate stuff had been a real asshole. She would have been perfectly happy with not having a soulmate and just having Spencer by her side. What if he didn’t want to be her soulmate? Had there ever been a case where one of them just wasn’t into it? Shouldn’t there have been some signs from his part that he felt more for her? But then she remembered what he had said abut platonic soulmates and her stomach sank. Maybe he had known all along, and he’d just been giving her hints that they could just be friends.

Maybe they could make a deal somehow, they didn’t have to spend the rest of their lives together if he didn’t want to. She had resigned herself to not having a soulmate a long time ago, she didn’t need him.

She buried her face in her hands. Suddenly all those thoughts were gone and what remained was a heavy emptiness. There was no good solution for this, and she couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. She took a deep breath and looked in the mirror to see how good her poker-face was after just having gone through the seven stages of grief in under 5 minutes.

As she walked back into the sitting area, she was greeted by Spencer’s worried looks. “Everything ok?” She sat down next to him. “Yeah, everything is fine.” “You don’t look so well, are you sure everything is ok?” He put his hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. His hand was cold on her warm face. Her breath hitched in her throat from the sudden touch and she had to fight the urge to close her eyes. She gave him a soft look. “I’m fine, Spencer, I promise.” His touch lingered for a second before he retracted his hand.

“You know you can’t lie to me.” He gave her a small smile. In a sudden burst of confidence she put her hand on his. “It’s alright, I’ll talk to you if I need to, don’t worry about me.” His hand wrapped around hers and he gave her a little squeeze. (Y/n) almost got sick from the explosion of butterflies in her stomach. Until now she’d attributed these strong physical reactions when they touched to the fact that she had a crush on him but looking back she couldn’t remember experiencing something like this with anyone else. Working with Spencer would be a real challenge, now that she had not one but two secrets.

Chapter 2

“Life is short, break the rules. Forgive quickly, kiss slowly. Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile.” – Mark Twain

(Y/n) had a hard time concentrating from the moment they got off the jet. She felt like moving in a dream as they checked in with the local PD, going over the case again, went to the last crime scene. Only when she entered the expensive suite, she felt like shook her awake. The champagne-colored furniture was covered in dark red blood. But it was not the image that snapped her back to reality, it was the smell, it was always the smell that got to her.

The bodies were no longer in the room, but they had been laying here at least three days before anyone even noticed. One of the detectives turned to her when he saw her going pale. “Ma’am is everything alright?” “Yes, I just...excuse me, I just need a minute.”

(Y/n) stumbled out of the expensive hotel room into the corridor. She had trouble breathing and her hands started to sweat profusely. She knew the symptoms, that didn’t make it any less bad. When she reached a side corridor, she slid down the wall. She tried to remember what she knew about panic attacks. Breath. In, out, in and out again.

A pair of shoes came into her field of vision. She didn’t need to look up, to know it was Spencer. He was the only FBI agent she knew of that wore converse. Without a word he sat down next to her, back to the wall. She heard him breath slowly. She knew he was doing it so she could synchronize with him and after a while the panic had subsided.

“Are you better now?” (Y/n) nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” “What happened in there? You’ve seen worse before, what is it?”

She didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t just the fact that she had just figured out they were soulmates; it was something else. Their unsub was actively seeking out and killing what he thought were soulmates. She had been the unsubs ‘type’ before but now it wasn’t just about her, it was about Spencer too. She felt bad for withholding information like this. He didn’t even know he was a potential target. She wanted to tell him, tell him to be careful but something wouldn’t let her. Fear of rejection loomed over her like a dark cloud.

“I don’t know, Spence...I’ve just had a rough week, I guess.” “I know you’re not telling me the truth.” He put his fingers under her chin to make her look up at him. “I want to help you, but you need to tell me what is going on with you.”

There was nothing but kindness and goodness in his eyes. She wanted to tell him so bad. “I thought we weren’t supposed to profile each other.” She gave him a small smile to signal him she wasn’t mad about it. Spencer frowned.

“I’m serious, somethings not right and I need to know what it is. It doesn’t need a profiler to see somethings eating at you, it just takes a good friend.”

(Y/n) stood up. “Come on, we don’t have time for this now, we have a crime scene to profile.” She held out her hand to help him get up. He let out a sight and took it.

Back at the police station the team presented their profile but (Y/n) didn’t hear a single word. Her gaze was fixed on Spencer as he spoke. All she could process was the way he talked, how he moved his hands a s he gesticulated and the way he looked with his messy hair and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.

This was getting out of hand. Until now she had at least been able to do her job properly. Only when Hotch had called her name out for the third time her mind returned to reality. “Agent would you please tell the officers what our next step will be?” “Yes, of course, I’m sorry.” She gathered her thoughts for a second before standing up in front of the precinct. “Our best shot is going undercover and try to attract the unsubs attention. We will have two agents pose as a soulmate couple. We know that the unsub doesn’t stay at the same hotel for too long. We also know that he probably targets these couple at special events. Based on the profile we gave you he will appear sophisticated and he probably has some friends in high places. He will be successful in his career as to compensate his feelings of inadequacy regarding his personal life. He has to have some connections, otherwise we would find these victims much faster. He’s paying people to keep their mouth shut.

Tomorrow there will be a fund raiser at the Bellagio. There will be a lot of people and because of the nature of the event there will most certainly be a lot of couples, people usually don’t go alone to those things. This means our unsub will be there. The last victims were found today and killed three days ago; he’s looking for is next victims.”

She could still feel Spencer’s eyes on her when she sat back down. The crowd dissolved slowly. The BAU gathered around one of the desks.

“I think we all agree to send (Y/n) and Spencer as our soulmate couple.” Hotch said and shot them both a look. If (Y/n) hadn’t been so taken by surprise by Hotch’s proposal she would have noticed Spencer blushing lightly. Did they figure it out? Was that why Hotch had chosen them? No, it couldn’t be. Logically, they were the best match. They worked very well together, none of them would pose a great physical threat to the unsub and they were close after all. It wouldn’t be hard to make it believable. (Y/n) almost let out a laugh. Of course, it wouldn’t be hard. She wouldn’t even have to pretend.

“Are you ok with this?” Hotch asked. Both nodded. There really was no good reason to say no.

Spencer sat in front of the case files, but he couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/n) and how strangely she was acting. Maybe he had crossed a line and made her uncomfortable? He tried his best to keep a respectful distance, but it got harder every day. It

was almost as if she attracted him like a magnet. It felt so right when they touched hands or when she would brush his hair out of his face when he was too caught up in something else.

He loved to hear her talk. And he loved it when she listened to him. She never seemed to get bored of anything he had to say. Ever. She’d been awfully quiet the entire day. Something was up, he could feel it but for some reason he couldn’t read her. He knew that she would get fidgety when she was nervous, he knew that she carried herself with caution, she had been hurt by people in the past. He knew that she would cover her insecurities with little jokes, and he knew that she had a hard time opening up to people sometimes. But for the love of god, he did not know how she felt about him, and he didn’t know what was wrong with her right now. Some things she held to close to her heart for anyone to see, even him.

Spencer wanted to tell her that she could tell him anything and he wished she would believe him. There was a longing in his heart he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t know what to do about it. His fear was paralyzing him. He’d been hurt before too. For the time being he was content with the little he got, the quick glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, the way she laughed at his jokes and the way she made him feel like their friendship was something special. All team members were close, but he would be the first one she would talk to in the morning and the last one to wave goodbye in the evening. She was always there.

Spencer jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Are you coming? We’re checking into the hotel. Or are you to busy dreaming about our little Miss Commitment Issues?” Morgan teased and walked past Spencer. “I’m not – she doesn’t have – I’m coming wait up!” He grabbed his jacket and the files before following Morgan out the door.

The hotel was almost booked out. Hotch stood at the reception, arguing with the woman working there. “I don’t care that you don’t have enough rooms, we booked in advance!” She didn’t seem too bothered. She looked up from her phone for a moment.

“I’m sorry mister, that’s how it is, can’t throw the guests out that have already checked in. Should’ve come earlier.”

Hotch slammed his hand on the counter. “Listen here, I can get you fired in the blink of an eye. Get us our rooms, now!” His voice was calm but anyone who knew Hotch knew not to mess with him when he talked like this. The receptionist seemed to sense it too. “Ok, ok. I have a few rooms left but you’ll have to partner up.”

“Just give me the keys.”

(Y/n) and Spencer looked at each other like to school friends look at each other when the teacher says you can choose your partner for a project. It was understood they would share a room. But when (Y/n) turned the key around and entered their room she wanted to turn around and never come back.

“It’s just a-a queen size bed.” She stuttered. They stood side by side in silence. There was no couch, no armchair. Finally, Spencer spoke up. “It’s ok I can take the floor.”

(Y/n) gave him a light slap on the arm with the back of her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can share unless you’re so uncomfortable with me you’d rather take the floor.” The last part had been meant as a joke, but Spencer began to stammer. “No, no of course not – I’d love to sleep with you – I mean share a bed.” His face was getting redder by the second.

It took her all her strength not to laugh. “Calm down, Spencer.” She gave him a reassuring smile. He seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. He was so cute when he got flustered, she thought. She would like to see him like this more often if she didn’t know how much it stressed him out.

“I’m gonna go change.” She said pointing at the bathroom. “Y-yeah go ahead.” “Thanks for your permission.” She gave him another smile but this time she was teasing him. “I didn’t mean –” “I’m just messing with you.”

Spencer sat on the edge of the bed while (Y/n) was in the bathroom changing. He tried to calm himself down. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. There was no way she would ever want to be with a nervous wreck like him. Just like that one time Lila Archer had kissed him in the pool. He had predicted very accurately that she had only shown interest in him because of his role as protector. It had been too good to be true. He had become more cautious since then. His heart wouldn’t open as easily. But if he was being honest with himself it was already too late. He couldn’t even pretend (Y/n) had slipped in slowly and quietly. She had kicked the door in the first time he saw her and then she had made her home in his heart, barricading herself inside.

When (Y/n) came out of the bathroom her hair was damp. He hadn’t even heard the shower. There was something so endearing about seeing her like this, fresh out of the shower in an oversized FBI training t-shirt, something so domestic. “You’re turn.” She nodded at him. It took him a second to react before he stood up and followed her example of showering and changing into something more comfortable.

Later that night they laid side by side in the dark. The only light source were the colorful lights of Sin City. (Y/n) turned her head to look at Spencer. She could only make out his silhouette in the dark. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He turned his head towards her too. “For acting so weird. You’re right there’s something wrong but I don’t know if I want to talk about it yet.” (Y/n) felt her throat close. “It’s just...I’m really anxious about the undercover mission tomorrow and that never happened to me before...” She tried to control herself, but she couldn’t help but let out a small sob. “I’ve never chickened out before.”

Spencer didn’t know what to do. He had never seen (Y/n) cry before. “You’re not gonna chicken out, it’s normal to be anxious about these things. And...and you don’t have to worry because you’re not alone. I’ll be by your side the entire time, ok?” (Y/n) nodded but then she remembered he couldn’t see her.

“Ok...thank you. Just promise me you won’t put yourself in danger, ok? I don’t know what is up with me I’ve never been like this before a mission...I’m worried about you and I have a really bad feeling, I can feel it in my gut, you know?”

Spencer didn’t respond immediately, instead his fingers found the hem of her sleeve and tugged at it. (Y/n) understood and closed the distance between them until Spencer had his arms wrapped around her. “Is this ok?” He asked, almost regretting having been so bold.

“Yeah, this is nice.” She could feel him take a deep breath and relax. She felt his heartbeat against her back and her own heart began to beat faster.

Spencer almost couldn’t believe his luck. The faint smell of the shampoo in her hair made him dizzy. He never wanted to let her go ever again. “Spencer?” Her voice trembled. “Hm?”

“I need to tell you something...”

Chapter 3

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. (Y/n) turned around in his arms until she faced him. She had never been so close to him. He tried to study her face, but the darkness was making it hard. “What is it?” He asked cautiously. “I think it’s better if I show you.” He watched her as she raised her hands in front of him. When she pinched the back of one of her hands, he could feel it. He stared at her for a second. He felt the realization dawn on him. His mind short circuited and a quiet “Oh” escaped him.

(Y/n) felt her face heat up. She retreated hastily from Spencer’s arms to sit up with her back against the headboard. After 2 minutes Spencer still hadn’t said anything. “I-I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have said anything.” (Y/n) stood up. Now she felt stupid. Suddenly she felt like she was intruding. “I’m just gonna...” She pointed at the door and before leaving in a hurry. Spencer wanted to say something, but the words never left his mouth.

Before he could gather his thoughts, she was gone. It all made sense now. He couldn’t believe she had caught it before him, how could he not notice it until now? His first instinct was to run after her but what if she didn’t want to see him? Maybe she hadn’t told him because she didn’t want to be his soulmate. The only reason she had told him at all had to be the undercover mission tomorrow. Full disclosure so he knew what he was getting himself into.

Had something like this happened before? He tried to remember every single thing he had ever read or heard about soulmates but there was nothing. Another thought crept up on him. She knew when he was having nightmares, every night he had woken up covered in sweat, she had shared with him. Somehow, he wanted to apologize for that. She had to have been in so much pain because of him.

(Y/n) didn’t come back for the rest of the night. She had probably spent the night in Elle and JJ’s room. Spencer needed to talk to her before they started the mission but through the entire day, he couldn’t get her alone. He was almost sure she was avoiding him.

Some time in the evening they were getting ready for the fundraiser. The first time he saw her again was in front of the Bellagio. He wanted to say something, but they were wearing wires and he didn’t know if she’d told Elle or JJ about the soulmate thing, not to mention that the entire Las Vegas PD didn’t have to know about their personal issues.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but give him a small smile when she saw Spencer in his tuxedo. She had never seen Spencer dressed up like this before. “You eh, you look good.” She didn’t dare to look him in the eyes. “Thanks, you too.”

“Guys you need to step your game up if you want to make it believable for the unsub. You look like two teens going to a school dance.” Morgan’s voice rang through their earpieces.

“Shut up, Derek, next time you can go undercover.”

She took the lead and walked into the entrance hall. Spencer walked behind her and in a moment of braveness he put his hand on the small of her back. She flinched under his touch but before he could take it back, she eased into the touch. There was too much on the line to let personal issues get in the way of the mission.

For the rest of the night, they walked around, watching people, trying to identify the unsub, to no avail. The tension was killing them. “Ok, this is getting ridiculous, we won’t get picked if we keep going on like this.” Spencer took (Y/n)’s hand and dragged her into an empty hallway. Before she knew what was happening, he had muted both of their mics.

“We need to talk about this. I’m sorry, I didn’t say anything yesterday I was just...” “Shocked?” She interrupted him. “I get it, can we go back to the mission now?”

She was already about to go back when he grabbed her hand and dragged her back. “Look, I get it, I’m not what you had hoped for in a soulmate, but you need to get your shit together.” (Y/n)’s eyebrows were furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about, if there would be anyone I would chose as a soulmate, it would be you!” “You’re not...you’re not mad?” “No, I’m not mad, I thought you were the one unhappy with this whole thing.” “Why would I be? If there’s anyone who should be unhappy, it’s you. You’re way out of my league –” “Oh my god, Spencer just shut up.” She cracked a smile. “You’re my best friend, why would I spend so much time with you, if I didn’t like you?”

He looked at her for a second. “I...I don’t know.” “Look at me.” She took his face in between her hands. “Don’t you ever say that you’re not good enough ever again.”

Spencer never wanted to kiss her more than it that moment. His eyes wandered to the hall again and then he saw it. “That’s him.” (Y/n) was still caught up in the moment. “What?”

“Our unsub, that’s him!” “Are you sure?” “Yes, now come on.”

They turned their mics back on. “Reid? What happened?” Morgan questioned but he didn’t get an answer. “We have our unsub, it’s the guy in the dark grey suit by the champagne fountain.” (Y/n) whispered. “We have a visual. Try to get near him.” “Roger that.”

As they walked out of the hallway Spencer placed his hand around (Y/n)’s waist. Her heart was beating faster again. They made sure to be in the unsub’s field of view when Spencer took her hand. “Wanna dance?”

(Y/n) just nodded, she felt her cheeks heat up and she hoped Spencer wouldn’t notice. Unfortunately, he was still a profiler and so he bent down to whisper in her ear. “You know you’re cute when you blush.” The red on her face only intensified. “You know they can hear us.”

They heard a laugh from Morgan. “Yeah, we can, looks like our boy’s got moves, careful (Y/n).” Spencer gave her a smile before taking her to the dancefloor.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” (Y/n) whispered as they swayed to the music. “I’m full of surprises, what can I say.” He hadn’t stopped smiling at her the whole time. Her arms wrapped a little tighter around his neck as she laid her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beat fast and she could smell his cologne. She raised her head slightly so that her nose grazed his neck. She felt him shudder lightly as if he was getting goosebumps.

“Guys he’s approaching you.” As soon as Morgan had alerted them, they heard a voice.

“I’m sorry to intrude like this. But you two just looked so beautiful together. Can I buy you a drink?”

(Y/n) had to peel herself away from Spencer. She never wanted to let him go again. “Sure, thank you, Sir.” She gave him a smile.

The man was a bit older than they had expected. The rest was dead on. He looked sophisticated enough with his expensive suit and his well-groomed physical appearance. The three of them sat down at the bar.

“So, what are you two lovebirds doing here? I can tell you’re not from Vegas.” He took a sip from his Whiskey. (Y/n) had to squeeze Spencer’s hand under the bar before he could open his mouth and correct the unsub, that he was, in fact, “from Vegas”. Instead (Y/n) took the word.

“Well, I know you’re not supposed to brag about this stuff but...” She gave Spencer an endearing look that instantly melted his heart. “We just found out we were soulmates and we wanted to get married as fast as possible and what better place than Las Vegas, the City of Marriage, right?”

The man eyed both of them for a moment. (Y/n) had never felt so exposed in her life. She wanted nothing more than shove her gun into this guy’s face and arrest him right then and there, but they had to wait. He had to take them to the hotel room, they had no concrete evidence yet.

“Congratulations you two. I hope I’m not overstepping here but would it be alright to give you a wedding gift?”

“That is so kind of you, right honey?” She looked at Spencer who forgot for a second the situation they were in. His mind had tripped over itself when he heard her call him “honey”. “Right, right, very kind.” He had to tear his eyes away from her. “I want to pay for a night in a suite, the most expensive in Las Vegas.”

“We would love that, but can I ask why?” (Y/n) asked. They couldn’t be too willing to come along with him or he would get suspicious.

The man let out a theatrical sigh before downing the rest of his Whiskey. “I lost my wife a few years ago and I want to do something good for such a sweet couple like you.” They both knew that was a blatant lie. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Spencer watched (Y/n) play her role with perfection.

“Let’s not talk about me, this is your special night. The car is waiting outside.”

With every step they took (Y/n)’s bad feeling only got worse. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly, but something was off. When they got into the car, she heard the doors lock and panic began to spread. She tried to calm herself down. The team knew where they were, and they would follow them to the hotel where they could finally arrest this guy. She felt Spencer’s fingers slip between hers. She tried to put on a smile but then she saw the man’s face and her blood froze. He knew.

“How funny...” He spoke. His smile made her skin crawl. “The FBI send me an actual pair of soulmates.” (Y/n) let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.” He pulled out a gun and pointed it at her. Spencer wanted to make a move, but the man shot him a look. “If you move, she’s dead.”

(Y/n) could hear Morgan’s voice in her ear. “They’ve been compromised we need to get them out now!” “Your microphones and earpieces please.” The man held out his hand. They had no choice. Hesitantly they took them off and handed them to him. (Y/n) could only watch in horror as the man took them and put the microphone to his mouth. “You can collect your agent’s bodies in a few days.” As soon as he had stopped talking, he crushed the devices.

(Y/n) prayed that the team would find them in time. She could feel how she began to lose it. Spencer felt it too. He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine, they’re gonna find us.” The man laughed. “They will, but by then it will already be too late. I’m gonna have so much fun with the two of you.”

She felt Spencer’s hand wipe away some tears from her cheeks. She hadn’t even noticed she had started to cry.

They arrived at the hotel with no interruptions. (Y/n) knew he had shook the surveillance. As soon as they entered the luxurious suite, (Y/n) was just seconds away from a breakdown. There was no way out anymore. It would take the team an eternity before they found them.

There were about 150.000 hotel rooms in Las Vegas. There was no way they’d be found in time.

(Y/n) fell to her knees. “This is all my fault, I’m so sorry Spencer.” He kneeled next to her, putting an arm around her. “This is not your fault, why would you say that?” “Because I was so distracted. I haven’t been able to focus, I should’ve said something, and we should have sent someone who could do their job properly.” “Look at me.” Spencer cupped her face with his hands. “This is not your fault, do you understand?” She let out a sob. “We’re gonna die...” “We’re gonna be fine, I’m right here, ok? I’m right here with you.”

The man had sat on one of the armchairs, two security guards by his side. “I can assure you that the other agents wouldn’t have been chosen. I know the difference between real and fake soulmates.” Spencer looked up. “How?” He saw the man’s face turn into a grimace.

“Because I can recognize an abomination of nature when I see one.”

(Y/n) let out another sob. Spencer turned his attention back to her. “(Y/n), breath, look at me.” He saw the terror in her eyes. “Look at me, we will get out of here.” She nodded but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. He had never seen her this scared. They had been through some bad stuff in the past but never had he seen her lose her cool. Something was very, very wrong.

Chapter 4

Everyone on the team was on edge. Morgan’s forehead was covered in sweat. Gideon was standing right behind him, Elle and Garcia sitting just a few feet away.

“How funny...” They heard the unsub���s voice. Something was not right. “The FBI sent me an actual pair of soulmates.”

They exchanged concerned looks. “What is he talking about?” Morgan turned around to look at the others. Garcia shrugged. “She never said anything to me. Do you think that’s what they were talking about earlier when the mics were off?” Gideon’s brows were furrowed. “Could be. Regardless we need to help them.” “They’ve been compromised we need to get them out now!” Morgan addressed the swat team.

Before they could do anything else, they heard the unsubs voice again. “You can collect your agent’s bodies in a few days.”

The horror in Garcia’s eyes grew before the signal died. “We need to do something now!”

A few hours had passed. The unsub, whose name turned out to be Rory Marshall, had left them alone in the suite. There was no phone, and the door was locked. One look out of the window told them they were at least on the 30th floor. There was no escape. Even if they managed to figure out what hotel they were in, they had no way of communicating with the team.

Spencer had gotten (Y/n) through another panic attack. Now she was sitting on the floor with her back leaning against an armchair. Spencer sat right next to her while holding her hand. After a while he moved his position to sit in front of her. He took her other hand too. “(Y/n) look at me.”

She raised her head. The color had drained out of her face. Her eyes were wide open and red. “I know this is very stressful.” Spencer continued. “But we will get through this. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that; none of this is you’re fault. If anyone is at fault, it’s that unsub who is killing people.” “Spencer? What is going to happen to us?”

They both had seen the victims. They both knew what he had done to them. Spencer didn’t need to answer. There was no need to remind (Y/n) of the cruelty that had taken place in the other suites.

Spencer cupped her face in his hands. “Do you remember the Luxor Hotel? The one that looks like a pyramid with the light beam coming out of it?”

“Yes I remember.” “Did you know that the light attracts so many insects that it has established a new ecosystem with moths, bats and owls.” (Y/n) started at him for a second before she realized what he was doing. A small smile made it’s way on her face. Spencer caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “And did you know that bats can live more than 30 years?” Her eyes became glassy as she scooted closer to him. “And did you know that they can fly at up to 60 mph, in fact the Mexican free-tailed bat can reach up to 100 mph, making it the fastest mammal on earth.”

(Y/n) was so close to him, their noses almost touched. Spencer’s heart began to beat faster. His hands were still on her face. He wanted to pull her closer and kiss the pain away. His eyes flickered to her lips and then back to her eyes. “Thank you, Spencer.” She whispered.

Before she could close the distance between them, the door opened with a bang. The sound made them jump and separate.

Marshall walked in with a grin on his face. “Look at you lovebirds, I hope I’m not intruding.” (Y/n)’s eyes fell on the suitcase in his hand. Two other men followed Marshall into the room. Both were armed. Marshall gave one of them a signal. The man left and came back with two chairs and rope. (Y/n) felt her stomach cramp and the thought what was going to follow. Her and Spencer didn’t move. The other two men left, leaving them alone with Marshall.

“I really didn’t want to interrupt.” he spoke. (Y/n) shot Spencer a quick glance. None of them spoke. She could see Marshall’s facial expression change slowly but surely. The self-assured, mocking look was being replaced by impatience, anger and aggression. “Go on.” He continues while pulling out his gun. “Go on, Dr. Reid, do what you were about to do!”

Spencer looked at (Y/n) but he still didn’t move. He could see the tears gather in her eyes. “I said do it!” Marshall shouted. He was losing it. There was nothing left of his cocky grin. Instead, his face was distorted into a grimace. “Do it or I’ll shoot her right now.”

Spencer straightened his back. “You won’t. You need her, you need us both for your revenge fantasy.” “Do you want to test me?” There was something absolutely insane in Marshall’s eyes. The clicking of the safety being disabled rang through the room. “I said do it.” He was calm again but there was something in his voice that made (Y/n)’s stomach turn.

“It’s ok.” She whispered to Spencer. He didn’t look half as calm as he looked an hour ago. He cupped her cheeks again. “You’re going to be fine; I promise.” He pulled her in until his lips were on hers. They tasted salty from her tears, but they were soft. For a moment he forgot where they were. He had wanted to kiss her for so long. She melted into him, grabbing his dress shirt to pull him even closer. The urgency in her movement almost drove him insane.

“Get in the chairs.” Marshall’s voice interrupted their moment. Spencer pulled away, locking eyes with (Y/n). Her cheeks were flushed and there was a glint in her eyes.

The ropes rubbed against her wrists and ankles. They were too tight to move. Marshall paced in front of them. He had opened the suitcase on a small coffee table. (Y/n) didn’t need to be an expert to know it was full of torture instruments. Every fiber in her body wanted to run when he pulled out a big hunting knife and walked towards her.

“Don’t touch her!” Spencer struggled against his constraints. “Leave her alone!” Marshall let out a laugh. “You know it doesn’t matter which one I chose you’ll both feel it.” He pretended to ponder for a moment before he continued talking. “I still think I’ll start with her. How does it feel not to be able to do anything to help her?” He shot Spencer a look. That shit-eating grin had returned to his face.

He turned to (Y/n). “Where do we start?” He lazily dragged the blade across her collarbone before making a cut. (Y/n) hissed. She felt something warm drip down her chest. Involuntarily she remembered that the killer would spare her face like he had with all his other victims. Her best guess was that he liked to look at them when he had his fun with them after they were dead.

Marshall made another cut, right under the first one. (Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut. Her jaw tensed as she tried not to make a sound. She heard Spencer inhale sharply. She remembered, Rory Marshall wasn’t hurting just her, he was hurting Spencer too. She would have given anything to protect him. If he would hurt only her, she could endure it knowing he spared Spencer, but this wasn’t the case.

The only thing she could protect him from right now was the first hand experience of being tortured and hopefully the mental scars that would remain. She knew she could handle it, for Spencer. He didn’t deserve this, any of it. She just should’ve told Hotch about the soul mate thing and they could have prepared differently. But now it was too late for that and minute to minute the pain made it harder to think.

There was a loud ringing in her ears and her mind was in a fog. After a while she couldn’t hold back the cries. She didn’t want to give Marshall the satisfaction, but it was too much. As if that wasn’t enough, she could hear Spencer too. She didn’t know how much time had passed when Marshall finally backed away from her. Her whole body was sore, and her cloths were damp from her own blood. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but she kept staring back at Marshall. It took her a moment to realize, why he had stepped away from her. His phone was ringing. He took a look at the display before letting out a groan and answering.

“What!? I’m busy.” He snapped. Silence followed. “Alright I’ll be there, give me half an hour.” Then he hung up. “Sorry, kids, I’ve got places to be but don’t worry, I’ll be back.” Before leaving the room and locking the door, he undid Spencer’s ropes.

As soon as they were alone Spencer jumped from his chair rushed over to (Y/n). He still felt the echoes of her pain, but it wasn’t half as bad as the pain she was going through. While his body was intact, hers was cut and bruised. He tried to untie her, but his fingers were trembling too badly.

“Are you ok?” Spencer looked up in surprise as he heard her talk. A nervous laugh left his throat. “You’re asking me if I’m alright?” She nodded. “He hurt you too, didn’t he?” “It’s ok, it’s fading.” That wasn’t entirely true. He still felt the sting of the cuts. He took a deep breath and started to undo the ropes. Finally, the knots loosened.

“Can you stand?” He asked. (Y/n) shook her head. “Ok, I’m going to help you get to the bathroom, we need to clean you’re cuts.” He managed to get his arm under her to give her some support. After ten painful minutes they reached the bathtub. Spencer unzipped her dress. “Is this ok?” (Y/n) just nodded absentmindedly. He left her underwear on and sat her into the tub. He found a towel, held it under warm water and proceeded to clean her up. She watched him with half lidded eyes as he carefully dabbed the cloth over her wounds.

“This is not how I imagined you seeing me naked for the first time.” The ghost of a smile appeared on her face. Spencer paused for a moment to look at her. “You imagined that?” A tint of pink appeared on her pale face.

“I know you find it hard to believe, that girls think about you that way, but they do. I do.” Spencer stared at her. He hadn’t realized she really liked him like that.

“How did you imagine it?” He asked as he continued to clean her. As much as he wanted to know, he also needed to get her mind off what was happening right now. She shot him another look. “Wouldn’t you like to know, lover-boy?”

He let out a laugh. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

After a moment of silence, she spoke up. She didn’t look at him. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the marble floor of the bathroom. “I don’t know. Maybe we both would have been working late and there was no one else except us. And I would walk over to your desk to ask you something and of course you’d know the answer. You always know the answer to anything. I’d listen to you talk...I love when you talk...” She looked so tired. “And I wouldn’t be able to keep it to myself anymore and I would tell you how I felt about you...and you’d kiss me and I would kiss you back...” She hissed as he cleaned on especially deep cut.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” His worried eyes found hers. “Yeah, I’m fine.” “I’m sorry.” He repeated and placed a kiss on her forehead. When he pulled back, she looked at him with wide eyes. “Can you do it again?” “What?” “Can you kiss me, like you did before?”

Spencer searched her face for a sign of what was going on in her head. Her telling him about what she imagined him doing to her and asking him to kiss her did things to him. Things, he

hadn’t experienced before. He didn’t really know what to do. He didn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerable state, but he felt like she needed him.

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead again but before he could, she grabbed his face and pulled him down. “I meant like this.” She whispered before closing the distance between them and capturing his lips. The smell of his cologne still lingered, she needed it like oxygen. She needed him. She placed several more desperate kisses on his lips before pulling back to look at him. A second later Spencer’s hands were on her cheek and on her neck to pull her back again into another kiss. He had imagined this a hundred times but the reality of her soft and lips against his finally made him understand what Edgar Allan Poe had meant by “We loved with a love that was more than love”.

He felt her shiver. He pulled back. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He helped her out of the tub. After he had dried her and given her one of the bathrobes, he helped her into bed.

(Y/n) was tired...so tired. Her head was spinning but she knew she wouldn’t be able to get any sleep. “Can you stay with me?” She asked. “Of course.” He sat down on the bed. Her eyes wandered over his figure. He had taken of the tuxedo, so he was left with the white dress shirt. He had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, just the way she liked it. The shirt was stained with her blood and it took her back to this reality.

“You know he does this on purpose.” Spencer’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” “He gives us so much time alone, so we get closer and it’s even more painful when does those things to us.” “I don’t care, I won’t leave you alone. Also, we must find a way out of here.” “There is no way out. We have to pray the team finds us before it’s too late.” “There has to be a way out. And we’ll find it. Try to get some rest now.” “I can’t sleep.” “You haven’t even tried yet.” “But I know I can’t.” “But you have to. Pain tolerance is reduced by sleep deprivation.”

(Y/n) shot him a look. “Thanks for the heads up.” Spencer slipped under the blanket and laid an arm around her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. She felt the vibrations through his chest as he began to talk again. “Randy Gradner holds the record for the longest period without sleep. It was 11 days and 25 minutes. He set the record in 1964 when he was only 17. They monitored his health. He had problems concentrating and struggled with paranoia and hallucinations. On the last day he was asked to subtract 7 repeatedly starting with 100. He stopped at 65, when asked why, he said he’d forgotten what he was doing...”

(Y/n) didn’t hear the rest, Spencer’s voice had lulled her to sleep. He felt her shallow but regular breath on his neck. He closed his eyes. He would get her out of here.

Chapter 5

(Y/n) woke up exhausted. They didn’t sleep much. When they woke up it was still dark outside. It took her a second to realize what had woken her up. The door had been opened very loudly and her and Spencer were dragged into the living room area. They were tied to the chairs again. The ropes burned against her already bruised wrists and ankles. To their surprise the two men who had tied them up left. They were alone again.

(Y/n) turned to Spencer. “Please tell me you have a plan. We need to get out fast. If Marshall stays on track, we have less than 48 hours.” Spencer’s brows were furrowed. She could practically hear his mind work. “We need to check the windows if they open. Maybe we can get some sort of sign outside.”

“What if it doesn’t work, what’s our plan B?” “Currently we don’t have a plan B...”

They sat there almost 4 hours before Marshall entered the room. He looked exhausted. (Y/n) felt a twinge of hope. The FBI knew his identity, there was no way he could hide for much longer. “You know, they’ll catch you. You won’t get away with this.” She said.

Marshall turned around at her with a surprised look on his face. “I thought I had messed you up pretty good last night. And you’re still talking back.” He gave her a smile that made her skin crawl. “Maybe this time I’ll try your little boyfriend.” (Y/n) saw the blood drain from Spencer’s face but his expression didn’t change. She knew he was stronger than most people would give him credit for. She wasn’t most people but the thought of him getting tortured made her sick. It wasn’t about the fact that she would feel it too, seeing Spencer in pain was almost worse.

“So, what’s your deal?” She asked. Anything to get him talking, to figure out why he was killing these people. Marshall let out a laugh. “So brave today, aren’t we?” “Why do you keep killing soulmates? Feeling lonely? Didn’t mommy give you enough love when you were a kid?” She saw his smile fade. “Or what, maybe you were in love and she turned you down because she had found her soulmate?” Bull’s eye. His face turned into a grimace again.

“Shut your mouth!” He raised his hand to slap her, but he caught himself just in time. For a second he seemed to try to get his rage under control. Then he leaned down to whisper into her ear. “You’re nothing but a filthy whore and by the time you get out of here there will be almost nothing left of you to identify the body.”

(Y/n) held her breath. She had gained precious information. His main target were the women. He was projecting his abandonment on them. The men were just there because it made the whole ordeal more painful. He had raped the women after their death to regain power, power over the soulmate bond.

“You’ll always be alone, killing and raping these women will never compare to a true connection and you know it.” (Y/n) said. Spencer stared at her. She wasn’t interrogating anymore; she was making him angry. And then it clicked. “(Y/n) stop.” He shot her a pleading look. But she didn’t pay him any mind but instead continued.

“So, how did she break it to you? Did she at least tell you in person?” Marshall took on the color of a plum. “Oh.” A cold laugh escaped her lips. “She didn’t. You weren’t even worth telling face to face.”

“SHUT UP!” Marshall grabbed a glass from the coffee table and threw it at (Y/n). She managed to dodge it and it shattered on the wall behind her.

Spencer began to panic. “(Y/n) stop, I know what you’re doing, stop it you’re going to get hurt!” While he was tied up, there was no way he could help her.

“Is that all you got!?” (Y/n) threw the word in Marshall’s face. His hands were trebling. “You’re ruining everything!” “Oh, am I? Am I ruining your little revenge fantasy? You know that it doesn’t matter how many people you kill; it will never be the same as the time you killed her. She couldn’t fight back, could she?”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Marshall took the hunting knife in his hand making his way to (Y/n). To her surprise he didn’t cut her, but the ropes. He grabbed her arm and threw her on the ground. “I’m gonna show you fight!”

(Y/n) struggled to get on her feet. She was still weak, but the adrenaline kicked in as soon as he swung the knife in her direction. She turned her head frantically to look for something she could use as a weapon. Her eyes fell on an expensive vase. She grabbed it and threw it at him. While dodging it he lost the knife.

Everything moved in slow-motion as both made a run for it.

And then she had it, she had the knife. Her fingers curled around the handle. She raised her arm but before she could slam the blade into her attacker, she heard a gunshot.

The first thing she felt was her arm going limp. A few seconds later realization hit her and then a wave of pain washed over her. For a moment she thought she had to throw up. Her vision went blurry and the last thing she felt was a burning hot sensation and wetness on her arm. She heard Spencer yell her name before she lost consciousness.

When (Y/n) woke up again she was sitting in the chair, arms and legs tied up. The pain from her arm radiated through her entire body. She had trouble focusing. The first thing to catch her eye was Spencer whose gaze was fixed on her.

“Oh, thank god you’re awake!” She had never heard him sound this scared. “(Y/n) look at me.” Her head was heavy...her eyes were heavy. “(Y/n) look at me.” She managed to raise

her head, so she was making eye contact. “Listen, you have lost a lot of blood and you’re still bleeding. You need to somehow put pressure on the wound. It’s in your right arm near the shoulder. Try to lean against the chair with that part of your arm. It won’t save you, but it’ll hopefully keep you from bleeding out till I can help you.”

She struggled to hold her eyes open, let alone understand what Spencer was saying to her. Another person appeared in her field of vision. “Just let me help her!” This was Spencer’s voice. “Why should I? I’ll let the bitch bleed out, it’s what she deserves and you’re gonna watch her die.” Was this the unsub’s voice?

“But this is not how you operate normally. This is not how you get your satisfaction, do you want all of this to have been for nothing? You really let one of your men take the kill-shot? She won’t die by your hand but by that guy’s.”

There was silence. After what felt like an eternity, she felt the ropes loosen around her hands and legs. She felt two familiar arms around her. Everything went dark again.

“(Y/n) can you hear me?” This was Spencer’s voice again. “Spencer...why did you put me in the tub again?” She murmured. “What are you talking about? Open your eyes, look at me.” The panic in his voice hadn’t faded. “I’m wet, why did you put me under the shower?” “I didn’t please just open your eyes.”

(Y/n) felt like her eyes were glued shut. After a struggle she finally managed to open them a bit. She was greeted with Spencer’s face hovering over her. Her eyes wandered over his figure and widened as she saw him covered in blood. She wanted to sit up but a sharp pain in her arm held her down. She hissed.

“Spencer what happened, are you hurt, why is there so much blood? Let me help you...” “Calm down, it’s not mine.” He hesitated for a second. “It’s yours. You were shot and almost bled out.” “What? What happened?” You had the knife but before you could do anything, one of the bodyguards came in and shot you, he must’ve heard the commotion.” “Are you ok?” “Will you stop asking me that? You got shot!” “Exactly! You must be in pain too.” “I’m managing, it’s not so bad.” “You’re lying.” “Please don’t worry about me, ok?” “But I do, I worry about you all the time, I know you can handle yourself, but I care about you and I don’t want you to be in pain because of me.” “It’s ok, really.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Spencer bent down to place a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s focus on how we get out of here.”

“Have you checked the windows?” “They won’t open, it doesn’t surprise me though. We’re on the 30th floor, of course they’re shut.”

(Y/n) let her head fall back onto the pillow. “We’re screwed.” Spencer’s brows furrowed. “What are you thinking?” She asked. “The glass...”

“I don’t follow. The shards aren’t big enough to use as a weapon when he comes back.” “No, that’s not what I mean.”

Without saying another word, he got up and walked into the bathroom. (Y/n) heard glass shattering. “Spencer are you alright?” He came back into the room with a piece from the mirror.

“We can use this to send out an S.O.S. signal.” “How?” “Just watch.”

Spencer walked over to one of the windows. The sun shone into the room. He positioned the mirror in a certain position so that it reflected the sunlight and threw a patch of light onto the ceiling. He moved it so the light would go out of the window. He moved the shard in specific intervals.

“You’re a genius.” (Y/n) almost wanted to laugh. With a little bit of luck, someone would see the light signal. “I know.” He gave her a small smile.

Spencer repeated the pattern until the sun went down. “Now we pray someone saw that.” “Let’s hope it won’t be too late.”

He walked back to the bed. “You have to promise me something.” “What is it?”

He waited for a moment before answering. She looked awful. The bathrobe was soaked in blood, so was her hair. The parts of her skin that showed were covered in cuts and bruises. Her eyes were framed by dark circles. “Promise me you won’t make him angry again. I know you’re trying to protect me, but I wouldn’t know what to do if you sacrificed yourself so that I can get out of here.”

“I can’t promise you that.” “(Y/n), I’m serious.” She could see tears gather in his eyes. “Please...” The urgency in his voice made her heart ache.

With her good arm she reached out to put her hand on his cheek. “Alright, I promise.” Spencer closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. She managed to sit up and then position herself on his lap so that she was facing him, legs hooked around him. When he looked up at her there was nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” (Y/n) whispered before leaning down to press a kiss on his lips. Spencer wrapped his arms around her waist, careful not to touch her injured arm that was now bandaged and resting in a makeshift sling. Their chests were pressed together, and she could feel his heartbeat. Her breath became heavier as her fingers made their way into his hair and she tried to pull him even closer. (Y/n)’s cheeks began to heat up. She pulled away to whisper in his ear. “I need you so bad...” She felt him shiver underneath her. She continued to kiss his neck, relishing in the small sighs that escaped his throat.

She was just about to undo the buttons to his dress shirt when he grabbed her hand. “Wait...” “What?” “You can’t do this.”

“What? Why not? I thought you...” She looked around for a few seconds, anything not to meet his gaze and stood up as fast as she could. “I – I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed...I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable...I’m sorry.” Embarrassment washed over her. “I don’t know what came over me, I should’ve asked – I...”

Spencer stood up too walking towards her. She moved back and let out an insecure laugh. “I’m really sorry.” “No don’t be, it’s not that I don’t want to it’s just...” She still couldn’t look at him. “I don’t want to do this when there is a possibility that you just want this because of the circumstances. You might just be feeling about me this way because we’re in a life-or-death situation and I’m taking care of you. I don’t want this to happen just because you project these feelings onto me and regret it once we get out of here.”

(Y/n) stared at him but couldn’t say a word. Instead, Spencer continued. “It’s just, this has happened to me before, kind of, and I don’t want to...” “You don’t want to go through that again, I get it.” She slowly walked towards him. “Then we wait. But I want you to know that I’ve wanted this before we got caught up in this mess and the only things I regret are the ones I didn’t say to you sooner and that I didn’t have the courage sooner. I know this is important to you. I would wait a hundred years if that’s the time you needed. Just promise me you won’t forget me in the end.” She gave him a small smile. He smiled back and pulled her into a hug, still careful as to not to hurt her.

“I could never forget you.” “Can I still kiss you?” Spencer looked into her eyes and he knew he would never be able to say no to that. “Yes, please.” His voice barely a whisper, he cupped her cheeks and pulled her in. This kiss wasn’t desperate, it was sweet and full of unspoken promises and confessions.

Chapter 6

The BAU team had gathered around a table at the precinct. They had defeated looks on their faces. Hotch turned to look again at the wall where they had gathered their information. Morgan and Elle sat at the table, going through the casefiles again. Morgan closed the files and let the folder slap on the table.

“Hotch, please tell me we have a plan?” Hotch didn’t answer immediately. Before he could, JJ walked in. “I have news. There has been an S.O.S. signal from a hotel window at the Palazzo. It could be nothing, but it could be them, we need a SWAT team.”

Morgan jumped up. “I’ll call Garcia to see if she can find them on security footage in the lobby.” “Right, Elle and I will talk to the SWAT team, we may have to prepare for a possible hostage situation.” Hotch said and walked out, Elle right behind him.

(Y/n) and Spencer sat back-to-back with the couch, facing the window. Marshall had come back earlier and this time he hadn’t let (Y/n) distract him from Spencer. He didn’t look good. (Y/n) had taken care of his cuts, just like he had done for her.

“Tonight, is the night...” (Y/n) said while looking out the window. “It’s gonna be alright.” Spencer turned his head to her for a moment. She didn’t seem panicked anymore. She had been when Marshall had tortured Spencer, but after she had taken care of him it was like she had resigned herself to the fact that there was no way out.

“Spencer?” “Yeah?” “I need to tell you something.” “No, you don’t.” “I – I don’t?” She raised an eyebrow.

(Y/n) positioned herself to face Spencer. “Why?” Spencer turned around too. “I know the speech. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want you to talk like we’re going to die tonight.” “But we could die, and I don’t want to die without having told you how I feel.” “Then I guess you’ll have to survive tonight if you want to tell me how you feel.”

They looked at each other in silence for a while. “I lo –” “No.” Before she could end her sentence, Spencer dipped down to shut her up with a kiss. “You tell me when we get out of here.” “You’re a horrible person.” A smile tugged at her lips.

It was almost idyllic, sitting in a room somewhere over Las Vegas, sun shining through the window. (Y/n) rested her head on Spencer’s shoulder.

“Can I tell you something else?” “Like the time you told me how you imagined me seeing you naked for the first time?” (Y/n) shot him a look. She felt her cheeks heat up. “I think we can both agree that was a moment of weakness.” Spencer let out a laugh. “I think I like your moments of weakness.” She gave him another look but then looked out the window again.

“You know, I still remember the first time I saw you.” She gave him a small smile. “I had just started working for the BAU. They called us in on a Saturday night, it was about the Keystone Killer.” Spencer smiled. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You were so quick to find clues in that word puzzle and...I don’t know. I thought it was cool. Also, you telling Ryan on what page of his book that Francis Bacon quote was on, was kind of funny. And you looked cute with your vest and you had your sleeves rolled up, just like now.”

“You thought I looked cute?” Spencer looked at the carpet, still smiling. (Y/n) nodded. “I did. And every time I saw you after that, I liked you a little more.” She paused for a moment. “The day I realized that I lo – I mean...you know, was on that case with Lila Archers stalker. I knew that I cared for you, but then I got jealous, I didn’t expect that. I had no right, still I knew then.”

He looked at her incredulously. “You were jealous?” She nodded and laughed. “It’s stupid, I know.” “I don’t think it’s stupid, I think it’s cute. Did you know shrimp can feel jealousy too?” “Are you comparing me to shrimp?” “Well apparently you do share some similarities.”

(Y/n) rested her head back on Spencer’s shoulder. “I’m so tired.” He gently stroke her hair. “Me too.” “Do you really think we’ll get out of here?” “I do.” He heard a quiet sniff escape her. When he looked down at her, he saw her cry. Spencer wiped away a tear with his thumb.

“Spencer, I’m scared.” “I know, me too.” He cupped her face. “But I need you to be strong.” “I don’t want to die.” She had trouble holding back sobs. “I just found you, I don’t want to go yet.” They scooted closer. Spencer pulled her face to his, so his forehead resting on hers. “I know, baby, it’s going to be ok.” “I can’t do it.” “Yes you can! You’re strong, I know that.” Spencer brushed his thumb over her lips. “Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” (Y/n) shook her head.

Spencer brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “When I saw you for the first time, I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t really know what to say. You were so confident, despite being new and I whished I could be as confident as you. So, I tried to impress you, I guess I know now that it worked.” He let out a small laugh. “I didn’t think someone like you would ever go for someone like me. I guess I tried to get you out of my head with Lila. Obviously, it didn’t

work. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve always admired your bravery, you never give up and you can’t give up now.”

“I’ve got them.” Gracias voice rang through the speakers of a laptop surrounded by the other team members. “They’re on the security footage from two days ago in the lobby of the Palazzo. Rory Marshall is with them. They take the elevator, from there I lost them.” “It’s alright, thank you Garcia.” Hotch said. “We know the signal came from the 32nd floor. “That’s still a lot of hotel rooms.” Morgan chewed on a pen.

“Garcia, check how many suites are on that floor.” Hotch turned to the laptop again.

After a few seconds of keyboard clicking, Garcia spoke up again. “There’s five suites.” “Thank you.” Hotch turned to the others. “Get ready, we have to go in now, they don’t have much time left.”

(Y/n) had fallen asleep on Spencer’s shoulder. She woke up from a loud noise. Marshall entered the room, gun in his hand. “Stand up! Both of you. Get in the chairs.”

Something was wrong. Marshall didn’t wear his normal cocky grin. His was erratic, sweat covered his forehead. They didn’t move. “I said now!” Marshall shouted, pointing the gun at Spencer. They hurried to the chairs. Not two minutes later, they were tied up again.

“Your friends are here.” Marshall’s face had returned to that grimace he wore when he was getting angry.

(Y/n) felt hope rise in her chest. But as soon as the feeling came, it left her. Marshall had no reason to keep them alive anymore. He had no time to live out his fantasy. On the other hand, her and Spencer were his ticket out of here. Correction, her or Spencer could be his ticket out of here.

Marshall’s phone rang. He struggled to pick it up with one hand, his other one still clammed around the gun, uninterruptedly pointing it at Spencer. “Hello?” (Y/n) didn’t know if it was the tiredness or the desperation, but she could swear the voice on the end was Gideon’s.

“They’re right here...yeah...” Marshall shot them a look. “Yeah...” He repeated and handed the phone to Spencer, or rather held it to his ear. (Y/n) could see Spencer visibly relaxed as he heard Gideon’s voice. “Yeah we’re fine.” He said and shot (Y/n) a look. “(Y/n) was shot but we’ve got it under control.”

“Ok, that’s enough.” Marshall took the phone back. “I want a helicopter. And cash. By 9 p.m. sharp.” He hung up.

(Y/n) shifted in her seat. There was no way, Hotch would give him a helicopter. Regardless, there was one more thing she wanted to know. “How could you tell?” She turned her head to Marshall. “Tell what?” He snapped back. She had to be careful, he was on edge, everything looked like a possible threat right now.

“How could you tell we were actual soulmates? I only found out the day before myself.” Marshall shrugged. “I don’t know, I just knew when I saw you.”

“Actually, I could have an explanation.” Spencer chimed in. “There are studies that show that predators can pick out people that have previously been victims. They subconsciously learn to read body language and micro expressions to identify them. Because of this you’re chance of getting assaulted are higher, if you’ve been assaulted before.”

“Ok, enough of this psychoanalysis-bullshit. Shut up, I need to think.” Marshall started pacing around the room again.

It didn’t take long before the phone rang again. (Y/n) could hear Gideon’s voice again. He tried to negotiate the release of one of them. “One of my agents has been shot, let her go and we’ll prepare your demands.” Marshall hesitated. “I’ll send one of them to the roof, but I’ll decide which one.” Without waiting for the answer, he hung up.

Spencer immediately propped himself up on the chair. “Let her go, she needs medical attention.” The grin had returned. “No, I think I’ll keep her. You can go.” Spencer began to pale. “Please, let her go, you can keep me.”

“Shut up, I’m calling the shots and I say she stays!” He waved the gun around.

(Y/n) turned to look at Spencer. “It’s alright, I’ll be fine, please just go.” He could tell she was scared again and this time there was nothing he could do to help her. Every fiber in his body screamed to stay by her side and not to leave her alone with this psycho.

Marshall undid Spencer’s ropes and pointed the gun to his head. “Go.” Spencer hesitated. He shot (Y/n) one last look. She mouthed the word ‘go’. The second the hotel door closed behind him Spencer started to sprint to the elevator. He pushed the button to the last floor a few too many times, as if that would get him up there faster.

When he finally arrived on the roof, where they had negotiated the exchange, he was greeted by the rest of the BAU. JJ pulled him into a hug before he was put in a bulletproof vest. “What happened?” Hotch and Gideon were by his side in seconds. “What does the situation look like down there?”

Spencer closed the last Velcro straps on his vest. “As far as I could tell, Marshall is alone. I’m guessing some of his men left, when they got wind that the FBI was raiding the place. (Y/n)’s been hurt pretty badly. One of Marshall’s men shot her in the arm. We could stop the bleeding but I’m afraid it’ll get infected. She’s tied up and Marshall is losing it. We need to go in now.”

“I understand.” Hotch nodded. “But we need to be careful. If we move too fast, he could panic and kill her.” He turned to Spencer. “I understand you’re impatient, but we need to keep a cool head.” Spencer nodded. As soon as Hotch stepped away to talk to Gideon, Derek came up to Spencer, reassuringly putting a hand on his shoulder. “Is it true?” He asked. “What do you mean?” Spencer’s head was every except on the roof. “Is she really your soulmate?” Spencer nodded. “She told me the night before, but we didn’t get a chance to talk about it.” “We’ll get her out of there, don’t worry, man.” Spencer gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

Derek’s brows furrowed. “Wait, if she’s been shot, didn’t you feel that too? You need to get checked up by a medic.” “I’m not leaving until she’s out of there.” Derek had rarely seen this level of determination on Spencer’s face. He nodded. “I understand.”

(Y/n) felt the panic come back. Now that Spencer was gone, she realized just how much of her mental stability had depended on him. He was only gone for two hours now and he already seemed so far away. She would have given anything to be in his arms again now.

Marshall was still pacing through the room. She could tell he was weighing his chances of coming out of this alive. (Y/n) just hoped he wouldn’t come to the conclusion that there was no way out and decide that he would take her with him as his final act of revenge. It didn’t look good. He was talking to himself, but she couldn’t understand the words. She took a deep breath. Spencer would try to talk his way out of this, but because she had antagonized herself the day before, there was a slim chance he would listen to her. She had to try.

“Rory?” He snapped his head around, bewildered by the fact she had used his first name. She could tell, he wasn’t used to that. As a person with this much power and money, she could imagine that he had few people who were so close to him that they would address him by his first name. “Rory, I know what you’re thinking about –” “You don’t know shit! Why would you know what I’m thinking about?” “You’re feeling trapped and you try to decide what to do.” “Shut up!”

(Y/n) waited for a minute. “What was her name?” “What!?” “What was the woman’s name? The one that broke your heart.” Marshall hesitated before answering. “Heather.” “What did you like about her?” “She was smart, and beautiful. I couldn’t believe it when she said yes to going to dinner with

me.” (Y/n) could tell by the look on his face that he was reminiscing that time in his life. There was this almost soft look in his eyes. “If you walk out of here alive there is a chance you might find someone new someday.” She said cautiously, never letting Marshall out of her sight. Marshall’s face hardened.

“What the fuck do you know?” She had made a mistake. “There will never be anyone else for me and now she’s dead because of me!” He started to raise his voice and his movements became more and more erratic. “Why did she have to meet that guy? It’s her fault I had to kill her, if she’d just stayed with me, we could have been happy!” The crazy look had returned to his face. “You’re all like this! You go around, thinking you can play with people until some fucking asshole comes along who’s supposed to be your soulmate and you think that gives you the right to drop everyone!” In three big strides he was right in front of her, pressing the barrel of the gun directly to her forehead. “I should just kill you too, one less bitch to walk this earth, I bet your little boyfriend will be heartbroken.” She saw the ecstasy in his eyes. “Maybe then he’ll know what it feels like.”

(Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to conjure up images of Spencer. If she died here and now, she wanted him to be the last thing she thought about. She tried to remember the feeling of his lips on hers, the smell of his cologne, the softness of his hair and the sound of his voice hen he told her everything would be alright.

“I love you.” She whispered so quite that Marshall couldn’t hear it. A gunshot rang through the suite.

Chapter 7

When he heard the gunshot, Spencer froze. The SWAT team had stormed the suite, but he was still behind them in the hallway. The moment seemed to drag on forever. The sound burned itself into his mind. He wanted to move but the thought of what was waiting for him in that suite wouldn’t let him. In that moment he hated himself for not letting (Y/n) tell him those three words.

It wasn’t until Derek appeared by his side that he woke up from his trance. Spencer’s feet moved by themselves. He didn’t want to go into that room. As soon as he did, whatever had happened would irrevocably become reality. He hated himself for being such a coward.

“Spencer?” The floor was covered in blood, brain splattered across the carpet, that undoubtedly cost more than his entire apartment. She looked up at him with big eyes. He could see the body of Rory Marshall, who had spent his last seconds in shock as the SWAT team had kicked down the door and taken him out, before he could pull the trigger. His head was empty as he rushed to her, taking her into his arms, holding on to her like his life depended on it. He felt her sob into his shoulder. It was so good to hear her voice. “I love you, I love you, I love you...” She whispered. He pulled back just a bit to look at her. “I love you too, I love you so much and I’m so sorry...I could’ve lost you without telling you.”

She let out a weak laugh. He buried his face in her neck. “I’ll never leave you ever again, I promise.” “I’ll never leave you too, promise.”

The hospital room was dimly lit. Spencer sat at (Y/n)’s bedside. He had laid his head in her lap and fallen asleep with her fingers tangled in his messy hair. She watched his chest rise and fall peacefully. After a while she fell asleep too.

A few days later (Y/n) was released and Spencer insisted to take her home. As they stepped into her apartment, Spencer remained at the door, unsure of what to do. (Y/n) turned around. “Don’t you want to come in?” “Do you want me to come in? I thought maybe you wanted some time to yourself...”

(Y/n) dumped her bag on the couch and walked back to him. He was a bit taller than her, so she had to stand on her tip toes to reach him. She pressed a small kiss to his lips. “I want you.” She said quiet but determined. Spencer let out a nervous laugh. “Maybe you should rest, you’re just tired.”

She grabbed his face. “Spencer, listen to me. I’ve had a whole week to rest. You don’t need to worry I’m not in the right state of mind to make a decision. I haven’t changed my mind about you.” She was so close, their lips almost touched. “If you want me to stop, I will...”

Spencer looked at her, feeling like he was in a dream. She kissed him and it was like his head was empty again. That didn’t happen very often to Spencer. There was always something, some thought, some doubt, eating away at him but when she took his bottom lip between her teeth, everything was gone. She took his hand leading him to the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of her bed, while she stood in front of him, taking her shirt of.

“Let me show you, how much I care about you.” She said, before straddling him. Spencer couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He had dreamed about this moment for so long, he was mesmerized by her. The signs of torture were still visible. He traced a few healed cuts with his thumb. He felt her shiver under his light touch. He looked up at her, meeting her half- lidded eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Are you nervous?” Spencer nodded. His fingertips kept wandering over her waist, caressing her soft skin. “You tend to have that effect on me.” (Y/n)’s smile grew. “I make you nervous?” Spencer nodded again. She raised her hand to run it through his hair. The slow strokes seemed to calm him down. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. He felt her hands travel down his face, his neck, to the collar of his shirt. “Can I take it off?” Spencer opened his eyes again. “Yes please.” He watched her fingers unbutton his shirt. She moved painfully slow. Undoubtedly as to not overwhelm him, but something told him it was more then that. She was teasing him, and it was working. He felt the tension grow.

(Y/n) slid the shirt over his arms, fingers tracing over his skin. She felt him getting goosebumps and a slight shiver making its way through his body. She brought her hands back to his face, lifting it to make him look at her. “Do you know, how beautiful you are?” She whispered before stealing a small kiss. “I could look at you for all eternity and never get bored.” “Beauty in things exists in the mind which contemplates them.” “So we’re quoting Hume now?” (Y/n) smiled. “God, I love you so much...” Spencer pulled her back into the kiss. One of his arms wrapped around her waist to pull her closer.

(Y/n) pulled away. “Aren’t you getting impatient?” She stood up to take of the rest of her clothes, but Spencer stopped her by putting his hand on her arm. He stood up, so (Y/n) had to look up again to look him in the eyes. “Let me...” His hands wandered over her waist to her back, unclasping her bra. For a moment she mused where he had learned to do that so well, but the thought was gone as fast as it came when her undergarment fell to the floor and she suddenly realized how bare she was in front of him. The urge to cover herself up never came though. Spencer looked at her like he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and truthfully, he hadn’t.

They got rid of the rest of their clothes before (Y/n) led Spencer to the bed. She waited a moment on the bedside. Spencer grabbed her arm, to pull her into the bed. She landed in his arms but before she could get comfortable, Spencer rolled over, trapping her underneath him. A grin spread on his face.

“You can’t tease me forever.” His locks fell into his face, framing it perfectly.

He dipped down, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. He didn’t want to waste another second. He had waited for so long and then he had almost lost her. His lips traveled to her jaw, down to her neck. A sigh escaped her mouth. “Spencer...” She whispered. He continued to pepper kisses down on her chest, over her stomach. She felt his lips graze the skin on her inner thigh. One kiss at a time he came closer to the place she was aching for him to touch.

(Y/n) buried her fingers in his hair, guiding him. When his tongue slid through her wet folds, she couldn’t hold back her moans anymore. Between the obscene sounds, that filled the bedroom, she repeated Spencer’s name over and over, like a mantra. He loved to hear his name fall from her desperate lips. Her breath was getting irregular, he could tell she was close. He pulled back, only to lift himself up, so he could kiss her. He knew she could taste herself on him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

After a while, (Y/n) broke the kiss to sit herself up. She crawled over the bed, guiding Spencer, until he sat on the edge and she was kneeling on the floor in front of him. She ran her hands up his thighs, never breaking eye contact. She could tell, he was holding his breath.

“Relax...” She placed a few kisses on his thighs before slowly taking him into her mouth. Spencer inhaled sharply. Now he was the one with his fingers tangled in her hair, lewd sounds and profanities leaving his mouth.

(Y/n) could feel him trying to hold back but he was struggling. Satisfied with the effect she had on him, she started to work her way up his abdomen until she reached his neck, sucking on it, careful not to leave marks above where the collar of his shirt would close. She seated herself on his lap. Her hands reached around his neck for support when she slid down on him. Both took in a sharp breath. Spencer’s eyes were closed and his mouth slightly agape when he let out a soft moan. That sound alone could have driven (Y/n) over the edge. She waited a second to adjust to the feeling of being filled up by Spencer.

“You feel so good...” Spencer whispered in the crook of her neck. He sank his teeth into her soft skin, sending shivers down her spine. “You too.” She managed to say between breathy moans. Spencer had started to move slowly. His hands were tightly gripping her thighs to guide her own movements.

“Oh god...” She moaned while dropping her head on his shoulder. Her nails dug into his back. “Spencer, I won’t last very long...” “It’s ok, baby...” His strokes were getting deeper. “Say my name again...” “S-spencer I –” She felt her orgasm build up.

“Again.” “Spenc-aah”

Spencer could feel her tighten around him. Her nails left bright red scratch marks on his back. She cried out his name again and while she was wrapped so tightly around him, he felt his own release.

(Y/n) and Spencer were both panting heavily, sweat covering their foreheads. They just stared at each other for a few seconds. “You’re amazing.” A smile spread on Spencer’s face. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Her cheeks were glowing red.

“I’m not the only one.” She smiled back.

After cleaning themselves up they laid back in the bed. (Y/n)’s head was resting on Spencer’s chest. He was playing with her hair while she drew small patterns on his stomach. “Was it how you had imagined?” Spencer asked. She raised her head to look at him. “Better.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I never imagined it could feel so right to be with someone.”

“Me neither.” He paused for a moment. “I love you so much, it’s driving me crazy.” (Y/n) propped herself up to get a better look at him. There was nothing but pure adoration in his eyes. “I love you too, I never want to spend another day without you.” “You don’t have to, I promise I’ll never leave your side.”

(Y/n) put her head back on Spencer’s chest. After a while she had fallen asleep. 

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.” - Aristotle

[haveihitanerve]

The comments were usual. Frequent even. Bruce bore them all with a smile, either acting like a bored teenager forced to attend the events he had planned, or blushing, sculpting the Brucie persona before he had even reached his twenties. 

“Oh Brucie!!!” They would twitter at him, women and men alike, pawing at his arms, his shoulders, chest, some even boldly reaching for his ass, snaking an arm around him, pulling him closer. “You look delicious baby.” They’d murmur, pur, coo over him. 

Alfred would get rightfully angry over the comments, when Bruce told him, but after the anger led to nothing, Bruce stopped coming home with the stories. He just went to bed, showering off all the handprints and touches. 

And then Dick came along.

“Bruuuuuuuuuce!” The nine year old whined, hissing the ending syllable like a snake. “I wanna gooooo!!!” Bruce chuckled lightly, fixing his cuffs in the mirror. 

“I highly doubt it chum.” He murmured, glancing over at his ward, seated on the foot of his bed. Dick pouted, the full package; lip out and arms crossed, and Bruce laughed, walking over to grab his tie and ruffle the boys hair. 

“Its a boring Gala, bud. Not too exciting.” Dick huffed, watching as Bruce expertly wound the tie around his neck, swinging the sides over and through. 

“Its a pARty!” He pointed out. “And I wanna go.” Bruce hummed to show he was listening, buttoning up the bottom two buttons of his suit, before letting his hands drop to his side. 

He sighed. “Do you want to wear a suit?” Dick’s eyes sparked up with excitement before he wrinkled his nose. 

“Do I hafta?” He complained. Bruce laughed, turning to face him. 

“Yes. Its a formal event. Suit, or you’re not coming.” The threat of a suit made the words take a moment to sink in, but once they did Dick rocketeded across the room, flying into Bruce’s arms. 

“For real???” He squealed, all excitement and little kid energy. “Hell yeah!” He bolted out the door to his own room before Bruce could so much as open his mouth to chide “language.” 

The car ride over was a new level of annoyance Bruce didn't know existed, as Dick bounced around in his seat, eagerly looking out the window for the first glimpse of his first “real adult party”. Still, he couldn't help but smile at Dick's unbridled joy.  

Hank, Bruce’s chauffeur, bore all of it with a smile, regaling Dick with stories of picking up Bruce when he was a teenager, and all the college hell, while Dick cackled and Bruce rolled his eyes. But, then again, Hank had his own three kids at home, and was marginally more used to the watts of energy than Bruce was. 

“Here ya are Mr. Wayne.” Hank finally cut off all of Dick’s peppering questions about Bruce’s college stories, a relief, as Hank was really getting into the bad stuff, or in Dicks mind, the good stuff, and Bruce hopped out, opening the door for his son. “Thank you!” Dick twittered as he leapt out, waving. 

Hank chuckled, dipping his hat. “Of course Mr. Wayne, hope you have a fun night.” Dick grinned back, and it surprised Bruce that he was so okay with hank calling him “Wayne.” But, then again, his boy and the driver seemed to have an easier relationship. Bruce certainly wasn't going to call him out. 

It did something to him, flooded his body with something heavy and warm, to hear Dick be called “Wayne”. Maybe a primal thing, an old animal instinct, the need to claim and own and have Dick. Dick was his son, maybe not by blood, but by… everything and anything Dick allowed him to have. 

“B!” Dick chirped, already a few feet up the steps, a frown on his face as he looked back. Bruce realized he’d been lost in thought at the side of the road. 

“Coming chum.” He agreed quickly, hurrying to his wards side before the entered. 

“Woah.” Dick breathed, the second they breached the door, and Bruce silently agreed. Gala’s weren’t fun for a plethora of reasons, but they were always beautiful. 

Almost immediately though, camera’s swarmed him, not only flashes of light but also of sickeningly white teeth, too wide mouths, pale skin pawing for his attention. 

“Brucie, darling!!!” One man twittered, and they successfully separated them, dragging Bruce over to one gaggle of rich twats while a few others circled Dick. Dick seemed to be taking it remarkably well, nodding politely and smiling, shaking hands, but his eyes darted to Bruce every few seconds, questions in his eyes. 

“Excuse me-” Bruce brushed past his virus of people and forced his way beside Dick, kneeling so he was at eye level.

“Everything alright?” he murmured quietly, tucking Dick into his space, warding off others. He almost wanted to say “i told you so” but figured it’d only do more harm than good. Pointing it out when Dick was clearly overwhelmed would not be helpful, or nice in any capacity. 

Dick nodded, shoulders imperceptibly dropping in relief as he allowed himself to be caged by Bruce’s body. “Y-yeah. Fine. Better now.” Bruce let the unspoken words hang between them, “-that you’re here”, and nodded instead, standing. 

“Stay close.” he flicked his fingers and Dick obediently stepped closer, pushing into Bruce’s space with hardly a thought.

And, Bruce realized quietly, he didn't mind either. Having people in his space… touch had never been his thing, after his parents death. Especially not when that touch came from unsympathetic elites after his parents money. But with Dick… it was, easier. Nice. 

The rest of the night went by a little better, and Dick even stepped away a few feet, always close by, but straying enough that he wasn't hiding behind Bruce’s legs. In his shadow. It was then that it happened. 

“Oh aren’t you just beautiful.” The words came from Mrs. Braught, a well known widow with enough wealth to compete with the Drakes, if not Waynes. She was… known for her affinity to younger men, boys, really, and Bruce had only managed to not make the cut because he had known, as a boy, and avoided her, and wasn’t as “appealing” to her, due to his depression. 

Dick stiffened slightly at the words, but still offered her a smile, polite, as always. The reaction made Bruce relax marginally. He was okay, he was handling it, just like Bruce had. 

But… but Dick’s smile was strained, his shoulders inching near his ears, and there was a definite tilt to him, a lean away from Braught that was easy to miss. But not to Bruce. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Bruce was at his wards side- no, in front of him, shoving Dick behind his legs. Dick stumbled, lightly, at the sudden push, but quickly straightened, grabbing the back of Bruce’s coat. The trembling Bruce could feel through the fabric was enough to make him see red. 

The Brucie persona was gone, slipping off without a singe thought, fast enough that Bruce wondered for a fraction of a second if it had even been on when he had entered the Gala, and Bruce realized it wasn't just Dick’s hand trembling, but Bruce’s whole body. 

His fists curled, hard enough that his knuckles turned white, jaw clenched to the point where his teeth squeaked, entire body quivering with rage. 

Mrs. Braught glanced up, surprised, almost caught off guard even, as she realized Brucie Wayne wasn't there for a pleasant hello, but Bruce was there, a man- no, a father, furious at what was being said about his son. 

Bruce could hear, faintly, as though through water, people beginning to whisper, eyes wide as the elites gathered around, no one bold enough to step in, and no one truly believing Brucie would do anything. 

Bruce didn't care. Dick was his, and he would not allow the traumas of the past to repeat, though he had failed to stop him from being orphaned. No more. He vowed, hands fisting at his sides. He had failed Dick in the one, true way that mattered, keeping his family, but he would not fail him any other way. Not in the ways Bruce was failed. 

His hand began to move back on its own accord, when a tiny, stubborn hand caught it, grabbed his wrist. Bruce looked down in surprise to find Dick staring up him solemnly, shaking his head.

Before Bruce could say something, another woman, another widow Bruce recognized as Mrs. Kershaw, stepped forward, fire bright in her weathered eyes. 

“You go on and git out of here Gertrude, before I tar your hide.” She hissed, and Bruce recalled how her own daughter had been raped and murdered when she had been barely thirteen. Gertrude knew it too, and backed away, scurrying for the exit. Mrs. Kershaw made sure she left, eyes kind when she glanced at Bruce, a subtle nod of solidarity her only acknowledgement. 

Dick tugged on his hand, but Bruce ignored him, sending a viscous glare at anyone who dared step too close. 

“Dad.” Dicks voice was soft, so soft, but proud too, grateful. That finally dragged Bruce from his never ending anger, and he looked down. Down at those wide blue eyes, that head of messy black curls.

“Come on Dad.” Dick whispered quietly, eyes darting around nervously at all the people, the cameras, but always going back to Bruce. Meeting his eyes. 

Bruce bent down and scooped his son into his arms, uncaring of who saw, who cared. He blocked his son off from the world, heading for the exit, one of the waitstaff, Aisha, nodding at him to inform him Hank had been called. 

“Thanks Dad.” Dick murmured, face buried against Bruce’s neck, and Bruce’s arms tightened around him, heading out into the streets of Gotham with his son cradled to his chest. 

“I’ll always protect you chum.” He swore, and something in his heart lightened at the Justice he was doing for his son, but also for his younger self. “I will always protect you.” 

thanks to @frownyalfred and @astorianyxkings for the idea!

[concreteburialplot]

Friendsgiving

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

Masterlist: Here | Crossposted: ao3 | Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: You and your best friends decide to have Friendsgiving in their parent’s lake cabin. When one friend embarrassingly reveals a secret you’ve been keeping, Jake offers to help :)

Warnings; alcohol, weed, college au, porn w a little plot, virginity loss, oral (m & f receiving), sexual activities outdoors, unprotected sex, creampie, kinda cliché, kinda fluffy, reader has a nickname, 18+ MDNI

A/N; my first jake fic and first ever thanksgiving fic, hope you enjoy 🩷

Every year your best friend Josh would gather you and his brothers, along with any close friends or partners for a Thanksgiving bonfire. It had begun as a rebellious excuse to swipe some booze, get drunk, and escape suffocating family obligations. But by this third year in college, Josh and his brothers had finally convinced their family to let them host Friendsgiving at the family cabin. You were of course grateful for this tradition, especially since your family was…not your favorite to be around – but the night and the beer were slowly catching up to you, starting to fill your limbs with a slight numbing feeling. True to form, Josh was determined to wring every last drop of energy from the night, his boisterous voice and endless antics keeping the group alive.

The once eventful night dulled down into another Friendsgiving tradition Josh had concocted. This entailed gathering everyone – usually at their drunkest –  to share one thing you were grateful for and one thing you want to let go of. What started as a cheesy joke had somehow evolved into a yearly ritual, with Josh waxing poetry about offering up your ambitions to the gods or some equally absurd sentiment.

Warmth snaked up your arms as you watched the bonfire flames flicker and sway, their hypnotic dance casting fleeting shadows across your face. Your eyes drifted over to your other best friend and Josh’s twin, Jake. He wore a flannel that was your exact favorite shade of red over some black band tee, paired with a dark multicolored knitted beanie. The edges of your lips curled into a subtle smile at the way the beanie was so lopsided on his head.

His attention was fixed on the acoustic guitar resting in his lap as his fingers idly plucked out a Fleetwood Mac tune. The gentle strumming mingled with the crackling fire, until a sharp pop from the flames broke the rhythm. Jake’s head lifted, his eyes moving to the burning flame before shifting to meet yours which were already on him.

The small grin that spread across his face made your cheeks flush with heat, an involuntary response that you desperately hoped could be blamed on the chilly air. You quickly looked away, silently thankful that the cold had already painted your cheeks rosy.

“Your turn, Y/N.” You heard a nasaly voice call from across the circle around the fire. Your gaze landed on the dark-haired girl perched comfortably on your friend Danny’s lap. Lorna. She was a coworker from the on-campus pizza shop where you both worked, and unfortunately for you, the girl Danny had decided to fall for.

Lorna was, without a doubt, one of the most irritating people you’d ever met. Still, spending so much time together at work had somehow turned her into one of your closest female friends since you only really had the boys. To her credit, she’d mellowed out a bit over time—just enough to make her tolerable. Tonight, however, the slur in her voice and the glazed look in her eyes made it clear she was far past her limit.

You sighed because you’d been dreading this question all night, you had a list of things to be thankful for but you couldn’t think of a single thing to let go of and you knew Josh wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Uh, well.” You cleared your throat. “I’m thankful for this fantastic cabin.” Your arm flung outward towards the house behind you. “And I’m thankful for surviving midterms.”

“…And?” Josh predictably pressed.

“Oh, I don’t really have anything to let go of this year.” You chuckled nervously waving the notion away.

“Oh, come on, Star, if I have to answer, so do you,” Sam, the youngest brother, protested from beside Danny, using your nickname as he lazily held a thick blunt between his fingers.

“Yeah, there’s gotta be something you wanna get rid of.” Josh pushed.

Your eyes bounced across everyone surrounding the bonfire, each one with urging faces casted in a fiery glow. It was almost overwhelming, daunting – suffocating. Suddenly, you felt backed into a corner you never wanted to be in. It wasn’t the simple question that intimidated you, it was the answer. One you didn’t want to share, at least not truthfully.

But with the alcohol buzzing in your veins and the unspoken demand hanging thick in the air, you finally caved. “Okay, fine,” you exhaled, the words carrying a mix of resignation and defiance. “I want to get rid of… something. Something very personal.” You deliberately stopped short, letting the finality of your tone tell them that was all they were getting.

At least, that was your plan—until a drunken cackle erupted from your left.

“Ha!” Lorna slurred, her laughter loud and unabashed. “Your virginity!”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at her drunken outburst, your cheeks blazing hot as the embarrassment spread down to the tips of your fingers. The heat intensified when you caught Jake’s gaze out of the corner of your eye, his attention fixed squarely on you. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but the suffocating silence that had fallen over the group—save for Lorna absentmindedly cackling.

One late night after work, over a few too many drinks, Lorna had somehow pried your biggest secret out of you. Well, second biggest secret. You just never imagined she’d announce it in front of your closest friends. Your silence was also telling, confirming what she said was true.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Josh spoke up, “Oh, sex is overrated anyway! Jake your next.” He announced swiftly.

It was clear he was trying to help, to move past the awkwardness of the moment, but your throat felt constricted, like it was lined with barbed wire, and your eyes stung with the threat of tears. Before Jake could respond to Josh, you shot to your feet, the sudden movement making your heart race. “I have to go.”

Without waiting for a reaction, you weaved your way out of the circle, your steps quick and unsteady as you headed in the opposite direction, away from the back porch.

Jake’s frustrated scoff reached your ears as you walked, and when you glanced back, you saw him glaring at Lorna and Danny. With a sharp exhale, he gently set his guitar aside before rising from his chair to follow.

But you didn’t care. You couldn’t. The emotions swirled inside you—embarrassment, frustration, confusion—but all you could do was keep walking, heading toward the dark expanse of the forest that bordered the icy lake. Only as you neared the trees did it hit you how pointless it was to walk deeper into the cold, how ridiculous it would look if you turned back now. But the thought of being alone, even in the freezing silence of the woods, felt like the only thing that made sense. And that’s all you wanted right now, to be alone.

“Star!” Jake’s voice called after you, and you nearly flinched at the sound of it. He was the last person you wanted to talk to after everything that had just happened.

“Leave me alone, Jake. I’m fine,” you croaked, but the weakness in your voice betrayed you, revealing just how vulnerable you were.

“You’re obviously not fine,” he shot back, his footsteps persistent as he followed you toward the tree line.

“Just go back! Go have fun,” you snapped, swiping at a tear that had slipped down your cheek as you quickened your pace, weaving around a nearby tree.

"I’m not going to have fun while you’re out here, lost in the forest." His voice softened, but you could hear the frustration beneath it. "Just come back with me." He kept pace with you, effortlessly moving through the trees as you tried to dodge him.

"Just leave me alone!"

"You can’t outrun me." His tone shifted, and in the next breath, he was right behind you, his presence a quiet force that made you stop in your tracks. "Just talk to me."

You rolled your eyes at his persistence. “There’s nothing to talk about, Jake.”

“C’mon, just head back with me. Everyone’s drunk no one will remember.” He rationalized.

But you’ll remember – you wanted to say.

If you had stayed calm, he’d probably be right, but you had to go and cause a whole scene. You were sure that everyone, especially Jake, would remember now.

“It’s not like it’s even true.” He continued, confidently.

You glanced up at his words, immediately regretting it as your eyes met his, even if only for a fleeting moment. You could’ve just gone with that, you could’ve lied, you could’ve brushed it off – if you hadn’t looked at him. He always had a talent for seeing right through your bullshit.

His brows and eyes softened at the realization, “…Is it true?”

You groaned, dropping your arms to your sides. Whenever strong emotions hit you, pacing was your automatic response, so that’s exactly what you did. The weight of the alcohol from the night crashed over you like a tidal wave, and suddenly, it was like a dam inside you broke wide open. Your secret was out and as humiliating as it was, it was also oddly freeing.

“Well, it’s not like I’m some prude,” you blurted out, your words tumbling out faster than you could think as you paced, the crunch of leaves beneath your sneakers punctuating each step. You turned to face him, your arms thrown wide. “It’s not like I don’t want to do those things, you know?”

“…Sure?” He responded slowly, his gaze following you with a mix of uncertainty and caution.

“I’m 22 years old of course I want to fuck!” You exclaimed and if you had been sober, you’d be mortified. “I mean I watch porn but that’s not enough. A little blue bullet and my fingers are not enough!”

Jake brown eyes widened at your confession, not just because it was jarring but because it was stirring thoughts in his head that he usually tried to fight around you.

“And for god sakes, I want to suck dick!” You threw your arms out as if you just told him something as casual as craving a slushee.

His eyebrows lifted at your statement. The visual of it alone was enough to cause a slight tightening in his pants.

“I chose that to get rid of because I just want to get it over with!” You nearly spat. It felt so liberating to get it all out in the open, to finally spill the feelings you’d been hoarding in your lonely heart.

When you met his eyes, the air between you was unexpectedly different.

“And what’s stopped you?” He asked smoothly, his voice now like velvet.

“I- uh,” Suddenly, you were flustered, and your cheeks blushed. “I-I don’t know.” Your shoulders lifted to a shrug. “I was never comfortable enough with anyone… I guess.”

He took a step towards you to which you mirrored with a step back, landing right into a tree. “Are you comfortable with me?”

Your eyes rounded at his question, “What do you mean?” Because of course, he couldn’t possibly be insinuating what you thought he was.

“Answer the question.” He replied firmly as he stepped closer. It made your tummy flutter because you’d never heard him speak like that.

“Um, yes?”

Jake knew he was walking a thin line; he shouldn’t be using this for selfish reasons. But if it was for the sake of helping you, he could set aside the way he felt about you for the moment. He was sure that if you agreed, it would be purely a transactional favor and nothing more. That it wouldn’t mean anything to you. He tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t mean anything to him either.

But, after he heard all the firsts you were missing, he was determined to be the one to provide them for you. He thought, if he couldn’t make you love him, he at least knew he’d be able to give you an experience you wouldn’t forget. Maybe he’d give you something to return to, something to think about all alone, with your hand between your legs. That thought alone was enough to satisfy something somewhere in him. If he couldn’t have all of you, at least this way he could claim one part—his choice.

“Then let me help you.” He offered simply, like he was asking to help you sweep.

“Help me what?” You questioned with furrowed brows.

“Lose your virginity.” He stepped closer until he was right in front of you, his cold breath billowing out between you both.

You blinked up at him dumbfounded as a silent war waged inside you. On one hand, you’d absolutely die at the chance of having him in that way. You’d be lying to yourself if you said there wasn’t some locked away part of your heart that always wished it would be him. Maybe you’d accidentally been waiting for him this whole time, with the hope that he’d fall in love with you somewhere along the way. But on the other hand, you were petrified of being that vulnerable with him. It’s not like he’d ever shown any interest in you before, who knew if he even found you attractive. Maybe this was just some cruel pity favor.

“I-I,” you began weakly before squaring your shoulders defiantly. “I don’t want to be some sort of charity project.”

“Does it look like I just whip out my dick for charities?” He half joked.

The comment made you giggle first before warming your cheeks at the reality of the agreement you were about to make. “No.” You shook your head at the hypothetical question.

The air between you thickened, charged with tension as your eyes locked in a silent stalemate, each of you waiting to see who would make the first move.

“You wanna suck dick?” The cashmere quality of his voice made the question sound like the most casually appealing thing in the world.

After a moment, without allowing yourself too much time to think about it, you replied, “Yes.”

“Then get on your knees.” He ordered and the authoritativeness in his tone settled a buzzing in your core.

“What? Now? Here?” You nearly shrieked. “It’s freezing cold, Jake! We’re in a forest!”

His face was stoic in a way that was almost infuriating. He was the most unbothered you’d ever seen him.

“Our friends are right there!” you protested, pointing toward the trees, though your words were just a delay tactic. With the distance and the cover of the trees between you, you knew they wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

“Do you want to suck my cock or not?”

His verbiage made your eyes nearly pop out of your head and it only worsened the wetness pooling in your panties. Wordlessly, you slowly sunk to your knees in front of him. You were silently grateful that it hadn’t snowed that day.

“I do.” You whispered, looking up at him beneath your lashes. He looked beautiful from this angle, chiseled and radiant.

“Okay then. Stop fighting me.” His voice dipping back into the Jake you’ve always known. “If you want to stop at any point, tell me, okay?” When you were a bit too overwhelmed to reply, his hand softly found your jaw to tilt it up at him. “You promise to tell me? If you can’t say anything just pat my leg, okay?”

You nodded.

“Nuh-uh, I need to hear it.” He shook his head but kept his gentle grip on your face.

“Yes.”

He leaned down to hover just above your face, “And, if something feels good, I want to hear that too.” He whispered with his eyes intently on yours before straightening back up.

You nodded again but quickly corrected yourself, “Yes.”

It was almost embarrassing how quickly you were learning to bend to him.

“Good.”

His fingers slowly began to undo his belt buckle and you were ashamed of how much your mouth was already watering. You watched his digits as they diligently worked on getting his zipper down and unfolding each side of his jeans enough. You could tell he was planning on just keeping them just below his hips, but you decided to take executive action and tug them all the way down.

“Eager, are we?” He flashed a deadly smirk that made your chest clench.

“Maybe.” You replied honestly.

“You’ve never given head before?”

You shook your head in response.

“Give me your hands.” He held out his palms to take yours in.

You complied and he took over your hands, moving them for you. He brought them to the band of his black boxer briefs and hooked your fingers into it to pull them down. Your eyes widened when his half-erection sprung from the underwear. While it wasn’t fully hard yet, it was already bigger than what you expected.

He held one of your hands palm-up in order to lean down and spit into it before bringing it to his shaft. His own hand guided yours to grip it to his desire. Your eyes met his as he began moving your hand up and down gently. Below your fingertips you could feel him hardening by the second, his veins beginning to bulge and his tip starting to swell.

You watched as his chest tightened with every movement of your hand. Once he saw that you got the hang of it, he left your hands. You continued the momentum he’d began, even pulling off to spit again to relubricate. You watched it pulse in your hand, and it made you feel powerful. He could pretend he was in charge all he wanted but when it bounced in your palm, you knew that you were the one really in control. In the obscenest way, you’d even consider it beautiful – how perfectly it was shaped and how it was duo-toned, darker pink towards the tip and paler at the base. It also had the most perfect slight curve up to it that made you wonder how that’d feel inside.

You snapped out of your daze and pumped him in your fist a couple more times before sinking it down to the base, holding it in place. You leaned forward and placed a gentle lick at his tip, causing it to bounce on your tongue and it made you smile wide. You did that to him.

When you finally placed his tip into your mouth, it nearly filled it entirely. But you persisted and slowly took him into your mouth. As you sunk down on him, he let out a low groan from the pit of his stomach. You found that to make you feel the most powerful of all. It only made you want to keep making him sound like that.

You took as much of him as you could and used your hand to stroke the part you couldn’t reach.

Unexpectedly, you felt his fingers rake through your hair, moving it away from your face. You gazed up with your mouth full of him and he looked almost drunk on you.

“Fuck,” He breathed out. “Keep looking at me like that and I won’t last much longer.”

The statement made your heart swell, even though it might’ve just been him lost in lust, the idea of him being that turned on by you made this questionable decision worth it.

You could tell that his words were true by the way his cock was twitching in your mouth. Taking it as a sign, you quickened your speed and began to let his tip land into the back of your throat. The groans that this elicited from him were heavenly and you didn’t want to stop.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groaned, watching you with an intensity that made your skin burn. “Stop if you don’t want me to cum in your mouth.”

You decided in the moment that this was in fact the experience you asked for and you wanted the whole thing, authentically. So, you just blinked up at him, signaling that stopping wasn’t an option.

“Fuck.” He dragged out the word, letting his head fall backwards with his jaw slung open.

Not long after that, his fingers tightened in your hair and his milky release spilled into the back of your throat.

You pulled away with wide eyes up at him, he looked so fucked out with half lidded eyes. “My god.”

You winced, bracing for harsh criticism. “Oh god, was it bad?”

“Bad?!” He exclaimed. “I can’t believe that was your first time. That might’ve been the best I’ve ever had.”

The grin that pulled on your face was wide with overbearing pride. “Really?”

He leaned down and grasped your cheek the way he did before, “Yeah. You did so good.”

Out of everything you’d experienced thus far tonight, that was undoubtedly the best one yet. It filled you with a feeling like you’d do absolutely anything to hear him say that again.

Once readjusted and tucked back into his pants, he held out a hand. You took the offer and let him help you to your feet and kept you steady when you were a bit wobbly on your stiff legs. You both laughed at the interaction, feeling like normal you and Jake. It was odd to feel that way while just having him in your mouth.

Once steadied, he asked you a question that made your knees weak all over again. “Have you ever been eaten out?”

The air vacated from your lungs and by the smirk growing on his face, you took that he knew the answer already and just wanted to see you riled up.

“You’re really cute when you’re flustered.” He admitted.

Rosy pink bloomed on your cheeks, and you were exceedingly grateful for the mostly darkness surrounding you, save for the glow from the bonfire. “Shut up.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice was smooth as butter again. “Has anyone ever eaten your pussy?”

The blatant wording made your clit begin to pulse. That wasn’t something you even expected would be on the table and now that it was, it was all you could think about. You shook your head with bright red cheeks.

“Nuh-uh.” His fingers went up to hold your chin in place. “I told you I need to hear it. But since you don’t want to listen, now I really want you to use your words.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me you’ve never been eaten out before.”

Feeling a bit emboldened with a mischievous nature, you decided to one up him. “No, but I want you to eat my pussy.”  

By the way his eyes rounded it was obvious he wasn’t expecting that answer. You took it a step further. “I want you to eat my pussy and I want you inside me.”

His eyes raised a bit at your bluntness but ultimately nodded, “Okay. That can definitely be arranged.”

“Okay.” A bit of shyness began to fill your limbs like sand. A brief awkwardness fueled the air between you at the realization of what just happened and what you just said. It was a small window of clarity into what you were doing and while a part of you was ashamed, another part was on fire. You saw yourself through the glass and realized that you’d never felt more alive.

The glow from the bonfire that had once bathed the forest in warm light began to fade. You both peeked through the trees, watching as the group slowly began to douse the flames, signaling the end of the night.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” he whispered, his voice low even though there was no chance anyone else could hear him. “It looks like they’re leaving the outdoor lights on for us, so we’ll wait until they all head inside and get settled in their rooms. Then, we’ll sneak in and go straight to mine, alright?”

“Okay,” you whispered back, a nervous excitement curling in your stomach.

Once the fire was completely out and the last of the group made their way indoors, Jake slipped his hand into yours, guiding you through the trees. You stifled a laugh when he stumbled over a branch, the sound of his quick, “Shut up,” making you giggle even more. Halfway through your journey is when you realized your hands were tied and it made your heart flutter.

In that moment, you felt like a teenager again—sneaking back into your house, adrenaline racing through your veins as if you were getting away with something you weren’t supposed to. The excitement, the secrecy—it was almost intoxicating.

The path to Jake’s room felt like something out of a late-night adventure, every step echoing too loudly in the stillness of the house. Once inside his room, you pressed your body against the door to shut it quietly, the tension of your movements almost comical. As soon as it clicked into place, both of you burst into laughter, doing your best to stifle the sound so the others wouldn’t hear.

Everything felt so ridiculous—sneaking around like this, hiding something that, in the grand scheme of things, felt so absurdly trivial. That this was all about him helping you lose your virginity, of all things, made it even more surreal.

The giggles faded the second your eyes met. Before you could overthink anything, he took your face in his hands and pulled you into a kiss. As cliché as it was, it felt magical, like sparkles spiraling themselves around you. It was everything you’d ever dreamed it’d be. He felt amazing against your numbing lips.

He pulled away just enough to catch your eyes again. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked earnestly.

“Yes. Definitely yes.” You confirmed. While you were still drunk you knew you would never have the courage to do this sober. There was no way you’d regret the courage the alcohol was supplying you.

His eyes darted across your face and his thumb swiped across your bottom lip. “And this is okay?”

“Absolutely.” You breathed out as he leaned back in to meet your lips again.

The kiss quickly deepened, entwining your tongues in a heated dance. Your hands immediately found his flannel, nearly tearing it off of him. He helped you by flinging it off his arms to the ground without parting from you, but your hands were already trying to pry his shirt off.

He parted from you with a devious smile as he tugged the band tee over his head. “God, you’re impatient.” He chuckled and used his finger to tilt your chin up so he could kiss you. “Can I take something off you?”

Pink tinted your cheeks at the question. “Sure.” You shrugged. “I won’t be nearly as impressive as you.”

He scoffed at your words, “You’re fucking insane if you think that.” His fingers found the hem of your hoodie indicating that he wanted it off.

Your eyes widened when you remembered just how little you actually had on. “I um, I’m not wearing a shirt….or a bra.”

His eyes flickered up to yours, “You’ve been braless all night?”

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip and nodded.

“Fuck that’s hot.” He muttered and paused before beginning to lift the hoodie over your head. Your nipples pebbled the second the cold air hit them. You thought you’d be significantly more self-conscious about them but by the way he was looking at you as if you were a full course meal, you felt almost confident.

His hands slid down your bare sides, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind. “God, I need to taste you, like,” he swiftly guided you towards the bed. “Like right now.”

You took that as a sign to sit down where he set you. He softly guided you into a more proper position, laying you down flat with your legs dangling off the bed. His lips found your neck and you thought you might even be able to cum just from the way he nipped and sucked at your skin. Your hand tangled into his long hair, tipping his beanie off his head and you tossed it to the ground. “Jake.” You breathed out in an attempt to get his attention. “Jake.” You repeated, more sternly this time. “Jake you can’t leave a mark on me.” Your voice came out shakey and quiet.

“And why not?” He countered, popping his head back up.

“You know why.” You sighed. “They’ll know.”

A smirk tugged at one edge of his lips, “So? I don’t care if they know.”

“Jakey it’s embarrassing!” You squealed.

“Okay okay.” He relented with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss below your ear. “I’ll just give you ones they can’t see.”

He trailed down your skin, smirking into each small kiss knowing how flustered he was making you. His lips landed on your breast and did something you didn’t expect – he took your nipple into his mouth and began to lick at it. “Oh.” Your eyes widened at the sensation. Between this and the work he’d left on your neck, your panties were soaked with anticipation. Your hand curled in his hair as his hand found your other breast and began to knead the flesh in his fingers. The feeling of it all was foreign but incredibly delightful.

He pulled off your nipple with a pop and with eyes so full of lust, “I’m going to eat your pussy now.” He informed you. He pressed open mouth kisses down your torso, taking extra time to suck marks into your hipbones.

Finally, he sunk to his knees in front of you and helped you out of your leggings until you were finally completely bare to him.

His eyes were fixated on your core like he was in a trance. “Can I touch you?”

“Have you not been touching me this whole time?” You asked rhetorically, propping yourself on your elbows.

“Just making sure.” He pressed a kiss to your thigh without his eyes leaving your cunt. Slowly, he made his way up your thigh until he was pulling you to the very edge with both arms. His fingers experimentally spread you open. “Fuck. You’re so fucking wet.”

Your cheeks heated red hot at the comment. “Shut u-” you went silent when you felt his tongue meet your cunt. It began at your entrance and moved its way up to your aching bud, lapping up all your wetness. “Oh.” You all but moaned.

His tongue expertly began rolling against your clit in a soft rhythm. It was by far the most pleasurable thing you’d ever felt. If you had been sober, you would’ve been so caught up in your head about so many things, but drunk you was only concerned about feeling good.

You let out a moan when he started making ‘S’ patterns against your buzzing clit. The sound made him buffer and let out a moan against you in return. The vibrations of his groan nudged you towards your edge. It was a little embarrassing how quickly he was able to get you there. Your hand plunged into his hair, grabbing hold of it. “Jake, I think- oh, oh.”

He did a small nod against you, indicating that he understood. His hand gave your thigh a small squeeze urging you on. His speed increased marginally, just enough to tip you over. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Your volume increased which made you grab a pillow to expel your noises into. Your thighs clamped around his head as you felt yourself let go. Electricity sparked across your entire body, filling it with a feeling you’ve only ever felt alone. It was a vastly different experience climaxing by the hand of another person. You never wanted the moment to end but you soon felt yourself returning back to earth.

Jake tapered off of you slowly then made his way up to your face. He gently took the pillow from your grasp, revealing his smiling face. Rosy pink tinted your cheeks at the sight of his face covered in your slick. He smiled as if he’d just won some competition. “You tasted fucking delicious, I could eat you all fucking day.”

You could’ve playfully hit his arm and told him to shut up but your fucked out brain only had one thing in mind. Your hands scrambled to his belt buckle beginning to undo it. Your glossy eyes looked up at his surprised ones. “I need your cock.”

“Okay, okay, slow down.” He chuckled at your hasty actions. His hands found yours to slow them. “There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You nodded bashfully. “Okay.”

He allowed you to continue on your plight of stripping him from his belt, hissing it through the loops of his pants, then tossing it to the floor. “Should I get a condom?”

“You have a condom?”

He shrugged, “I keep one in my wallet.”

You mulled it over, it was probably the smart thing to do, but you wanted the full experience. You shook your head, “Don’t need it. I’m on birth control.”

“Okay.” He confirmed, slowly peeling himself out of his dark skinny jeans. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the sight of him this way. The least you’d ever seen him in were swim trunks and this was about to be so much better than that. He slowly pulled his boxer briefs down past his hips, letting his length spring free. Compared to in the forest, this time he was hard enough for it to smack his lower tummy. It was even better in the light instead of the faintly lit wilderness. You figured this would be a one-time thing between the two of you, but the thought of never having this again with him was almost excruciating. Thoughts of what tomorrow would look like for both of you began to creep in, but you quickly shelved them. That was a problem for tomorrow-you, right now-you was about to lose your virginity to the boy you’d been in love with since 5th grade. He may not love you back but in this moment you didn’t care. Tonight would forever live as an anomaly in your heart.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt him brush his tip between your folds. “This might hurt.” He warned. “I’ll go slow but if you need me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

You took a deep inhale and nodded. Carefully, he aligned himself with your entrance and pushed his head in. He was right, it did hurt, more than you had anticipated. It didn’t help that he was quite large, definitely larger than average. “Breathe for me, okay?” His hand soothed your hip, giving it a little squeeze.

You blinked the burning from your eyes and took a deep inhale as he continued to push into you. It felt what you imagined what being torn in half would be like, your body being ripped apart from your most sensitive part.

“How does that feel?” He asked curiously, seeing the wince on your face.

“Painful.” You exhaled, “Full.”

“Oh,” His voice was both cautious yet smug. “I’m nowhere near done filling you up.”

Your eyes widened at his statement and while it was terrifying it was also thrilling. You could feel the flesh of your walls part for him, you felt all of him in great detail. He finally bottomed out, careful to not jam himself into your cervix.

Blinking at the ceiling, you processed everything you were experiencing. You took a mental picture of the moment, even though it was incredibly uncomfortable, it was exactly what you’d asked for. It was a moment you’d remember for the rest of your life. You’d forever compare any sexual experience to this moment. You were suddenly grateful for the events of the night – while they had been exceptionally humiliating, it led you straight to this. You didn’t lose your virginity to a random boy; you lost it to your best friend. You lost it to Jake. You gave it to Jake.

His gentle hand on your side grounded you, “You okay?” He asked softly.

You smiled genuinely at him, “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” He mirrored your authentic grin. “I’m gonna move now, okay?”

You nodded and laid your head back down. His hips began to slide in and out of you incredibly slow, just to let you get comfortable with the sensation. After the 3rd or 4th thrust, the burn started to feel good. Then as he sped up marginally, it started to feel really good.

“Oh.” You said absentmindedly, letting your thought spill from your lips.

He smirked and ran his hand up your thigh. “That feel good baby?”

Baby?

You weren’t about to dissect that now.

“Uh-huh.” You breathed out, leaving your focus from the ceiling to meet his face. “Feels really good.”

“Good, good.” He softly lifted your knee up and placed a chaste kiss there. “Now, you told me you watch porn?” He asked and it shocked you right back into reality.

“…Yeah?”

“So, you touch yourself while you watch?”

Your eyes widened, though you shouldn’t be embarrassed, you offered that information up to him. “Yeah?”

His hand went up and tenderly picked up your hand, bringing it to your center. “Show me.”

You blinked at him, that being the last thing you ever expected him to say. He picked up on your hesitation and clarified further. “It’ll help. It’ll make it better.”

While you knew it was the truth, being in the spotlight was little intimidating. But you did as he asked and began using two fingers to roll circles into your clit, just like you did alone. And he was right, suddenly everything intensified and became significantly more pleasurable. The sensation made you wetter which eased the process of him fucking you.

He intently watched your hand work on yourself, “Fuck.”

The moment quickly moved into a more comfortable yet heated rhythm. It was clear that once he knew you were feeling good, that he let himself get lost in you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned and you remembered just how heavenly the sound was.

You felt a knot begin to form in your lower belly and you knew you were close already. With the way his brows were curved up and his head thrown back, you could tell he was near his end too.

“Jake, I’m close.” You informed quietly, barely hanging on.

“Me too, baby.”

There it was again – baby – perhaps he just let it slip, maybe he called everyone baby during sex. Either way, you couldn’t help the way it made your heart swell in your chest.

You closed your eyes and focused on the feeling growing beneath your fingertips. You’d never came with something inside you before and it made you a little nervous to find out what it would feel like.

“C’mon baby, cum all over my cock, will you?” His voice smooth and caring which was in vast contrast to how he was drilling into you and the words he was saying. But it was enough to cause the knot in your belly to snap.

White hot euphoria washed over you, filling your entire body with static buzzing that felt immaculate. The feeling of his cock filling you up while you pulsed around him was one of the best things you’d ever felt. You weren’t sure how you’d ever be able to live without him filling you up completely.

Shortly after, you felt him throb and twitch inside you, filling you with a warmth you’d never felt before. It was vaguely comforting and satisfying.

He stayed like that for a moment, letting you both come down slowly. When he pulled from you, he left you with an emptiness like never before. You didn’t feel whole anymore without him inside you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Let me clean you up.”

You nodded weakly, feeling exhausted.

He rummaged around and found a towel he was planning to use for a morning shower. In the gentlest manner, he spread your legs open but hesitated before bringing the towel to your core.

“Something wrong?” You lifted up on your elbows.

A shy smirk graced his lips and shook his head. “Just, you look so good being so full of me.”

Peach coated your cheeks at his statement, but you were too overwhelmed to respond.

He carefully used the towel to wipe you clean as best he could before cleaning himself off and tossing it aside. You watched him go into his suitcase and pull out a shirt and sleep pants. When he handed them to you, you blinked in surprise, your cheeks warming at the unexpected gesture. “Thanks,” you murmured, clutching the clothes to your chest. He nodded, already pulling out his own sleepwear to change.

The two of you changed in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier replaced by something softer, more intimate. Selfishly, you didn’t want the moment to end, so you lingered. Settling onto the corner of the bed where the walls met, you wrapped your arms around your knees, sitting quietly, almost shyly.

As if he had expected you to stay, Jake climbed into the bed and slid over to your corner. Without a word, he opened his arms in invitation. The unspoken warmth in his gesture made your heart ache, and you didn’t hesitate to lean into him. Nestling yourself into his chest beneath the covers, you let his body’s warmth melt away the night’s leftover tension.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence between you comfortable and steady. Then, his voice broke the stillness, soft but filled with something vulnerable. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You tilted your head up, furrowing your brows in confusion. “Fuck me?”

His laugh was quiet but genuine. “Kiss you,” he corrected, though his lips curled into a teasing smirk. “And, well... yeah, that too.”

Your stomach flipped and your gaze narrowed slightly as you studied his expression, wondering if this was some sort of twisted prank. “You wanted to kiss me?”

Now it was his turn to blush. His cheeks tinted a faint pink as he nodded. “Yeah. For a long time.”

You stared at him, still trying to make sense of it. “I’ve wanted to kiss you,” you admitted, though your voice was soft and hesitant, the words feeling like a secret you weren’t sure you should share.

His eyebrows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. “You have?”

Biting your bottom lip, you nodded, suddenly feeling nervous under his gaze. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the mutual confessions hanging in the air. Then Jake’s hand found yours under the covers, his fingers brushing softly against your palm before curling around it. “Guess we’ve been idiots for a while then, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in his voice making your chest ache in the best way. “Yeah,” you said, settling back against him. “I guess we have.”

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you, tucked away beneath the covers. The weight of your confessions hung between you like a fragile, shimmering thread, and all at once, the space between you felt much, much smaller.

You caught a wide grin pull at his lips before nudging you lightly. “So… does that mean you had a good time?”

You laughed and nudged his chest in return. “Was it not obvious?”

His chuckle was warm and teasing. “No, it was definitely obvious.”

“Shush,” you murmured, curling back into his chest and letting his heat seep into you. “I don’t want to leave here,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you intended.

His arm wrapped around you, tugging you closer. “Then don’t.”

“But the others… in the morning.” You mumbled, toying with a loose string on his shirt.

“What about them?”

“They’ll know.” You frowned, assuming he wouldn’t want them to find out.

He chuckled as he started tracing circles on your back. “They already know how I feel about you silly.”

Your eyes snapped up at him with knitted brows. “What?”

His gaze softened as he met your confusion with a small laugh. “Star, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who doesn’t know.”

Bright red heat bloomed across your cheeks, and you groaned, burying your face in the crook of his arm. “Am I really that oblivious?”

Jake laughed again, a deep, genuine sound that made your chest feel impossibly full. “You’re definitely that oblivious.”

Before you could summon a reply, a sleepy yawn escaped your lips, cutting off any protest. Jake’s hand on your back stilled, shifting to a soothing rhythm. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

The weight of his warmth, his words, and the steady beat of his heart lulled you further into comfort. “It’s been a long night. Let’s just get some sleep,” he added softly.

The sound of his voice, paired with the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing, was enough to quiet your thoughts. You snuggled deeper into his arms, feeling more at peace than you had in a long time. And as sleep pulled you under, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope flicker in your chest for what this all meant for the two of you.

The morning light filtered softly through the blinds, and you stirred awake before Jake did. His arm was still draped over you, heavy with sleep. For a moment, you just stayed there, your head nestled against his chest, listening to his even breathing. But as the hazy comfort gave way to clarity, reality hit—you needed to change. The thought of anyone catching you leaving his room in his clothes was mortifying. You reached over and tapped to wake the screen of his phone to check the time and found it to be way earlier than any of them usually wake up.

Carefully, you slipped out from under his arm, trying not to disturb him. Jake mumbled something incoherent but didn’t wake, and you smiled softly at his peaceful expression before tiptoeing to the door. Once outside, you made a beeline for your own room, keeping your head down to avoid any potential early risers.

Unfortunately, luck was not on your side. You turned the corner and collided directly with Josh, who was strolling the hallway in his robe, a mug of tea in hand.

“Star!” he exclaimed, his grin wide and immediate. “You’re okay!”

Your cheeks flamed as you smiled sheepishly, awkwardly thumbing over your shoulder. “Yeah, Jake helped me.”

Josh’s grin morphed into something much more mischievous as his gaze drifted over your borrowed sleepwear. The smirk on his lips was nothing short of wicked. “Oh, I’m sure he did.”

Your face burned brighter, and you sputtered, “It’s not—it’s not like that!”

Josh raised a brow, his expression practically screaming that he didn’t believe you. “Mmhmm,” he said, drawing out the sound with exaggerated suspicion. “So, you just happened to end up in his clothes? After sneaking back inside together last night?”

“I—uh—” You struggled for an explanation, but Josh was already enjoying your discomfort far too much.

“Relax, Star,” he said, chuckling as he sipped his tea. “I’m just messing with you. Well… mostly.” He winked before stepping aside, leaving you standing there flustered and mortified.

As you hurried back to your room, you couldn’t help but groan internally. You knew Josh wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon. And worse, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the smirk on his face would spread to the rest of the group before breakfast was even over.

But despite the overwhelming embarrassment that flushed through you in waves, something else lingered beneath it—a warmth that wrapped around your chest and made your heart beat just a little faster. You couldn’t deny the spark that had ignited between you and Jake, or how it made you feel both giddy and alive. The night had been raw, vulnerable, and thrilling—far more than you'd ever expected, but not a single moment of it felt like a mistake. You were scared, sure, but a part of you was also eager for what came next. There were still a lot of unknowns—what it meant for you and Jake, what your friends would say—but deep down, you knew you’d never regret what had happened. If anything, it was a new beginning, and despite everything, you felt a strange sense of peace with that.

A/N; thanks for reading! i’d love to know your thoughts 🩷

Comment or send an ask to be added to any future taglists 🩷

[masonmontz]

hellooo everyone :) i hope you like it, this was incomplete for a long time and i did my best to try to get it ready and post it

REMEMBER: english is not my first language

angst/fluff word count: 3,5k

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

It's not that you hate Mason's friends, far from it, but you just... don't fit into their lifestyle. 

You and Mason have been together for a few months now and yet you still feel out of place in his reality, especially since his friends act like you don't exist. You actually enjoy talking to them and you think they're fun, but it annoys you when they invite Mason to parties as if he were single, or talk about other girls in front of you and even ask Mason's opinion about them.

Mason never made you doubt his feelings for you, but all of this has been building up and making you stressed.

It was Wednesday afternoon and you were at Mason's house working on your computer, Mason had training and he wouldn't be back for another hour. Erik changed today's training time ‘cause he had an appointment and so Mason would be at Carrington until 7pm. The doorbell ringing startled you, you weren't expecting anyone, not even Mason's family.

You were surprised to see Woody standing at the door of Mason's house with two women behind him, and apparently he thought it was strange that you answered the door.

“Y/n, hey, I didn’t know you were here” Woody spoke and scratched his head, a little embarrassed.

“Hello, Woody. It’s good to see you” you said and then looked at the two model-like women behind him. “Mason is still in Carrington, do you need to talk to him?”

Woody walked up the two steps of the stairs and you let him in, and the two women he was with followed him. Of course, Mason's house is also the house of his best friends.

“Yeah, actually we had planned to go to a party today. It's Stella's birthday” he pointed to the blonde woman in the red dress, and she smiled at you.

“Happy birthday Stella” you smiled at her and turned to Woody again. “He didn't tell me anything, Mason and I arranged to go out for dinner.”

“Well, he confirmed that he's going to the party, I hope you don't mind leaving dinner for another day.” 

“No, of course not, I'll just wait for him to arrive so I can change” you said and pointed to the gym clothes you were wearing. 

“Actually, Y/n…” Woody started with a tone of voice you didn't like.

“All the seats at the party have been reserved, I can't put any more names on the list, I'm sorry” the brunette woman spoke for Woody, and you were speechless as the three of them stared at you standing in the middle of the living room in Mason's house.

“Yeah, of course” you smiled, even though you were angry at Woody for doing the same thing he always did, acting like Mason was still single. 

“I hope you don't mind Mason going alone, but he's my friend and I really wanted him there” Stella said and you agreed. “Oh, Woody said you weren't very nice but you are.”

Woody's eyes widened and you glared at him, watching him swallow hard. You smiled fakely at Stella.

“Yeah, I don't think Woody is very cool either and I hope he knows that” you spoke at the same moment the door opened and Mason walked in, and he heard you talking about Woody. “Have fun tonight.”

You grabbed your computer from the living room table and went upstairs, trying to take a deep breath while knowing everyone was staring at you.

“Woody, what are you doing here, mate?” you heard Mason asking his friend. 

“It's Stella's birthday man, you remember how much fun you two had, right?” was the last thing you heard before the bedroom door slammed shut. You took a deep breath once, twice, three times, even though it was difficult.

You were sick of being treated like you meant nothing to Mason, and he wouldn't even tell his friends to stop it, and that was what hurt you the most, he cares so much about his friends that he doesn't realize that you're the one who's getting upset about all this.

You packed your things and put away your computer, there was no way you were going to stay there any longer. You heard laughter from downstairs and it made you even more frustrated with Mason. 

It wouldn't be nice to leave Mason's house with all of them staring at you in the living room, but you also didn't want to wait until they left, which could take hours. You honestly wanted to cry, but you hated feeling helpless and crying in front of someone, even if it was the person you gave your heart to.

Fuck him and his friends.

“Mate, I bought a ticket for a party in Ibiza during the international break, we have to go. I bought your ticket too” Woody said to Mason, and you could see that they were sitting on the couch. Mason was in the middle of Woody and Stella.

“I have to ask Y/n if she wants to go and-”

“Bro, she hates us and she won't want to go, you have to go alone, it will be fun.”

“Yeah, I'll think about it” Mason spoke softly and you snorted.

“Who knows, maybe I'll go to Ibiza with you guys? Polly can go too” Stella said and you walked down the stairs, you didn't want them to see you but it was impossible to leave without being noticed. Mason's gaze went to your bags and he noticed that you were leaving.

“Where are you going?” he asked but you didn’t look at him, you continued towards the exit door. “Y/n?”

Mason followed behind you and closed the door when you were both outside, and finally you looked up at him and he saw the tears in your eyes. 

“I’m going home” you spoke softly and Mason lost focus for a few seconds. “You can go to the party, I won't stop you from going.”

“You’re going with me.”

“Oh, am I? I’m sorry, your friend was pretty clear when he said that there’s no space for me there” you said and felt a tear fall, but the last thing you wanted was to cry in front of Mason.

“He didn't mean it, you were rude to him and said you don't like him and-”

“What?” you weren't believing what Mason was saying. It wasn't the first time he defended Woody or Declan or Benny from you, and he never defended you the same way to them, he just accepts what they say about you.

“Look, Woody is one of my best friends, you know that. If you love me, then you should like them too because they’re my family.”

“Yeah, you're right. But maybe they don't love you as much since they don't like me.”

“What are you saying?”

“You always let them say whatever they want about me, Mason. You never stood up for me, ever. How do you think I feel when my boyfriend lets his friends talk about other girls or bring women over to his house while I'm here?”

“They are my friends.”

“I have friends too, Mason, and they've never disrespected you the way Woody or Declan do to me. I heard Woody saying that you and Stella had fun, do you think it didn't hurt to hear that? They don't think I'm enough for you?”

“I love you, that's enough” Mason spoke with his hands in his hair, huffing.

“Yeah, only in your dreams will I spend the rest of my life putting up with this.”

“Don't go away, let's talk, there's no reason to make this drama, love” Mason tried to pull you away but you pushed his arm away, shaking your head. “Y/n, please, let's go inside.”

“No, Mason. You don’t understand” you said frustratedly, finally crying and sobbing. “I don't want to hear any more bullshit about other women while I'm around. I don't want to know who you were with before me, they have no respect for me and you don't do anything about it. Declan cheats on Lauren all the time and encourages you to do the same, you think I don't feel stupid? He's a jerk and she should dump him, and it hurts me when you don't say anything about it because you're their child's godfather and you think it's funny that he has been cheating on her the whole time.”

“I don't think it’s funny.”

“So you hide very well that you care about her or Jude” you wiped your eyes, looking at Mason who looked sad. “I really think you're not ready for a relationship, maybe you really love your friends and they’re your priority, but the Mason I knew is not this guy in front of me.”

“Hey, no, c’mon, I love you, I didn't know you felt that way.”

“Exactly, you care more about them than me.”

You turned your back and Mason tried to pull you towards him, but you refused and cried as you walked away. You looked at him one last time and saw Mason's eyes full of tears, but you chose to turn around and leave.

“Y/, don’t go, please.”

“When you realize what's wrong we can talk again.”

Mason watches in shock as you get into an Uber without looking back, it's like he's trapped in a nightmare but he can't do anything because he's tied up. He stood there for several minutes staring at the street until he felt raindrops and went into the house, hearing Woody and the women's laughter as soon as he entered.

“Mase, you can change your clothes now so we can go, what do you think?” Stella asked, but Mason's mind was far away. He looked at Woody sitting on the couch with Polly sitting on his lap, and for the first time in months Mason realized the reasons that made you leave.

“I'm not going, you can go” he muttered before turning his back and heading towards the stairs.

“Mate, what do you mean? Y/n told us to go and have fun” Woody said and Mason turned his face in time to see his friend get up from the couch and walk towards him. 

“Shit, Woody, she broke up with me. Please go away now, I don’t want you here for now” Mason realized that you really did leave. He needs to be stuck in his own misery for a while. 

“That's why we should go out, man, so you can forget about her, like old times.”

“Get out.”

“What the fuck?” Woody really wasn't understanding Mason, and it pissed him off, because now everything was obvious and Mason was the only idiot who didn't realize he was losing you. “What did Y/n say about me? She's an idiot, don't pay attention to her.”

“Don't you dare talk about her like that again” Mason pointed a finger at Woody, who was startled by Mason's tone. “Get out of here, all of you.”

Mason didn't wait for an answer and went upstairs without looking back, he took his phone out of his pocket and called you, but you didn't answer any of the times he called, nor did you even respond to the several messages apologizing that he sent.

Mason threw himself on the bed and sighed, how could he be so stupid? It was all so obvious in front of him, but Mason was more concerned about his friends than the woman he loves.

He called more than twenty times and you didn't answer any of the calls, nor did you respond to his multiple messages apologizing. Mason's heart raced as he thought he may have lost you forever because he was childish and stupid. 

Panic washed over him and Mason gasped, he ran his hands through his hair in despair and anger. Mason couldn't blame you for deciding to leave, he understands, but saying his heart wasn't hurting was a lie. Mason never felt that way, ever.

A tear ran down his face, then another and then another, and before Mason knew it he was sobbing and thinking about everything you had said to him. It was so stupid that he didn't realize how you felt about Woody or Declan, and Mason couldn't even judge you, because in all these months he really was a terrible boyfriend and only now could he realize it.

He actually let his friends take him to parties, he didn't mind when Woody brought women to him, and Mason never thought about hooking up with them, but now he realized that he wasn't respectful and broke the trust you had in him. And what about Declan? Mason couldn't even think about his best friend having sex with multiple women while he has an amazing person at home waiting for him, plus a son who is the most beautiful child Mason had ever seen. 

Mason feels ashamed that he never said anything to Declan, and he feels ashamed that he didn't protect Lauren and Jude. And he is ashamed because you don’t trust him and broke up with him because of the things he did. 

“Please, please, answer me.”

Another rejected call. Mason is about to despair. 

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹ 

It's been two weeks since you and Mason broke up, and honestly it's been really hard to go through the days without talking to him and trying not to think about him.

You failed every day, of course.

Mason respected the message you sent asking him not to call you, but deep down you wished he hadn't given up. Every day you wonder if he's out partying with Woody, having women all over him and falling in love with the smile you love. It breaks you every time.

“It's not an exaggeration if he listed all his friends as if they were more important than you” Kiera murmured while you were lying down watching a movie, she went to your house because she didn't want to sleep alone, her boyfriend was traveling and would be back the next day. “Honestly, I love Mason, maybe this will make him realize what he did wrong and you guys can get back together.”

“Yeah, but I think he realized he prefers parties and Woody, he didn't call me anymore.”

“You asked him not to call you.”

“I know, but that would show me that he cares about me. Am I wrong?”

“Of course.”

 “Do you think I should call him?”

“You miss him, right? You want him to call you but you asked him not to, he is just doing what you asked and respecting your time, if you are ready to talk, talk to him.”

“Yeah, I think you're right.”

But you didn't call, not the next day or the day after that. You knew Mason was traveling with the team because the next game was far away, and you didn't want to take your problems to him.

You missed him so much you could cry. You missed him when you woke up in the morning and missed his kisses on your neck, you missed having breakfast next to him and laughing at his stupid jokes, you missed him bothering you or lying next to you just watching some movie that neither of you paid attention to.

It was very cold in Manchester and the streets were already starting to have Christmas decorations, and that made you happy, it's the best time of the year. You went out for a walk in the late afternoon, the sun was setting and some people were walking along the streets. 

It was crazy, but you swore you saw Mason's car parked at the pie shop when you were at the door, your favorite in the whole town. Mason also knew how much you liked chocolate pie, and he would always buy you a pie when he passed by.

But it wasn't crazy, ‘cause Mason came out carrying a box of pie just as you were about to climb the stairs to enter the store. You could have fallen if you weren't holding onto the railing, and Mason's eyes widened when he saw you. 

He looked so handsome, his hair cropped because of the cut on his head, and he was wearing sweatpants and slippers. You couldn't help but smile when you saw his comfortable clothes.

“Did Ace eat all your sneakers?” 

Mason breathed a sigh of relief when you asked, and the smile he gave you melted your heart. 

“It would be too much work to put on sneakers, I preferred to go out like this” he walked down the two steps and stopped in front of you, your heart raced and you could feel your own hands shaking. Oh my God, it's Mason, why are you nervous? 

You were silent for a few seconds, but Mason didn't take his eyes off you.

“So… how are you?” you asked, and Mason pulled you aside as a couple walked out of the pie shop. His touch on your arm sent you over the moon, and that was enough for you to realize that the time you needed was over.

“Honestly? I'm a mess” he confessed and you felt a pang of guilt, but you knew he needed that time too. “Do you want to talk here? Are you ready?”

“Hum- no, yes, I’m ready, but I don’t want to talk here” you spoke and he agreed. “We can go to my house. Are you going to take the pie to someone?” you pointed to the box in his hands.

“No, I bought it for myself” Mason scratched his head in embarrassment and you raised your eyebrows. “I don't know, chocolate pie reminds me of you and I was missing you.”

“Just like I'm watching Game of Thrones like crazy, then.”

“Oh, you said it was boring” he accused you, grinning, and you shrugged as you followed Mason to the car.

“You know I only watch ‘cause of Daenerys” you stopped next to Mason as he opened the car door for you, his scent reminded you of how much you missed him and you couldn't help but hug him, almost making him drop the pie box. 

“I wasn't expecting that” he murmured as he left a kiss on your hair, hugging you with just one arm and you held his waist tightly, afraid that he would leave. “Oh God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, sorry” you let go of him and smiled, feeling like a part of you was whole again. 

You walked in silence to your house, and even so it wasn't bad, the smile you both had on your lips already said a lot. 

“My mum is missing you, she almost hit me for not taking you to London with me on the international break.”

“Did you tell her what happened?” you asked as you grabbed two plates for you two to eat the chocolate pie that looked delicious. 

“No, I said you were busy” he sighed and shrugged, but Mason still looked wary. “I was a bad boyfriend, Y/n, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I should never have put other things first, you are the most important person to me and I hate myself for disappointing you and making you distrust me.” 

You just looked at Mason. He wasn't the same man you left three weeks ago, the man in front of you recognized his own mistakes, and that was clear and enough for you. 

“I'm sorry for the things you went through, I was an idiot and didn't realize it. I should never have let Woody take those women to my house or treated you the way he did, I should have stood up for you.”

“It's okay, I forgive you.” 

Mason sighed in relief when you approached him, and this time he hugged you so tightly as if he would never let you go. 

And you didn't want him to let you go again. 

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, Y/n, oh my God, how did I manage to go three weeks without talking to you or seeing you?” Mason put his hands on your shoulders and shook you, making you laugh. 

“I had no one to fetch water for me at night.”

“Did you just miss me because of that? I'm taking this pie home and you're not going to eat it.”

“Actually, I think we can eat while watching Game of Thrones?”

“I knew you liked the series, you just didn't want to admit it to me.”

Mason took the pie into the living room and you grabbed a blanket from your bedroom, ready to snuggle into it for hours and hours. You walked back into the living room and Mason was smiling on the couch as he waited for you, and you couldn't help but smile and feel like everything was okay again.

Mason hugged you as you laid down next to him, he was warm and comfortable and even you didn't understand how you managed to spend so much time away from him. 

Mason was your home, and not even so many days away would change that.

[writersdare]

You Should Always Come First | Bang Chan 방찬 Drabble

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Chan could no longer watch Y/N exhausting herself.

Warning: fluff

Word Count: 688 (drubble)

Author’s Note:  For those who are worried about an upcoming exam, test or a job interview. You can do it, don't doubt yourself ♡

“Baby, what is it?” 

Chan has noticed Y/N being rather tense that evening, yet, he didn’t want to get on her nerves with the same questions, as he pretty much knew the main reason of his girlfriend’s mood — the upcoming exams. Even though Bang Chan was sure that Y/N would pass them well, he could understand Y/N’s concerns. It’s never easy to be confident in your own abilities in general, and being under a stress it felt  almost impossible at all. The idol learnt it from his own experience. 

Chan understood that words such as "it’ll be alright" and "you know the material well, don’t worry" wouldn’t help much. Of course, support was important, yet, in the moments, when everything felt like a bare wire, each phrase should have been chosen very carefully. He didn’t want to give Y/N even more pressure — she was giving it enough herself. Chan tried his best just by saying small "don’t be harsh on yourself", "don’t forget to rest" and "I know you work hard, and it’s way more important than the result". 

Yet, when he saw that Y/N was getting angry at herself for not being able to learn important terms once again, the guy decided it was time to interfere. Her brain simply refused to accept new information, as it simply had enough today. And yesterday, and the day before yesterday… His girl needed a break. 

“It’s nothing, just can’t memorise it. I don’t know how I’m going to pass it,” Y/N sighed and closed the eyes, trying to keep herself together. 

“Let’s get some rest, it’s been a while," Chan said softly. “I’ll help you to learn it after a break, okay?” he promised and stood up from his place to take a seat next to the girl. They were in his studio, but while Y/N was studying, the idol couldn’t  really concentrate on music the last thirty minutes, being too worried for the girl. She’s been exhausting herself lately, and all Bang Chan cared about was Y/N’s well-being.

“You’re doing great, I promise,” the guy gently cuddled Y/N, trying to soothe her. Finally relaxing a bit, she went a little numb in his embrace and placed a head on Chan’s shoulder. 

“I know rest is important. It’s just… I don’t have time. The exams are in few days, and it seems like I still don’t know anything,” Y/N admitted quietly, at the same time hating herself for the recent complaining.

“Learn as much as you can, but don’t exhaust yourself. It’ll make things only worse, Y/N," Chan reminded and patted her head lightly. "And just a lunch break isn’t enough. Let’s spend this evening together, not thinking of anything, okay? Tomorrow will be a new day, and you can start again," the idol pecked her cheek tenderly.

The girl sighed and nodded,

"Channie? I’m sorry I was a bit gloomy lately. I didn’t mean it like this. It’s just… the exams–" after a moment of silence she quietly mumbled, but Bang Chan didn’t let her finish.

"I know. Don’t worry about it, Y/N. And I know it’s not easy to get distracted, when all you can think about is your exam. I don’t mean to say it’s not important, you put value on it for a reason, yet, I don’t want you to forget that it’s not the only thing that matters. You should always come first," he smiled and lightly tickled her, so the girl shivered, and a quiet giggle left her lips – she was extremely bad when it came to tickling. However, Chan was no better. "Got it?"

"Mhm. I like how you can be serious for only few minutes, and then you are back to your normal self" Y/N joked and shrieked, when the idol tickled her side once again.

"Yah! I can be very serious, when it’s needed! Do you doubt me?!" the guy jokingly outraged, feeling a warmth spreading all over his body. He missed her sincere smile and silly little giggles. After all, it’s all what he needed now.

– photos and a gif aren’t mine and belong to the rightful owner, gif found here @chanstopher –

taglist: @yukichan67, @laylasbunbunny, @skz-streamer

© writersdare | all rights reserved

All stories are original and written by me. Do not copy, trace and post anywhere without permission and credit. The stories are fictional, they do not correspond to reality and written just for fun ♡

Main Masterlist | K-pop Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

[siriuslysmoking]

eeeeeee ok so i’ve been reading a lot of ur stuff and i was wondering if u could write more blaise stuff?? maybe smut if ur comfortable but really whatever is fine. ty!!

Tied Together

Summary: After Voldemort had won the war, everything felt uneasy, being forced into a marriage wasn't in the plan, but after a war, nothing goes according to it.

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Warning: Smut, breeding kink, pet names, forced marriage, name calling.], so many words, the summary sucks ASS, not edited cause I worked an 8 hr shift before I wrote this.

A/N: OFC BABES!! I spent all day trying to figure out what to write about! A classic trope with my own spin to it! This is a long one so buckle in.

Graduation was supposed to be exciting—a milestone filled with relief and hope. But instead, you sit stiffly at your assigned table in the Great Hall, your face carefully blank as the drone of Ministry officials announcing the newly mandated marriages fills the air. One by one, names are read aloud, paired off with cruel indifference.

You barely register the first half of the list, staring down at your clasped hands, the parchment crinkled beneath your fingertips. They go in alphabetical order, and as the names inch closer to your own, you feel your chest tighten. When they reach “X,” your name still hasn’t been called.

Then it happens.

“Blaise Zabini...” the official says, then finally it arrives, your name.

Your stomach drops.

Oh, fuck no.

Your head snaps up, unwilling to believe it, but there’s no denying the truth. Your eyes immediately find Blaise across the hall. He’s already looking at you, his sharp features unreadable save for the slight twitch in his lips—a subtle, disdainful reaction that speaks volumes.

Disgust. Of course.

After years of enduring his thinly veiled insults about your bloodline, his smirks whenever he edged you out for top marks, and the cold indifference he perfected whenever your paths crossed, this feels like the final humiliation. It could have been anyone else. Anyone. But fate—or, more likely, the twisted whims of the Ministry—had chosen Blaise Zabini.

You bite the inside of your cheek, determined not to let your emotions betray you. He, of course, looks as collected as ever, his face a mask of cool disinterest. But beneath it, you know he must be livid. No one in their right mind would want this, least of all him.

The thought offers little comfort as the reality of the situation settles over you. Graduation wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be your first step into freedom. Instead, it feels like the chains around you have only tightened.

The wedding was nothing like you’d imagined it would be.

Everything felt cold—the ancient stone walls of the ceremonial hall, the piercing stares of the pureblood guests seated behind you, and the delicate lace of your dress sticking uncomfortably to your damp skin. The enchanted candles floating above did nothing to dispel the oppressive atmosphere. Their soft glow felt harsh, illuminating every detail of this forced spectacle.

The officiant's droning voice blurred into the background as you stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Blaise Zabini’s gaze. He stood beside you, his posture perfect, his expression as unreadable as ever. If he was as horrified by this union as you were, he didn’t show it. His face was carved in cold indifference, as though this moment meant nothing to him.

You clenched your trembling hands together, the smooth lace gloves doing little to hide the anxiety coursing through you. The crowd’s eyes burned into your back, no doubt judging every move, every breath. Were they thrilled to see a half-blood like you bound to one of their own? Or were they disgusted by the pairing? You couldn’t tell, and you weren’t sure which possibility made you feel worse.

“Do you, Blaise Zabini, accept this bond as law dictates?” the officiant intoned, his voice sharp and unyielding.

There was a brief pause. You could feel Blaise shift slightly beside you.

“I do.” His voice was steady, emotionless.

The words felt like a knife, cutting away any hope you had that he might fight this, that he might object, that anyone might. But Blaise Zabini was no fool. He knew better than to challenge the Ministry.

“And do you," He spoke your name with no emotion, moving his eyes to you, "accept this bond as law dictates?”

Your throat tightened. The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until you forced the response from your lips.

“I do.”

The officiant raised his wand, the tip glowing as he muttered the incantation that would seal your fates. You felt the magic take hold, wrapping around your wrist like an invisible shackle before fading into nothingness. It was done.

“And now,” the officiant said, a note of finality in his tone, “to seal the bond with a kiss.”

Your stomach lurched. You hadn’t forgotten this part, but you’d desperately hoped it would be skipped—maybe Blaise would refuse, or some exception would be made. But no, tradition demanded it.

Blaise turned to you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of discomfort, or perhaps resentment. He leaned down, his movements slow and precise, giving you no time to brace yourself.

The kiss was brief, a mere press of lips against yours, cold and devoid of anything resembling affection. It felt more like a command than a gesture of unity. You fought the urge to flinch, standing rigidly until he pulled away.

As you parted, your lips tingled—not from passion, but from the bitter taste of obligation. You didn’t look at him, focusing instead on the floor as the crowd offered polite, stifled applause.

Blaise offered you his arm, as tradition dictated. You hesitated, staring at it as though it were a venomous snake. But with the weight of the crowd’s gaze pressing down on you, you relented, placing your gloved hand lightly atop his. His arm was rigid, his touch devoid of warmth.

As you walked back down the aisle together, the reality of your situation began to sink in. This wasn’t a wedding—it was a sentence. A chain around your neck that tied you to someone who didn’t want you, just as much as you didn’t want him.

And yet, as you glanced up at Blaise’s perfectly composed face, you couldn’t shake the thought that, behind his mask of indifference, he might feel just as trapped as you did.

The ceremony ended in a blur of cold stares and stifled applause. You and Blaise were whisked away to the government-mandated home—a pristine, lifeless manor nestled in the countryside. The house was grand and silent, its dark wood floors creaking underfoot, the high ceilings echoing every sound. The Ministry had spared no expense, making sure it was a perfect symbol of your forced union. But inside, the house felt empty, lifeless, like a cage waiting to trap you both.

The silence between you grew, stretching on for weeks. Blaise rarely spoke, his evenings spent reading by the fire or writing letters, while you kept yourself busy, avoiding him as best as you could. Meals were quiet, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware, your eyes avoiding each other at all costs. It was easier that way—no need to pretend things were normal when they were anything but.

But then, Blaise started to notice something.

You’d begun slipping out after dinner, your footsteps quiet on the wooden floors. At first, he didn’t think much of it, chalking it up to your desire for space. But after several nights, he grew curious. The rules were clear: infidelity, whether real or merely suspected, could be disastrous for both of you. He couldn’t afford for that to happen.

One night, he decided to follow you.

He trailed quietly behind you as you made your way out into the darkened streets, your silhouette framed by the flickering light of nearby lanterns. He kept a careful distance, just enough to not alert you, but close enough to see your every move. You stopped outside a small, hidden entrance, casting a quiet unlocking charm. Blaise hid behind a nearby wall, watching as you entered the building.

Inside, you were with a group of Muggle-borns—children, huddled together in fear. He saw you hand them food, speaking to them in soft, urgent tones. His chest tightened as he realized the danger you were putting yourself in. This wasn’t just reckless; it was beyond dangerous. If anyone found out, it wouldn’t just be you who suffered. He clenched his fists, his mind racing with thoughts of what could happen if this was exposed.

But he didn’t intervene. Instead, he silently backed away, leaving the scene without a word.

The next morning, Blaise said nothing. It would be easier that way. But something lingered in the air between you both—a silent acknowledgment that there was more to this union than either of you had anticipated.

The evening had dragged on longer than you'd anticipated, and with each passing minute, the weight of the silence between you and Blaise seemed to grow heavier. He’d been quiet for the most part, which was unusual for him, but you could feel his presence like a shadow at the edge of the room. You couldn’t focus on the book in your lap any longer, so you closed it with a soft snap and glanced at Blaise, who was lounging on the armrest of a chair, one leg hanging casually over the side, his eyes glinting with that signature arrogance.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” you said, trying to break the oppressive silence.

Blaise didn't look at you at first, his gaze still lazily fixed on the flickering fire. “Just trying to enjoy the peace and quiet, Mrs. Zabini.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and you could practically hear the mocking smile in his words.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to dignify the title with a response. "You know, it’s not that hard to act like a human being once in a while."

Blaise’s head tilted just slightly, and you could tell he was assessing you. “Oh? You’re one to talk. You’ve spent more time hiding in this room than doing anything remotely… social.” He smirked at you, the usual edge in his voice.

“I don’t need your commentary, Blaise,” you shot back, crossing your arms tightly. “I’m just fine without it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your defensive tone. “Are you?” he asked, pushing himself off the armrest and taking a few steps toward you. “You don’t seem all that fine. Actually, you look more… miserable than usual.”

You stood up quickly, throwing the book on the nearby chair in frustration. "I’m perfectly fine, thanks for asking,” you bit out, voice sharp. “Not that I expect you to understand anything about personal space.”

He took another step forward, his eyes gleaming with that mix of amusement and challenge you were starting to despise. “Personal space?” He laughed, but it wasn’t a friendly sound—it was mocking, dismissive. “Are you really going to pretend like you’re not just avoiding me? You think I haven’t noticed?” He leaned in just a fraction, his face now inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re hiding, and it’s pathetic.”

You pushed him away, more out of irritation than actual force, but he didn’t budge. “I’m not hiding. I’m just... trying to deal with everything without tearing my hair out.”

He leaned back slightly, his posture still relaxed, but his gaze never wavered. “You’re so dramatic. It’s not like you’re the only one stuck in this mess.”

The words hit harder than you expected. “Don’t pretend like you’re not enjoying this,” you said, your voice lower, eyes narrowing. “I know you, Blaise. You thrive on this power.”

Blaise chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a smirk. “What, you think I enjoy being shackled to you? Please.” He stepped back, just enough to give you some space, but the mocking look never left his face. “You’re the one who can’t handle the fact that you’re stuck here with me, and it’s funny to watch.”

Your eyes flashed with anger, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped, “Funny? You think I’m enjoying this too? It’s not a bloody game, Blaise. I have other things to do, but no, instead, I’m stuck here with you and your... smug face. Every damn day.”

Blaise’s expression darkened slightly, but he quickly masked it with another smirk. “Is that so? You don’t like being stuck with me? I guess that’s a shame. I was just beginning to think maybe we weren’t so different after all.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, turning away from him as you grabbed the book off the chair again, though you had no intention of reading it. You just needed something to hold on to, something to distract yourself from the tension in the room.

But Blaise wasn’t done yet. He followed you, close enough that you could feel his presence like a weight on your back. “You know, if you weren’t so hell-bent on hating me, we might actually get along,” he teased, his voice low, almost too calm. “But no, you’ve got this chip on your shoulder, don’t you? I can’t imagine why.”

You spun around, finally losing your patience. “Maybe I have a chip on my shoulder because you have been the biggest pain in my arse for the past several years. You think I’m just supposed to sit here and pretend like everything’s fine?”

Blaise smirked, his posture still languid as he leaned against the doorframe, eyes flicking lazily over you. “You’ve got a temper, don’t you? I like it.”

Your jaw clenched, and you resisted the urge to lash out at him physically. Instead, you just glared at him. “What do you want, Zabini?”

He raised both hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his lips. “Nothing at all. I’m just trying to figure you out, that’s all. You’re so... prickly, it’s almost charming.” He looked at you as if you were some kind of puzzle to solve, his gaze calculating but with an edge of amusement.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. I’m not one of your little games, Blaise.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you two, thick with the unspoken tension. Then, with one last glance, Blaise straightened and pushed off the doorframe, his lips still twitching with a smirk.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said, turning to leave, but his words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. “You’ll get used to it, eventually.”

You stood there, fists clenched, watching him leave, knowing that every word he said stung a little more than you wanted to admit.

The ballroom was grand, the air thick with perfume and whispers, swirling with the clinking of glasses and the soft shuffle of shoes against polished floors. You stood at the edge, feeling every bit the outsider in this glittering sea of purebloods, all dressed in their finest, exchanging polite smiles and subtle glances.

And then there was Blaise Zabini.

He moved through the crowd like a shadow, effortlessly commanding attention. His dark suit seemed tailor-made for him, perfectly fitting, and yet somehow, he managed to look entirely unbothered by the extravagance of the event. He caught sight of you standing alone near the columns, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he sauntered over, a slight smirk on his lips.

“Enjoying yourself, love?” he asked, his voice low and laced with mockery. His dark eyes glinted, a subtle challenge in his gaze as he came to stand beside you.

You shot him a withering look. “Oh, absolutely,” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve always dreamed of this—trapped in a room full of people who wouldn’t spit on me if I were on fire.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your response. He leaned closer, just enough for his breath to tickle your ear. “Careful, darling. Someone might think you’re not as happy to be here as you should be.”

You stiffened, your jaw tightening. You hated how he seemed to know exactly how to needle you. “And why would that be, Blaise? You think I’m thrilled to be married to you?”

His smirk widened. “I can’t imagine why not. I’m quite the catch.” He spun on his heel, eyes scanning the room as if seeking someone else’s attention. “But I suppose you’d prefer to be alone, wouldn’t you? No one to witness your charming temper or—”

"Why don’t you keep that smug mouth shut for once?" you snapped, your patience thinning. "You’ve been making my life miserable for years, and I’m just supposed to stand here and pretend like everything’s fine?"

Blaise’s lips quirked upward again, clearly enjoying the moment. “Oh, I’m not making you miserable. You’re doing that all on your own, darling.”

A tight laugh escaped you. “How generous of you.”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “It’s true, you know. You’ve always been a bit of a walking disaster, haven’t you?”

“Right,” you said, cutting him off before he could continue. “And I suppose I should thank you for pointing that out. Because nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like constant criticism.”

Blaise glanced down at his watch, as if toying with the idea of leaving. "Perhaps you should take a walk with me, then. Just to show me how 'miserable' you are," he said, his voice suddenly softer, but the teasing edge never quite leaving it.

You narrowed your eyes, unsure of his intention. "I’m sure I’d rather chew glass, but thank you for the offer."

He chuckled, clearly unbothered by your sarcasm. “You know, it’s almost cute how you think you have any control in this marriage."

“Control?” you scoffed. “You think I have control over this—this farce?” You looked around the room, where the pureblood elite swirled around you, pretending to be so important, so dignified. You leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low. “You’re just as stuck here as I am. So don’t act like you’re above me.”

Blaise studied you for a moment, his dark eyes piercing. “Oh, I’m not above you. But I know one thing,” he said, his voice a little quieter now. “You’re just as trapped as I am, and no amount of pretending will change that.”

You held his gaze, anger and something else bubbling just beneath the surface. “You’re right,” you muttered, swallowing hard. “But at least I’m not pretending to enjoy it.”

Blaise smirked again, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Oh, I’m enjoying it just fine.”

Before you could snap back, the music shifted, signaling a new dance. Blaise extended his hand to you, his fingers elegantly poised, his expression unreadable.

"Shall we?" he asked, his voice low and purposeful.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing around the ballroom. The gaze of everyone in the room felt oppressive, their judgment hovering just over your shoulder. Finally, you sighed, taking his hand begrudgingly.

The moment your hand touched his, you felt the shift in the air. It wasn’t the soft, graceful kind of dance you were used to; no, this was more like a carefully calculated battle. He led you into the center of the floor, his steps sure and steady, as you struggled to keep up with the quick pace he set.

“Not so good at this, are you?” Blaise teased, his lips curling into a smile that bordered on cruel. “I thought you were supposed to be the top student.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to focus on the steps, trying to ignore the way his hand on your waist felt far too possessive. “I don’t see you dancing with anyone else, Zabini. So, what’s your excuse?”

“Oh, I have many,” he replied with a smirk, twirling you just a little too sharply, making you stumble for a moment before you regained your balance. “I think it’s just funny how you always act like you’re in control.”

“I am in control,” you snapped, meeting his gaze with as much venom as you could muster.

“Prove it,” he murmured, pulling you a little closer, his hand slipping just a little too low on your back. The move was calculated, deliberate, meant to make you uncomfortable. You couldn’t deny the rush of irritation that swirled through you, and the way your heart sped up—not from desire, but from the sheer frustration of being so close to him.

The music swirled around you, the other couples gliding effortlessly, while you and Blaise stumbled through every step, each move filled with tension and hostility.

“You know,” Blaise said with that infuriating smirk, “if you spent as much time trying to enjoy yourself as you do trying to be miserable, this wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” you retorted, voice tight, “if you weren’t so insufferable.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You’ll get used to me. You’re already halfway there, I can tell.”

You shivered, unwilling to admit he might be right. The dance continued—awkward, tense, filled with barely contained animosity, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew he was right.

As much as you hated it, you and Blaise were in this together. And no amount of mean teasing or cold shoulders would change that.

The dinner at the Zabini estate had begun like any other—polished silver gleaming under the soft light, crystal glasses catching the flicker of candle flames. You sat at the long, elegantly set table, Blaise beside you, his mother across, smiling as if she had rehearsed this moment in her mind for weeks. There was a quiet anticipation in the air, and you could feel it, even if nothing had been said yet.

Blaise’s mother—always so poised and calculating—wasn't one for pleasantries when it came to matters that truly mattered. She had a way of making the most innocuous conversations feel like high-stakes negotiations. Tonight, though, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that this dinner was meant for more than just food and idle chatter.

Finally, after a few rounds of safe topics—politics, the harvest, and the state of the family business—she cleared her throat, setting her glass down carefully.

“I trust you both are well,” she began, her tone a bit too casual, almost as if testing the waters. “But there’s something we must discuss. It’s time we talk about the future, about the next generation.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Blaise, but his expression remained unreadable, as always. His mother had been hinting at this conversation for months, and you had a sinking feeling you knew where it was heading.

Her voice softened as she continued, a subtle but deliberate note of authority in her words. “As you know, the Zabini family is quite… traditional in some ways. One of those traditions, which we hold in the highest regard, is the continuation of our bloodline.”

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise. You could feel Blaise stiffen beside you, and the air in the room shifted, thick with the weight of what she was about to say.

“By law,” she continued, her eyes locking onto yours, “every couple of noble standing is required to have at least one child. It is not simply a preference. It’s a requirement.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been prepared for this, but the weight of her words hit you harder than you expected.

Blaise’s mother leaned back in her chair, watching you closely. “It’s the law of the land now. For families of status, it is a non-negotiable expectation. The bloodline must be preserved. It is your duty as a couple, as future heads of your respective houses, to ensure the continuation of that legacy.”

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. The idea that you—both of you—were being forced into such a decision was infuriating, and yet, you knew it was coming. This wasn’t just a suggestion. This was an ultimatum.

“I’m not having a child,” you said, your voice cool but steady, every word sharp with defiance. You looked at Blaise for support, but his expression remained unreadable. You could feel the tension building between you and his mother, but you refused to look away.

His mother’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it seemed to tighten, like a mask slipping into something more calculated.

“You misunderstand,” she said, her voice smooth but sharp. “This is not a choice, darling. The law is quite clear. You will have one child. You are obligated to, for the good of both families.”

Blaise shifted uncomfortably beside you, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t speak. His mother was an immovable force, and he was used to navigating these conversations. You, however, had never been good at swallowing injustice.

“You can’t force us to have a child,” you said firmly, trying to keep your voice steady. “This world is a prison. We can’t bring a life into it, not when it’s nothing but a chain around its neck. Not when—” you broke off, your voice rising in frustration. “This is insane.”

His mother’s smile remained, but the edge in her eyes darkened. “The law is the law,” she said, her tone final. “It is non-negotiable. And let’s be clear: failure to comply with the law has consequences. I’m sure you understand the weight of those consequences, dear.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. The truth was clear. Refusing to comply with the law meant more than just a personal choice—it meant rebellion. It meant a loss of status, a severing of ties with everything you had ever known. The weight of it pressed down on your chest, but your resolve didn’t waver.

“I’m not going to be forced into this,” you replied, trying to ignore the heavy thrum of your pulse in your ears. “I won’t be part of a system that treats life like a commodity.”

Her gaze never wavered, cold and calculating. “You may think you have a choice now,” she said quietly, her words like ice, “but soon you’ll realize there is no escaping this. Not for you. Not for Blaise.”

You turned to him, finally meeting his eyes, searching for some sign of agreement, some flicker of support. But he only looked tired, resigned. He knew the stakes, perhaps better than anyone.

“You don’t have to agree with it,” his mother continued, her smile returning, sharp as ever. “But you will comply. It’s for the family, for the legacy. For the future.”

The silence stretched for a long moment before Blaise spoke, his voice low. “We’ll do what we have to.”

But even as he said it, the bitterness hung in the air, heavy with the understanding that, in the end, there was no real choice. There was no escape. And as much as you wanted to fight it, you knew it wasn’t a battle you could win.

The law was clear. You would have to have a child. There was no way around it.

And the thought of it made your stomach churn.

When you both arrive at the house it feels cold, even with the fire lit it still doesn't feel like a home. You go to head to your seperate room, but you stop in the middle of the staircase. "We'll do what we have to do?"

You turn to look at him as he takes his coat off, "What did you want me to say?"

"I didn't want to speak for me." You huff, walking back down the stairs meeting him in the middle of the foyer.

"You are my wife, I am your husband, we speak for each other." He shakes his head, it feels almost demeaning.

"You do not speak for me."

"So what you want to get locked up? Them to make us have a child?"

"I'm not scared of them."

"You should be." He speaks softly, "I am. You don't know what they're capable of."

"I know! You think I don't! They killed my friends, forced me into marrying you under the threat of death!" You raise your voice.

"That's just the fucking start." He rubs his hands on the back of his neck. "Listen, I may not like you as much as I should with you being my wife and all, but that doesn't mean I want you to die."

"God, that's the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me." You roll your eyes. You turn to move back up the stairs.

"Where are you going? We're not done with this conversation." He follows you up the stairs.

"What you want, getting it over with." You enter your room as he still follows you. You start unzipping your dress, he makes a noise and you see him turn around.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He looks towards the door.

"You're gonna get me pregnant, so we don't die or whatever."

"Not like this." He sighs, holding his head in his hands.

"Jeez, Zabini, never seen a girl naked before?"

He just lets out a laugh, shaking his head. "Turn around." He shakes his head. You take a step towards him, your hands on his shoulders, "Blaise, look at me."

He reluctantly turns around, when he faces you he tries to keep his eyes on your face but he can't help but let his gaze trace your frame. You stand there only in your underwear, totally vulnerable in front of him. "This is doing what he have to do, Blaise."

You move your hand to his jaw, to guide his eyes back to your own. "This can't be why we do it."

"Then think of something else, someone else, it doesn't matter." You shrug, even through the thought of him thinking of someone else is gut wrenching to you.

"I can't." His plead sounds so desperate, so light. Suddenly you think you've crossed a line, something you can never come back from. You move back but his hands shoot back to you, holding your waist, pushing your body against his. "I can't think of anyone but the person I really want."

"Wha-" You go to speak, but he pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

He lifts you up in his arms, turning around so he can hold you up against the door. You start to unbutton his shirt as he moves his thumb back and forth on the back of your thighs. He turns around and crawls on his knees up the bed with you still in his arms, he sets you down softly, and crawls down your body with his lips.

"Fuck, you're beautiful." He murmurs into your skin, you groan and push your body into his lips. "Get it over with, my fucking ass. Imma take my time with you."

"Try not to take too long?"

"Oh? Are you feeling needy today?"

"Use your mouth for something better than talking." You grab the back of his neck and pull his back up to your lips. He laughs into you are he slowly- too slowly, taking off his clothes. "Blaise, I swear if you don't do something I will kick you out of my room."

He chuckles again and releases his cock out of the confines of his pants, "Already ready for me, Darlin? Such a good girl."

You moan into his mouth as you feel the tip of his cock toy with your entrance. You buck your hips in the air, making it slip into you even more, "You greedy lil' thing, huh?"

"Zabini." You growl, looking at him with heavy eyes.

"Yes?" He smirks up at you.

"Shut your mouth." You grab his jaw tightly.

"As you wish, princess."

He enters you with a force and a groan, you just lay there and feel every single inch, every single vein and curve. He sits inside of you without moving, letting you settle, but you decide that he's taking too long and you flip yourself over so you're sitting on top of him.

Blaise throws his head back at the site of you, you place your hands on his stomach as he places his on your hips, guiding you back and forth in a rocking motion. He leans up and puts his chest up to your front as he starts to whisper encouraging words in your ear, feeling you up and down, grabbing your ass, helping you move.

"Let go f'me, sweetheart." He sounds drunk on you, as you can. feel him letting go. "Gonna put a baby in you."

"Fuck, do it." You rest your head on his shoulder, kissing his neck. You feel his release inside of you and you finally let yourself go as well.

You both fall to your backs as Blaise uses his shirt to clean you up. Once he settles back into bed he finally speaks, "Wanna talk about it?"

"Tomorrow, I'm tired." Your falling asleep on his chest and he's completely content with that in this moment.

When Blaise wakes up he moves his arm to feel your body but all he feels a cold sheet next to him. He gets up and puts on his underwear to walk down to the kitchen, figuring you'd be there. Only to see dishes in the sink and an empty house. He knocks on the bathroom door, looking for you.

He turns the entire house upside down, looking for you, but with no luck he doesn't find you anywhere. He decides that maybe you went somewhere and forgot to leave him a note. He makes breakfast for himself, but there's a bad feeling in his gut, but he knows it's probably all in his head.

But when the clock turns to noon, then to three... when the sun goes down is when Blaise finally lets himself worry, he writes letters to everyone he knows. His last resort is those Muggles in town, when no one knows where you are he heads to the abandoned house. He doesn't know the incantation so he just desperately knocks, when he receives no answer, he heads pathetically back home.

On his walk back home he notices a tray of food on the ground. Then the bad feeling finally lands, something is wrong, something is so wrong.

When he arrives back home after looking all over the streets and alleys he finally walks inside to see a brown owl set on a perch.

He knows the code name, Draco and him have been using it for months, passing information back and forth from the ministry, keeping each other in the know.

He grab anything, he drops the letter and runs to the floo network.

He arrives at the Ministry after a sickening trip. He walks fast, but not too fast to be suspicious.

Blaise works his way to the elevator only to find a familiar face when he walks in. Rodolphus Lestrange sends him a sneer. Ever since the Zabini’s decided to be a neutral party during the war they don’t have too many friendly faces in the ministry.

“What brings you here, Zabini.” Rodolphus sounds accusing.

He doesn’t speak too quickly, not wanting to raise suspicion. “"I’m looking into some old family records in the Department of Magical Transportation. Family business, you understand, I’m sure."

“I do.” The rest of the ride is silent, just sneaky glances from Rodolphus to Blaise, he can tell the man doesn’t believe him, but at this moment he doesn’t care.

Once it lands on Rodolphus’ stop and the man slowly exits, Blaise can finally let out a breath.

He tries to calm his breathing as he walks out on level 2, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Blasie makes his way down a long, cold, dark hallway, trying to walk like he belongs here, which he absolutely does not. After turning a corner he sees one of the only friendly faces here.

"I can't go in with you." Blaise understands why Draco can't help him, he's already doing too much, he's jeopardizing so much just by letting him in. Blaise nods, giving him a look of gratitude. "78."

After opening the door, Draco walks the opposite direction of the door.

Blaise feels like he's walking for years, one number after another.

75...

76...

77...

78, he finally sees the number he's looking for. He tries to hear through the door, but he knows it would be no use. He just opens the door and what his eyes spot is something he couldn't even imagine. You are shackled from the ceiling, almost unconscious, he would think you were dead if he didn't here your laboured breathing.

His hands start to shake as he approaches you, he speaks your name softly, You try to lift your head, trying to look at him, but you can't smother the energy to do so. "I'm getting you out of here."

But he didn't think of a plan, he has no idea how he's going to do that

He uses the only spell he can think of to get the shackles off of you wrists, then he grabs you, wrapping your body around him. When he walks you out the door he hears echoing footsteps coming from behind him.

Instead of going the way he came he moves the other way, away from the entrance. He walks faster and faster as the footsteps get closer. He finds an office and hurriedly hides in there. God, luck is on his side today. There's a floo network in the office, he hurriedly floos back to your house, but he knows neither of you are safe there.

When he gets back to your house, he sees someone he hasn't seen in years sitting on his couch. Hermione Granger meets his eyes, "Granger, wha-"

"Draco sent me, I have a safe house for you." She stands and walks over to you both.

"I don't understand." Blaise shakes his head, looking to you.

"It's time you finally meet The Resistance."

-

-

Reblogs and Likes are appreciated

[sosa2imagines]

Let us be there for you...

Warning- Angst, insecurity, introvert, self doubts, fluff. Disclaimer- @mrvl-addict finally got all four parts ready for you fic idea.

You’ve been a part of the Avengers for a few weeks now, and on the outside, you’re everything you’re expected to be confident, outgoing, always ready with a joke, never shy to dive into conversation. You make people laugh, you keep things light, you engage in every mission and meeting with the kind of energy that makes you look like you belong.

On the inside, however, you’re terrified. Terrified of being found out. Terrified of not being good enough. On the inside, you’re the opposite of everything you try to portray.  What the Avengers see, it’s all just a disguise. You put on a mask, a persona to cover up the real you.

You’ve spent your whole life like this. Putting on this persona in order to feel accepted, to feel wanted. To feel like you belong somewhere. You don’t actually know how to truly be yourself. Being yourself got you bullied, being yourself got you hurt. So you’ve learned to rely on masks.

Every moment spent around people leaves you drained. The constant performance of being the ‘fun one’, the ‘social butterfly’, is exhausting. You’d much rather find a quiet corner to recharge, but you don’t want to be seen as weak, or worse, lonely. So, you push through, hoping no one will notice that you’re barely keeping it together.

Except Steve and Bucky do notice.

It’s a typical afternoon in the Tower. Everyone’s just wrapped up training, lounging around in the common area to catch their breath.

Tony’s in the middle of telling some absurd story about his latest tech malfunction on a mission, his voice animated as usual. You’re on the couch, laughing along, making jokes, throwing in a few quips of your own. After all, you don’t want to be left out.

But as you laugh, you feel a familiar weight at the back of your mind. Steve and Bucky are both watching you from the corner of the room. You glance over, and for a moment, it feels like they’re seeing right through you.

Steve turns to Bucky, his voice low, but not low enough that you can’t hear. “She’s been acting like this a lot lately. It’s like she’s trying too hard to stay in the center of things.”

Bucky doesn’t respond immediately, but his eyes narrow slightly, like he’s weighing his words. “Yeah. I don’t know… she’s doing it, but I don’t think she’s really there.”

You can feel your heart rate quicken, and you’re not sure why it stings. You’re just trying to keep up the persona, to keep everyone happy, make it look easy. And yet, somehow, they see right through it. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, trying to brush off their observation with a grin, moving towards them, “What? What are you both talking about? I’m having a blast, really!”

There’s a brief pause. Steve’s expression softens, and it’s almost too much, the way he looks at you, like he’s reading your every thought. He smiles gently, but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “Of course you are,” he says, his voice warm. “But you don’t have to always be on for us, you know? You don’t have to prove anything.”

You blink, taken aback. For a split second, you feel a wave of embarrassment. It’s like they’ve peeled back the layers, and you’re exposed. You try to laugh it off, but your voice is a little quieter. “No, really, I’m fine. I’m just… just trying to keep things light, you know?”

Bucky, sitting across the room, looks at you with a careful expression. “You don’t have to do that with us, doll…” he says, his tone calm and surprisingly gentle. “We’re not gonna judge you for not being on all the time. If you need a break, or if you just want to…  we’re okay with that.”

His words hit you in a way you didn’t expect. It’s not the typical ‘you’re part of the team’ pep talk. It’s something different, something that feels like permission to be yourself, no masks. You feel a rush of gratitude, but also an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. You force a smile, but it’s a little shaky this time.

“I… didn’t mean to put on an act or anything,” you say quickly, suddenly feeling the need to clarify. “I just don’t want to be a drag, you know? I guess I’ve just gotten used to being the one who keeps the mood up.”

Steve’s eyes meet yours, and there’s no judgment there, just understanding. He leans forward slightly, his voice quiet but sincere. “We all have our moments. You don’t always have to be the one holding it together. It’s okay to lean on us.”

Bucky’s nod is almost imperceptible, but you catch it. He doesn’t say anything more, but the look on his face is one of quiet reassurance. He doesn’t expect anything from you, not the way you’ve been expecting from yourself.

You sit back on the couch, feeling a little out of place. For a moment, there’s silence. Then Tony, oblivious to the shift in the room, starts talking again, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

Later that evening, after everyone has gone to bed, you find yourself standing in front of one of the massive windows in the Tower, looking out at the city. The lights are peaceful, calming, and for once, you don’t feel the need to pretend. You’re just… you.

Footsteps sound behind you, and before you can react, Steve’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Hey, you okay?”

You don’t turn around right away, but the warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You inhale slowly, then speak softly, your words almost a whisper. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

There’s a pause, and then Steve steps closer. “You don’t have to pretend with us, you know. We’re not gonna expect you to be this... bubbly, confident person all the time.”

You swallow, feeling a flush creep up your neck. It’s embarrassing, this sudden exposure of everything you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden. You turn to face him, and the words catch in your throat for a moment. “I guess… I guess I just don’t know how to be anything else sometimes.”

Steve’s expression softens, his eyes kind. “You don’t have to be anything else. Just be yourself. That’s more than enough for us.”

Bucky’s voice comes from the doorway, quiet but steady. “You’re part of the team. That means we’re here for the quiet moments, too. You don’t have to go through everything on your own.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. There’s a weight in your chest that’s easing, bit by bit. It’s strange to feel like you don’t have to keep up the act anymore. Like, for once, it’s okay to just be.

“Let us be there for you…doll.”

“Thanks,” you say, and this time, you mean it. “I’ll try to remember that.”

There’s a long moment of quiet, and for the first time since joining, you don’t feel like you have to be anyone other than yourself. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a step toward something better.

Part 2-

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

@emerald-writes @caplanbuckybarnes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @saranghaey @greatmistakes @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt

@unaxv @pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss

[skimmingmilk]

i've just found out your tumblr has even MORe picket fence writing and im over the moon?? But also my heart was shattered with the back in time wip 😭😭😭 how does sonic find the strength to leave baby tails behind, how does he react when he sees tails again in his own timeline after having met sick abandoned baby tails??

Heheheh, yeah, there are some little fics or scenes I've written that I hesitate to put on AO3 sometimes (or just aren't complete enough to be a story on their own), so I like to throw them at Tumblr from time to time. Glad you found them! :D

Ohh, the back in time WIP... Not sure how much I can give away because of the chance that it's going to end up part of a bigger fic... but it'll still be a long while until I get around to posting that xD Maybe people will forget lol.

Potential future spoilers under the cut?

So! The way I see it playing out is that Sonic is going to find it in him to leave baby Tails behind because he knows they'll cross paths one day, the way they're supposed to and everything will play out from there. He knows he can't stay in the past and he can't take baby Tails to his present. Plus, Silver's with him and it probably wouldn't go over well to try and explain why it'd be a good idea to take baby Tails with him when it would negate pretty much everything Sonic and Tails experienced together since meeting on West Side Island or cause a split in the timeline where now there's a universe where Sonic never got to meet Tails because he wasn't there and now Sonic's time with have two Tailses. He knows that it can't happen.

But... Sonic still can't stop wondering about the little guy. Is he cold? Is he scared? Is he getting enough to eat? Is he lonely? Hurt? All the things he's not letting himself think about when it comes to his Tails (the 10 year old who's on his first solo adventure and basically gone as close to no contact as possible in order to "prove himself"). He projects all that onto the baby version of him because he knows Tails can handle himself (and that's not why he's worried about him, what he's uncomfortable with is the motive behind the journey). So he gets his hands on two Chaos Emeralds and goes back to check on baby Tails by himself. Just this once.

Except it doesn't end up being just once. Because there is this disconnect and distance between Sonic and Tails of the present, doubts that have arisen in the wake of Forces, Frontiers, and now Tails's absence, Sonic's drawn more and more to the past. Baby Tails smiles and laughs and he doesn't pull away from him and he likes to play and explore and he still needs him. It's just so easy for Sonic to make him feel better. Just by being there.

Also, because this is after Frontiers, going through cyberspace and the cyber corruption has opened the gates to Sonic's memories a bit and they're kind of leaking into his thoughts more and more. He's falling into the habit of ruminating, reliving moments and questioning choices he made, things he might've done wrong, could've done better. So that maybe Tails wouldn't feel like he needs to become a completely different person.

Present Tails won't listen to him, but baby Tails hangs onto every word. So maybe by being there... Tails might remember being loved and maybe the 10 year old won't only see the worst parts of himself when he looks in the mirror if Sonic can try again and show the younger version that he's worth something just as he is.

I think Sonic crosses paths with present Tails twice during all of this. The first conversation goes okay, but there's an awkwardness to it. But Sonic does try to make an effort to be more open with Tails in the hopes that maybe it will set a better example. And Tails is surprisingly receptive to it. So Sonic resolves to not go back to the past, because Tails seems to be doing okay after all. And he's reminded that he loves who his little brother is now. The good and the bad made him who he is, and would he really want to change that? Of course not!

Unfortunately, the second conversation doesn't go nearly as well...

So Sonic goes back to see baby Tails in the wake of it - not because he needs it, but because Tails clearly does - but when he arrives, the forest is burning and he can't find Tails anywhere...

[intheshadows2000s]

Momentary Gains

Warnings: 18+, drug use, smut

He helped you climb to the top. But at what cost?

"I'll scratch your back, you can scratch mine."

"Well only if there's more where that came from."

The words you and him had exchanged years prior still lingered in your mind to this very day. You were stood with cameras flashing all around, a big smile on your lips even though the insides of you felt dull and ugly.

The dress you wore hugged your curves and showed off your assets appropriately enough to gain attention, which had always been your ultimate goal, your main desire, exactly what you had craved.

But then, what did they say about being careful what you wished for?

Well it very much applied to you. The big dreamer. The pretty girl who just knew she could turn heads with next to no work. And all you'd done to be stood here, a few albums out, world famous, an influence to little girls and boys who dreamed of making it....was shag your way to the top.

Maybe that's what made this life so hard to accept. Outside of the harrowing lack of privacy, the mishaps you'd face if a song flopped or hate you'd received if you were dared caught being normal - that fact had to be the worst part.

No one knew. When you sat in interviews and spoke of your sudden rise to fame, at the label who just couldn't help but pick you up after spotting you in a local pub, because you were just THAT good - you felt like an utter fraud.

Of course some of it was true. There had been a guy from the label there, Patrick Yakerman, who you worked with still to this day. He had seen you sing, and he had genuinely been impressed - Alex had influence, but not enough for someone to pick you up with no talent. But Patrick would've never been at that seedy bar in Camden Town, he would've never sat and bothered to watch you play with a glass of watered down wine and a curious expression - if it hadn't been for Alex Turner.

Alex had never held it against you. In the very few times you'd seen him since that day, he'd smiled at you as if you were no more than a stranger turned acquaintance. You knew he was subtle when you'd met him, but the deceitful act of not knowing you whatsoever was so subtle it was almost impressive. You hadn't minded, you were glad at the time that he kept to himself and eyed you with no more than friendliness in his eyes. Because if anyone were to find out how you really climbed to the top, your career would be over and you both knew it. He had all the power and yet he'd not once used it against you, you had to wonder by the point whether he even remembered what had happened or whether you were just another notch in his belt.

You'd heard things since that day about Alex. He was one of the most respected men, hard working, quiet and intelligent. Everybody seemed to like him, but one less notable quality was the amount of women he slept with. It just seemed to be known that he slept around, despite having an endless string of girlfriends behind him and half the time having one on his arm at these things, it always seemed he was caught doing something he shouldn't with a pretty girl. They never seemed to mind - perhaps they were in it for the exact same reason you had been and perhaps that's how he got it all - through power. But you doubted it. You doubted he got off on knowing he could destroy them, and more just got off on the fact he could have them at all.

You watched him as he climbed out of the car, his head bowed from the cameras. His hair was shorter now, slicked back and yet it seemed as if he was still trying to hide behind it - even though it wasn't there. You remember it being a warm brown, but now it was jet black and gelled to absolute perfection, not one strand out of place. As his body followed his head, you took note of the smart navy suit he wore, a white shirt underneath that was unbuttoned at the top, the lights catching against his silver chain and making it glisten like a lone star in a navy sky. The hair gave indication to his sharp features, the angles of his face almost seeming harsh now that they were fully on show, his eyes - big and brown - were thinned as he tried to adjust to the flashes as the cameras averted to him. He was deep into the industry when you met him, but now it had swallowed him whole - gone was the cute, fluffy haired, soft man you remembered from years ago and replaced instead with a full grown man, modest and attractive in his place and yet the quality of him seemed more mundane, more basic.

Behind him, long legs came through the car, thin and never ending and followed them happened to be a stunning girl - though unique in her appearance. She was tall, taller than him, standing at least six feet which didn't account for the small pumps she had on, probably in aid of his masculinity seeing as she towered over him. Her long blonde hair, tumbling down her chest in golden waves. She had a dress that gaped down her chest but the smooth surface of it was pale, freckled with a few moles. As your eyes trailed up to her face, you caught sight of plump, pouty lips and big blue eyes, her makeup subtle. You recognised her, you'd seen her at events like this before but not with him.

"Jordanna!"

As your stage name was called, you quickly pivoted your head back to the cameras before you, remembering what you were here for. You'd caught the tail end of Alex's head swerving but thanked the Lord you'd managed to glance away before you'd caught eyes and had that feeling settle over you. That shameful feeling of someone knowing who you really were, what you'd really done to be stood here. No one knew other than him, and because of that his presence always put you on edge even if it piqued your curiosity all the same.

It was time for you to move on, to make space for him which seemed awfully fitting. You were a big dog nowadays but your fame could simply never compare to him, to his talent, his aura. The effortless way he handled a crowd despite being the furthest person made for it.

"Good work darling," Harriett, your assistant, grinned as you stepped towards the end of the carpet. Your neck twitched to turn, wanting to catch one last glance at him. But you couldn't risk it, not with her eyes on you and not with the possibility of his either. And so you carried on, trying your best to remain unaffected, calm, untouchable.

You'd nearly mastered being fake after all these years. You weren't going to let one event lead to your demise. Never.

Once the after party commenced, you finally felt a little bit looser around the edges. It helped being surrounded by fellow celebrities, who didn't care what you were doing because they were likely doing things ten times worse.

You stood at the bar with an old girlfriend when she got distracted by someone. You stood to the side, knocking back a drink while you waited for their conversation to end. But suddenly, a shadow clouded your vision and you put your glass down to find Alex beside you.

He eyes you cautiously, as if he knows he shouldn't be talking to you. You wonder briefly where his girlfriend is, whether she would be bothered by the way his eyes have lingered on you all night long. You've not dared look towards him but the weight of his gaze has always been heavy, unbearable even. The sweat that's broke out on your skin is evidence enough that you're affected. Yet even though he's the master of pretence, you learnt from the best and you're not far behind. Your eyes meet his and the two of you stare at each other, both uncertain, both tight lipped and tensed jaws.

"What are you drinking?"

Alex's voice nearly shocks you. If you weren't so on edge about acting normal, you might have actually gasped. The northern undertones remain, yet they're softer now. The edge of his accent has been wiped away from his time in America, but the deepness of it still reverberates through you, raising goosebumps across your skin.

"Champagne."

His lips quirked, "of course."

He waved the bartender down and you watched on like a mentally absent bystander. His hands gripped the bar as he leant over it so the worker could hear him, your eyes trail towards his fingers. Glistening with silver rings, thick and shiny. The callouses remain no matter how prestigious he looks, and that familiar aspect makes you smile.

"Hey babe!"

Your friend turned back around to you, catching your attention and you off guard, checking Alex out shamelessly. But suddenly you spun, too quickly and fell into her a bit. She giggled as she steadied you, glancing behind you on what had gotten you so flustered.

"I'm off for a ciggie," she said, glancing between you and Alex - who you couldn't see, but you were sure he was probably intently staring, as he always does, "see you in a bit."

The smile on her lips is all telling of her underlying meaning. Usually, she'd drag you out there with her for a quick one, you'd head to the toilets after, touch up your makeup, snort some cocaine and rub the remnants on your gums before walking out and doing it all over again. But she doesn't even bother to ask, the blush on her cheeks speaking for her as she winks at you, then strides off in the other direction, clearly thinking Alex has approached you for something other than an old catch up.

"Your drink," Alex gestured to the bubbling liquid, the golden tint of it practically making you salivate as you lift it to your lips and down half the glass. He watches on with a slight smirk, his brow rising higher with each sip you take.

"I haven't seen you for a while," he says, voice smooth, soothing almost. He has such a way with words even when they aren't special or theatrical at all. Regardless of his looks, you know he could make a girl swoon, even if he acts nonchalant.

"I've been on tour," you say, "and it doesn't seem like you cross the water much these days."

He chuckles, looking away momentarily. He leans against the bar, his stance screaming casualness even if his muscles are pressing against the shirt.

"Maybe you just don't spend enough time in LA," he suggests and you scoff.

"If I spend five minutes of my year in LA, I'd say that's more than enough."

"Hmm," his eyes trail over your face and body, filling with something indecipherable, "maybe it's the complexion that's the problem."

"Are you suggesting I'm scared of the sun?"

"I'm suggesting you could do with some more," he shrugs, "good for the soul."

"There's nothing good about a musicians soul."

"Don't be melancholy. It doesn't suit you."

"How would you know?"

"You think I don't remember you, don't you?" he looks amused by this. His eyes once again trailing down your body as if he couldn't resist the temptation. Your dress was rather explicit, with the gaping neckline, your boobs were right there in front of him. You'd seen many men looking, some old, some too young and some with women already on their arms. Yet none of their gazes felt as invasive as his does, right now.

"I think we've made it clear I don't want you to."

"You don't want me to remember the reasons," he corrects you, "which are irrelevant to me, for the record. That doesn't mean I don't remember the act."

"Are you really going to bring up sex when your girlfriend is around here somewhere?"

"She's left."

"That doesn't make it any better."

"I don't think you really care about that."

"No?"

"No. It wouldn't be the first time you've slept with me while I'm taken."

That makes you wince. The memory resurfacing of his girlfriend at the time, how she'd been right there, watching him talk to you.

You'd managed to wriggle your way into the event from shagging an actor. You'd met him in London - searched for him even - after hearing rumours he'd be starring in an independent film which Alex would be creating the soundtrack for. It was perfectly executed, your plan and you'd made Alex aware of it without expressing it directly. Yet, he hadn't seemed to mind.

He took the bait so easily.

He'd walked in with one of the best looking, classiest girls on his arm. Him and the supposed love of his life at the time, everybody swooned over their relationship and thought it would last forever but you knew better. The second you felt his gaze on you, you knew you weren't the first girl it had wandered for. Alex wasn't loyal, you knew that and his pretty girlfriend had known it too.

He'd approached you with next to no shame, sidled up next to you, asked you the exact same question he'd asked tonight - what are you drinking? And then he'd asked you who you were, what you did.

Aspiring musician, you'd stated. You still remember the way his lips had quirked as if he wasn't surprised at all, but was amused by your dreams. He'd asked you who you were there with, when you'd mentioned who, his smile had deepened. You knew then that he could see straight through you and your heart had raced with fear that he'd leave, figure out you were nothing more than a desperate, poor girl who was using everyone in your path to get to the top.

You'd barely spoken for ten minutes before he mentioned listening to your stuff, possible studio time, an agent he knew that was taking on new clients. All the while his gaze had made its way down your barely there outfit, eyes lingering on your tits far more than they did your face.

"You know, you could always pop by the studio. I can show you the ropes, get you familiar with the equipment...."

That's how he'd made his move, which is when you'd addressed it. You'd made an agreement hidden behind friendly words that seemed harmless.

"I'll scratch your back, you can scratch mine."

"Only if there's more where that came from."

Alex showed you the equipment alright. He bent you over the control panel and fucked you like a starved man. He did actually show you around but you learnt nothing with your lust clouded mind. He'd ended up fucking you a few times that day, had you on your knees for him, buried his face between your thighs. And then you'd both walked away like nothing had happened, after he'd instructed you to perform at the specific bar in Camden - told you someone would be there, watching you.

"Wear something provocative. You can try for movement in the industry but it likely won't happen. I'm not being a pig, I'm being honest."

You'd done exactly that. It wasn't only Alex you'd fucked. Patrick was rather taken by you too. And now here you were. The man who had made your career in front of you, handsome and intimidating as ever.

"I'm not sleeping with you now."

"Not yet. But I'd quite like if you did."

"Here's to wishful thinking."

"You look fucking good," he nearly splutters it out, his voice thick with desire as his gaze wanders once more, "excuse me for trying my luck."

"I would expect nothing less from a ladies man like you."

He laughs again, but this time it's raw, honest. You can see from the sparkle in them eyes that he's taken by your dry humour. You're a far cry from the bashful, blushing girl in your early twenties.

"I'm not the ladies man you may assume I am," he notes, looking displeased at even the suggestion that's how he's seen, "I'm picky."

"You're not picky," you scoff, and he quirks a brow, challenging you to tell him what you think, "look at the girl you arrived with, versus me. Versus your last girlfriend. Versus the many before that."

"I didn't realise you'd been keeping such close tabs on me Jordanna," Alex drawled your name out with a voice intended to enamour you and annoyingly, it worked. You felt your cheeks heat and you saw the flush spread across your chest, glistening with sweat.

"I don't," you mumble, "it's hard to ignore when you're front page news Alex."

"Mmm," he hums, the drinks have clearly gotten to him, suggested by the glint in his eye. He looks at you over his glass as he downs the remainder of it, lips curling around the rim as he tries to suppress a smile, "what about you? Any boyfriends?"

"No. Been busy."

"I'm sure you have," he scoffs, "isn't it time to find some real love?"

Your anger flares like you're a bull and his words are a waving red flag. You stare at him blankly, trying to process what he's suggesting. You know he's within his right after how this all came to be. You wouldn't even know him if you hadn't done him for the wrong reasons, but addressing it is an entirely different ball game.

"You're telling me you have ever experienced real love?" you hum, "that's cute, considering you shag half the female population while writing love songs about your girlfriends to keep them interested."

He smiles, "I struck a nerve, didn't I?"

You bow your head, feeling your heart race you're actually not sure how much longer you can sit in this situation. You feel so hot and bothered, your perfectly done hair beginning to unravel from the dampness of your sweat seeping through your skin.

"Personally I admire the hustle, regardless of the nature," Alex hums, catching your attention as you look back up, his gaze a little softer. He clearly doesn't want to offend you even though the nerve has already been struck, just as he said.

"The hustle is over now," you seethe, speaking merely through your teeth, "so I'd rather just forget about it."

"About me?"

"You were just another step up the ladder Alex, I was just another girl. It was transactional at best, let's not make it romantic."

"So it would have to be transactional for you to fuck me again?" he steps closer to you, his voice low, eyes burning with desire but he hides it well. To anyone else it would probably look like he was talking about the weather. But you saw it, the same way you'd seen it at the studio when he'd told you to bend over and lift up your skirt, "you like to be bought hm?"

Your hands press against his chest, holding him at an arms length. If he comes any closer, the burning inferno that is his presence will surely render you to a pile of ashes at his feet. You can't bear the heat of him.

"There's plenty of women here who would fuck you for free," you hiss, "sadly for you, I won't fuck you for money."

"What about for pleasure?" Alex's hand graced your waist, his head leaning closer to your ear, lips grazing the curve of it. He felt warm, smelt of something expensive mixed with cigarettes and whiskey. Your breath hitched and your hands bunched his shirt, the goal of pushing him away lost in your mind.

"I know you remember how much you liked it," Alex whispers, making you shiver as his breath fans over your throat, bringing your pulse back to life but overwhelming it, your heart thumping as if it's trying to escape its cavity and jump into his hands, "how you were screaming, cumming all over my tongue."

"Transactional. Performative, Alex....it was for show," your voice betrays you with its breathlessness, your thighs start to tremble with the promise of opening for him at any given second, the space between them throbbing with each drawn out word falling from his lips.

"I don't believe that," he says, clutching your waist now, fingertips rubbing slow circles on your ribs through your dress, "I like to think I know how to please a woman."

"If you think that, then surely you should leave me alone, no?"

"Is that what you want?"

He pulls back to look you in the eye. The sight of his eyes, darkened with lust, the bulbs of his cheeks also painted a rosy pink, his lips parted to make way for his own, uncontrollable, quick breaths. It's all too much. He robs you of any words. You don't want to say yes, but you don't want to say no either. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about it since it happened.

"Why don't you meet me in the bathroom?" Alex suggests, no hint of humour in his eyes, "I can make it snow, I've heard you like that."

You thin your eyes at him but with him pressed against you, you're too afraid to speak in case you actually moan.

"You don't have to come," he steps back, "but it would be nice to revisit what once was. Still, no pressure darling."

He turns in his pep, sliding the glass back to the bartender on the way. You down the last of your drink with a heavy sigh, feeling the coolness of his absence immediately. It rushes over you, making you shiver, goosebumps raising across your skin.

You consider his offer for a hot minute, pondering over an empty glass. It would be so wrong, when you've clearly seen him walk in here with another woman on his arm. There's no power coming into play, nothing to force you into this whatsoever except your own damned desire. Alex is attractive, possibly the most attractive man you've come across and it isn't just his looks that allude to his allure, it's the way he is. So effortlessly powerful and dominant - if you recall correctly. You don't sleep around much these days, if you so much as breathe the air of another man in public, it's headline news and so you mostly keep to yourself. But there's no eyes on you tonight, this is a VIP party - there's no one here to witness you cross a boundary burning with flames.

Your body moves automatically before your mind has even comprehended your decision. Minutes have passed and you're suddenly afraid he's changed his mind, that he won't follow through on his promise. But lo and behold when you walk into the bathroom, there he is, staring at himself in the mirror with his hands clasped to the countertop. He looks almost sinister with his dark eyes boring into his own soul, his features unmoving, hands turning white from the strength of his grip. Only when the door clicks shut behind you does he finally turn around.

"You came."

"You knew I would," you wave off, "make it snow then."

He chuckles, waggling his finger for you to follow him. The bathroom is spare of anyone for the moment but you know that won't last. Even if these types of ordeals are usual at events like these, you don't want to be the person caught in the act, your name and brand tarnished by your inability to make the right decision. You follow him into the cubicle, its roomy and smells of perfume, it's almost overbearing but soon your nose will be burning with something else, the discomfort will be short lived.

Alex reaches into his pocket and pulls free a small baggie containing stark white powder. Your eyes widen, pupils expanding in preparation of your bad habit, one that is far too normalised in the society you've become a part of.

He lays down his phone, tapping the bag lightly, brows furrowed in concentration as he racks up two perfected lines, the powder chalky and thick, not even needing to be cut.

"You've already cut it?"

Your voice seems to shock him out of a trance, as if he'd forgotten you were there entirely. His eyes move to you and grow lazy with humour.

"I need easy access at things like this," he says.

"You're the master of things like this," you scoff and he raises his eyebrows, pulling free a crumpled note from his pocket. It's a dollar, not even pounds and somehow that feels all the more dirty.

"That's where you're wrong."

"You quoting your songs to me now?" you scoff a laugh, watching his hands roll the note tight, so precise in movements. He always does everything with such care, such precision. It makes his recklessness endearing, dangerous even. How he makes it look so glamorous.

"Careful or I might start to think you're a fan," he warns, though you can see he's joking. He passes you the note and seems dismayed when it loosens in your grip. But it's good enough to snort with and so you lean down, pulling your hair out of your face, your eyes fluttering closed with premeditated relief as the hole hovers over the edge of the powder.

"Wait," Alex demands, just as you're about to snort it, he grabs your arm. You look around, bent over, finding him stood there with a frown. You quirk a brow and the desire pools in his eyes once more as they trail over your body.

"Tell me before you've done this," he says, gesturing to the powder, "that you want this."

"I do it all the time-"

"Not that," he rolls his eyes, "me. That you want me."

"You want my consent?" you nearly laugh, it's just so unrecognisable in the industry for a single man in it to care. Alex might be corrupt but he's always been a gentleman to some degree. Maybe that's why he's so irresistible. In a cesspool full of arseholes doing bad things, his account for less judgement.

"Fine. Yes. I want this," you sigh when he stays silent, searching your eyes for the green light. He nods, a smirk moving onto his mouth, and then as you revert your eyes back to the powder, you feel his body shift, moving behind you, his crotch digging into your arse. The fabric of your dress stretches taut over your supple flesh, the curves made obvious by the silk material. Alex's breathing becomes faster, in the silent echo of the bathroom, it's so apparent that it makes you smile.

"You snort that darling," he says, rugged voice, thick and relentless as his hand trails down your thigh to the hem of your dress, "and I'll make you feel good."

His hands lay flat over your arse, smoothing over the fabric, his breathing becoming more shaky, more uncertain. He's very calm and collected but his breathing gives him away, save for the desire in his eyes.

You snort the line up slowly, savouring the burn, savouring the euphoria of the moment. Your eyes roll back into your head and your body relaxes as you sniff back the powder, sighing in relief.

Alex groans, watching your head tilt back with pure bliss written on your features. Your sparkly eyeshadow glistened under the light along with your gold, shimmery highlighter. You look ethereal leant back like that, hands clasping the countertop, bent over with your dress now bunched at your waist.

"Fucking hell," your voice is thick as the drugs bring you back down to earth, sliding down your throat with the bitterness of hate and you refrain a cough as you turn around, facing Alex.

"Let me do it off your arse," his voice is full with desperation, his eyes pleading and wild as he glances behind you at the line, still perfect and untouched practically screaming his name.

"Could we get any more scandalous?" you chuckle, your exterior loosened from the drugs that have started to make your lips tingle, heart pound and muscles melt. Alex chuckles, a breathy, light sound and reaches for the phone.

"Turn around," he orders. You comply almost embarrassingly quickly, landing on your front with your breasts pressed against the cool ceramic as he pulls your dress up once more. The slight tear of the fabric concerns you but you don't have much time to ponder before you feel his fingers toying with your panties. He moans as he feels the wet, stickiness of them against his fingertips. You're clearly more turned on than you've seemed. The ceramic does nothing to cool your burning cheeks, they're too far gone to save, but the rest of you shivers appropriately as his teasing touch continues across the delicate lace.

"Stay still sweetheart, this is the good stuff," Alex clutches your hips, holding you still. He leans down behind you, and you just about adjust your head to watch him, eyes fixated on your arse, his finger toying with the side of your panties, trying to be careful in his approach so not to knock the powder off of you.

Just as his fingers find your slick, he brings the note to his nose. The whole situation is sinfully sexual, you can't help but whimper when he pulls your panties to the side with two eager fingers, rubbing those same calloused fingertips through your folds, collecting your wetness.

"Perfectly ready, aren't you? Almost like you were waiting for it," Alex hums, his voice quiet yet echoing off of the walls and making your head spin. You stare behind you with your mouth agape, your arse like the sun on a horizon.

"Snort it."

"Giving orders now, are we?" he quirked a brow, amused by your demand, the note hovering just above the powder. You're desperate to touch him, desperate to fuck him but he's taking his sweet time like the two of you even have much of it.

"Alex, come on," you whine, closing your eyes in dismay until suddenly he plunges two fingers inside of you, your loud moan mingling with the sordid sound of him snorting the powder up. You'd missed the show, immersed in the pleasure and it doesn't cease - not even for a second.

Alex holds the note against your back, holds you in place as his fingers start a relentless rhythm against your walls, fast and unsympathetic to the suddenness of it all. Your eyes fall shut, when suddenly Alex bites down on your arse cheek, teeth sinking into the supple flesh as you cry out.

"Shhhh," he curls his fingers, his demand a contradiction to his actions, only intensifying your pleasure while begging you to contain it, "fuck you're so wet. Hear that?"

The squelching of your pussy echoes through the cubicle, bouncing off the walls and making you blush. If anyone were to walk in, you'd be caught, there's no two ways about it. You're not being very vigilant but you can imagine Alex is experienced in playing it cool, so you leave the worrying to him, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure instead.

His pace is intent to overwhelm, fingers curling into the right spot, his other hand, still with the note in, moving to rub hard, quick circles on your clit. You don't know how long you'll last with the relentless pressure he's putting on you, pressing you harder against the ceramic, hung over you, engulfing you with his warmth.

"Come on now darling," he whispers, the sound nearly getting lost with your delicate cries, high pitched and whiny, begging for more without really being aware of it, "I want you to come before I fuck you. Want you fucking dripping for me."

You whine again, thrashing your hips back against his fingers, and he chuckles. He adds a third, a tight squeeze but manageable considering how wet you are, your juices running down his fingers, getting caught in his rings. Curling all three of them upwards, he starts to move his whole arm as well as his fingers, his other hand using all four fingers to spin your clit to a degree you can't keep up with. At this point with your face pressed against the sink and your eyes blurring with tears - you don't know where the pleasure begins nor ends.

You cum without warning. You don't even feel it build up, you don't have to focus on anything. All you feel is the knot in your stomach that you didn't know was there, snap. The toe curling euphoria that soars through you is unlike anything you've ever experienced. Your vision goes black as your pussy convulses around his fingers, drawing him in more and more but Alex doesn't stop, no matter how tight it is, no matter how much his arm aches. He keeps on going until he's rinsed you dry, building you up again within seconds. Your second orgasm brings a gushing wave of wetness that spurts out of you and all over him, the navy suit turning black with droplets of your release. His moans mirror yours as the situation reaches a peak, an unbelievable high that you've never experienced, not in your thirty years of life.

"Fucking hell," Alex groans, suddenly pulling his fingers out of you, the last of your release seeping out of your stretched hole. He watches it drip down your thighs, staining the lace stockings you have on.

"Oh my God," you mumble, barely sensical at all. Your face is burning, the tears streaming down your cheeks and the mascara now loosened burning your eyes at it runs into them. You probably look a state but you can't find it within your floating, pleasured body to care one bit.

"Did you know you could squirt?" Alex grabs your backside, spinning you around until you were against the wall. He barely looked at you before he started to fiddle with his belt, desperate to get his aching cock out. You could see the outline of it straining against his trousers, too tight, giving way to every inch of him. You remember that he's big, and you bite your lip to contain a shameless moan at the thought of him filling you.

"No," you admit, making him grin.

"Mmm," he pulls his cock free, pumping it languidly and although you're desperate to look, you keep your eyes on his. He demands your contact and in this state, you're his to obey to.

"Well that's good," he hitches your thigh up onto his waist, your dress splitting even further up the seam. His fingers fiddle with your panties once more, not getting a good grip, not being able to move them. He groans, frustrated and instead just rips them off you, the sharp tear of the lace echoing off the walls, "means you won't try to forget me again hm?"

"Alex!" you groan, "I needed those."

He laughs, "what for? They're barely worth a penny they're so skimpy. I'll buy you some new ones if you want."

"I can't walk out of here with no panties on," you insist. He rolls his eyes, suddenly aligning himself with you. The heat of his cock against you makes your breath hitch, the panties suddenly unimportant in light of getting fucked, being ruined by him. He rubs his head through your folds, the slick sound making him groan, and your body jerk as he hits your sensitive clit over and over again.

"Trust me darling, that's not the prominent issue," he suddenly pushes into you, making you cry out and slam your head against the wall. His hand grips the underside of your thigh, hitching it up further as he starts to pound into you, his thrusts quick and hard - no time for you to adjust.

"Makeup all down your face," he grins, "your dress is torn," he emphasises this with another thrust, "your hair is a fucking state," he chuckles, "plus I'm gonna make sure you have a hard time walking out of here at all."

Your hands move around his frame, moving to the back of his neck which you claw each time he hits that spot inside you, his head rests on your shoulder, groans muffled into your skin. The same can't be said for you - you can barely withhold your moans as he stretches and fills you to the brim, his cock hitting places you forgot even existed inside of you.

There's no romance, no gentleness to his actions - there's no sweet whispered words or doting looks. It's rough, fast, dirty and you wouldn't expect anything less from him. He wasn't this good the last time but he'd been as relentlessly desperate as he is right now and you find comfort in the fact that he hasn't changed, only improved. His eagerness to also pleasure you still prominent even though he looks a cocky arsehole from afar, and you find that charming in this day and age - even if you shouldn't.

Your hips start to ache from how hard he's slamming into you, your nails digging crescent shaped marks into his neck as your eyes find solace in the back of your head, unable to refrain from getting lost in the immense pleasure, in the build up of your orgasm deep into your core.

"Where shall I cum?" Alex's voice is gruff, he lifts his head to look at you, eyes glazed with sweet pleasure. He looks so good that you simply can't form a sentence, your horniness increasing from the mere sight of his parted lips and the perspiration on the edge of his hairline.

"Y/N," he repeats, "I'm close. Tell me where."

"I- Ah, Alex, I-“

You try to reply but you're too deep into the sensations, suddenly you're screaming as your body starts to shake, wetness, growing impossibly tight around him as you cum, hard.

"Fuck, oh my God," he groans, unable to stop himself as the pleasure wracks through him too. He trembles against you as his head falls onto your shoulder, his hips moving on their own accord. You feel him twitching, his cum spilling into you, seemingly endless, warm and sticky against your sore walls.

"Fucking hell," his voice is breathless, whiny with the remnants of his pleasure, a few short, uncontrollable thrusts coaxing the last drops of him out before he stalls inside of you. His cum spreads up his length and starts to spill down your thighs but despite that, neither of you move.

You're desperately trying to catch your breath and he's desperately trying to regain some energy, your arms around his neck, his face buried into your shoulder.

"Please tell me you're on the pill," he mumbles, his voice slightly deeper with tiredness, "I'm in no position to be a father."

You can't help but giggle, imagining a scenario in which this would be where you got pregnant - snorting coke and shagging random men against toilet stall walls - what a story to tell. One that you're in no position for either.

"I'm on the pill," you confirm and he breathes a sigh of relief before pulling out of you, slowly, aware of your pain as you wince and whimper, feeling cold and empty in his absence.

"You fuck like a rabid dog," you state, making him laugh as he rolls some tissue around his hand, passing it to you before grabbing some for himself, cleaning the end of his cock before tucking himself away.

"You take it like a compliant whore," he hums, his eyes sparkling with teasing. If they weren't, you'd probably slap him. But thankfully, he's just teasing. No violence necessary.

"That was bad, right?" you bite your lip, trying to pull your dress down. It's torn at the sides, the fabric tainted with release and sweat. You can't even begin to imagine how you look.

"Bad?" he looks over, concerned and frowning.

"I mean what we just did," you confirm quickly, "I mean it was good, obviously...."

"Obviously," he muses, searching the floor, "I'm not sure these are gonna work."

Your torn panties dangle from his finger, looking very sorry for themselves. You sigh, closing your eyes in dismay. You won't be able to return to the party, but you also can't walk through it and back out to the red carpet like this.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Isn't your assistant here? Ask her to bring a car around the back," he shrugs as if it's easy, still teaching you things about the industry you've been a part of for years now. He is the king of it all, after all.

"Where's the back?"

He rolls his eyes, "kids of the industry. You're all inexperienced."

"We're the same age," you point between you both.

"You know that's not what I mean."

You sigh, unable to bear the thought of having to see Harriet. She'll know immediately what you've been doing, and even though she's one of your best friends, she still flocks around you like your decisions are life changing. She'd be incredibly disappointed to see you fucked out, shaky legged and looking a wreck at a VIP event.

"I'll get you a car," he says, pulling his phone free, "and take you to the back. It'll be discreet, you won't be seen."

"Are you sure? What if your girlfriend-"

"I told you she left."

"Well you're a liar," you bite back, catching his eyes, which suddenly fill with unexpected guilt, "I saw her on my way in here."

"Well aren't you a naughty girl," he drawls, "perhaps you should've stayed away."

"Perhaps you should take your own advice."

"Hmm," he does that a lot, and you like it - you barely suppress a smile despite the seriousness of the conversation, having to bow your head, "I can't leave with you. Don't take it to heart."

"Like I said, I wouldn't expect anything less from a ladies man."

The disappointment from you calling him that returns, but he looks towards his phone quickly, calling you a car. You wonder who on earth will turn up, it's not exactly like you can get in a Uber in this state and risk being seen. But weirdly, you trust Alex, sure he'll make the right calls, the right decisions even if he's only ever proved otherwise to you.

"Me girlfriend is calling me," he runs a hand through his hair, "the back is opposite the bar. You can walk through the corridor to the right of the toilets and it will lead you straight to the exit. Staff will know if you get lost, and they're obligated to keep it zipped, so don't worry."

"You aren't taking me there?"

He sighs, "I'd love to doll," he shifts, looking fairly unaffected despite what you've both just done, "but we've already addressed that my girlfriend is waiting for me, haven't we?"

You both exit the stall, you're relieved to find that no one is in here for the moment. Just as Alex's hand lays on the handle, after a less than hearty goodbye, his mind clearly preoccupied with explaining where he's been - you hold it shut. Your other hand stretches out, and you look into his eyes with a determination that's rare from you.

"You promised to make it snow. Barely a flake landed in my hand, Alex."

He raises an eyebrow, amusement rippling through his now honey coloured eyes.

"So you do like being bought," he chuckles, reaching into his pocket and pulling the baggie out, "it's pure but be careful."

"Transactional," you shrug, "it seems fitting."

You tuck the baggie into your bra and his gaze wanders down to your outfit once more.

"You truly are gorgeous," he breathes out, before suddenly his lips are on yours, still holding the door tight. It's so fleeting that you barely know what's happened before he's pulled off, "hopefully I'll see you around."

And then he leaves, the only reminder of him being the baggie in your bra and the ache between your thighs.

A/N: This feels naughty to post. This is not a true representation of him, nor the industry. Just a fun little idea. 🥀🙂‍↔️

[mimisempai]

It's just a risk to take 2/2

Chapter Summary

The long-awaited evening is here. Will the feelings held back for years finally be revealed?

Notes

A little Human AU of them getting together

On Ao3

Rating G - 3279 words

Chap 1

On the night of the ball, they had decided to go their separate ways and meet at the front door of the complex where the reception hall was located. 

Aziraphale paced back and forth, waiting, for of course he was so excited and nervous at the same time that he'd arrived almost half an hour early.

"Oh, that tall man with the red hair, isn't that Mrs. Crowley's son?"

"Oh yes, he looks just like her!"

Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks and followed the direction the two old ladies in front of him were looking. His heart leapt at the sight of Crowley, and then again at the bright smile his friend gave him when their eyes met.

Then Crowley walked toward him, quickly closing the distance between them.

God, he had missed him.

It had only been a month, but still.

"Hey."

Despite missing Crowley, it was all he could think to say as he found himself face to face with his dear friend.

It had to be said that the other man's appearance would have taken the wind out of anyone's sails. Crowley was a sight to behold under normal circumstances, but in a tuxedo he was simply dazzling, even when covered by a coat that rested on his shoulders.

"It feels like it's been forever."

His friend's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and Aziraphale nodded.

"For me, too."

An unfamiliar expression crossed Crowley's face as he leaned in before saying, "Then I think the circumstances deserve more than a nod of the head, don't you?"

Aziraphale didn't have time to react as his friend leaned in closer and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Okay. Now it was certain that Aziraphale would not survive the evening.

As Crowley straightened up, Aziraphale felt a slight burn where his lips had rested, but he didn't have time to think about it because his friend had grabbed his arm and was dragging him toward the entrance.

"I must say, I was pleasantly surprised that you accepted my invitation so easily."

Aziraphale chuckled softly.

"Not as surprised as I was at your invitation. Pleasantly surprised, of course." He smiled and received a sincere smile of relief in return. Perhaps he wasn't the only one with doubts.

"I think all this ridiculous fuss is our goal."

Crowley led Aziraphale to the glass doors that opened onto the reception hall. Aziraphale marveled at the decor, expecting the usual autumnal touches, but in fact it was all tastefully done, there was something enchanting about the decor, and it all served to give the atmosphere an intimate note, which was not to the bookseller's displeasure.

"Anthony, there you are. Welcome, Monsieur Fell."

Though in a different way, Crowley's mother was as beautiful as her son. Aziraphale shook her outstretched hand in greeting before saying, "Please call me Aziraphale, Mrs. Crowley."

"You are adorable, call me Lilith. You deserve it for being the one who brought that big idiot here."

"Mother!"

Aziraphale laughed slightly as Lilith added, "It really is a pleasure to see you both. Make yourselves at home."

She leaned over to Aziraphale and whispered in his ear, but so that Crowley could hear.

"I'm really infinitely grateful to you, because not only did you get him to come, but he's smiling."

"Aziraphale, would you like a drink?"

Crowley had interrupted his mother, pulling Aziraphale away before she could say the word. Which didn't keep him from feeling his mother's amused gaze on his back.

With a hand on Aziraphale's lower back, he pushed him toward the dining area. A waitress appeared and took their coats, and once they were near the buffet, sipping their appetizers, Aziraphale asked hesitantly, "Your mother calls you Anthony. I've never thought to ask you in all this time, but what would you prefer?"

"You want to call me Anthony?"

It was just like Crowley to answer one question with another, knowing that Aziraphale was afraid to ask him directly what he really wanted.

Aziraphale swallowed and then said quietly, "I would like to... Anthony."

He saw his friend gasp, but had no time to analyze the situation as his gaze was drawn to a group of old ladies who were watching them, murmuring and giggling.

Crowley, who had followed his gaze, leaned over and said, "These are friends from my mother's bridge club. She must have alerted her whole group to tell them I was coming and that I was coming with someone."

Aziraphale turned to him and, raising an eyebrow, said, "Is this really the first time... well, I mean that..."

"I've never had a relationship serious enough to introduce to my mother."

"Oh..."

Aziraphale raised his glass to his lips to compose himself, trying to ignore the storm of questions his friend's words had unleashed. Their eyes met for a long moment and Aziraphale searched desperately for something to say, but the spell was broken when someone nudged him awkwardly and he almost dropped his glass. 

Then Lilith's voice rose over the gathered crowd.

"Welcome, my friends, to the fifth edition of this Autumn Gala. As you all know, for the past five years this gala has raised funds for the local homeless shelter. Enjoy the music and dancing once our musicians arrive, and the little surprise that awaits us all as night falls. In the meantime, savor the banquet and the feast.

"I suggest we wait until the first wave has passed," Crowley whispered in Aziraphale's ear.

Trying to ignore the shiver that Crowley's breath on his neck had caused, Aziraphale readily accepted and let himself be pulled to one of the tables, which was in a quieter corner than the rest of the room. Once seated, they watched the people come and go, eager to enjoy the buffet, Crowley making Aziraphale laugh with his sarcastic comments about the people passing by.

Eventually, the crowd dwindled to a small line, and they both quietly filled their plates before returning to their table, eating while watching the other guests and chatting in the easy manner of two friends who had known each other for a long time. Lilith wandered between the tables, chatting with a small group here and there in perfect hostess fashion. At one point, she spotted them and made her way toward them, but one of her friends stopped her by whispering something, so she smiled briefly and simply waved from a distance.

The musicians arrived, and Aziraphale noted with astonishment that it was a full orchestra. Crowley chuckled at his stunned expression.

"For as long as I can remember, my mother has tended to do things big, no matter what the occasion."

Then, stealing a petit-four from Aziraphale's plate, he added, "Although this gala is far more entertaining than any I've attended."

Aziraphale couldn't help but retort, "It must be the company." 

"Absolutely."

Crowley's gaze was incredibly direct and open as he continued, "But I'm still surprised you didn't have anything planned, considering I caught you a bit off guard."

"Aside from nights at the Dirty Donkey with the girls and Muriel, I don't get out much. The theater once or twice, but that's about it."

"Alone?"

"Most of the time."

"Ah?"

"Is this an interrogation?"

Crowley replied sheepishly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Aziraphale smiled and reassured him, placing a hand on his forearm, "I'm kidding. When I'm not alone, I'm with Muriel. Although now that they have a boyfriend, Eric, they come with me much less. And I don't blame them."

Aziraphale looked dreamy as he added, "It must be nice to have someone like that..."

Blushing slightly, he coughed before continuing, "Anyway, most of my evenings are spent in my armchair with a good book or some good music."

Once again he noticed a strange look on his friend's face, when suddenly his expression changed and he muttered, "Beware, trouble's coming."

Aziraphale followed his gaze and saw the reason for Crowley's words.

"Mr. Brown."

The bane of Whickber Street. And what Crowley didn't know, had been Aziraphale's bane for some time. Brown had invented every excuse to come into his bookshop, or to invite him to dinners and other appointments that Aziraphale had always managed to avoid.

"Aziraphale, what a pleasure to see you here."

Brown stood at their table, openly ignoring Crowley's presence as he continued, "May I invite you to dance?"

Aziraphale shook his head and replied coldly, "No, thank you," then turned his head back to Crowley, thinking the other would turn and leave, but Brown did not and continued as if nothing had happened.

"It's a shame to sit here and talk when there's this great orchestra."

Crowley intervened and said flatly, "Aziraphale obviously doesn't feel like dancing with you." 

The mustachioed man turned to him with a grin.

"What does that have to do with you, Mr. Crowley?"

Aziraphale, feeling the anger rising in him, replied, "It has everything to do with him. I'm here with Crowley. He invited me and I accepted. Because I wanted to be with him." 

On fire, Aziraphale didn't notice Crowley's surprised look. 

The other snorted, "Is that true? You expect me to believe that Crowley here is really your date? When you've turned down every single one of my invitations. How could he be any better?" 

Aziraphale stood and approached the man, hissing in a low voice, "He's billions of times better than you could ever dream; I don't care what you think. Just as I don't care about your invitations. But there is one thing you need to know, and that is that I will not hesitate to use some of my connections if you don't leave immediately. Like Crowley's mother, who's organizing this gala." 

The man opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the anger in Aziraphale's eyes, he decided to turn and walk away.

Aziraphale didn't take his eyes off him until he was sure he wasn't coming back, and it was a chuckle from Crowleyle that made him turn around. His irritation melted like snow in the sun at the sight of his friend's broad smile. 

He was about to sit back down when Crowley shook his head and stood up, holding out his hand, "Will you dance with me?"

Aziraphale took his friend's hand, a warmth building inside him as soon as their hands joined.

"With you? Of course."

Crowley led him to the center of the dance floor as the orchestra began a new piece.

In the distance, Lilith watched them enter the dance floor with a smile, and after a brief instruction to the conductor, the orchestra began to play a slow, romantic waltz.

Crowley, not fooled, murmured, "Mom..."

"Hm?"

Aziraphale lost his confused expression and forgot all about it the moment Crowley's hand came to rest on the small of his back, pressing him to his chest, while his other hand gripped Aziraphale's, intertwining their fingers as they began to turn gently to the rhythm of the soft music.

They twirled and twirled, one song and then another, and as one song followed another, they drew closer, Crowley's arms now wrapped around his waist and Aziraphale's around Crowley's neck. Every part of their bodies touched and their eyes were locked.

Aziraphale felt every fiber of his being react to the music and the feeling of Crowley so close, so real. Never in a million years would he have dared hope for this outside of a dream. Even better, the music clearly had the same effect on Crowley, who did nothing to create distance between them, but on the contrary, did everything to reduce it. 

Aziraphale smiled gently and dared to put his hands on Crowley's lower back and his head on his shoulder. The dance, such as it was, required no concentration or skill, so he closed his eyes and simply swayed in Crowley's arms, breathing in the warm, sensual scent of his skin where his neck met the collar of his shirt. He could feel his friend's heart beating steadily against his cheek and sighed with satisfaction, thinking that he wouldn't mind if they stayed like this forever. 

Unfortunately, Lilith's voice over the loudspeakers broke the spell.

"It's midnight, my friends. It's time."

“Time for what?” murmured Aziraphale, drowsy with contentment. He looked up at Crowley's face without removing his hands from his back, and saw a strange expression there again. His friend's lips were close to his face as he replied, "Fireworks, I suppose."

Crowley continued to hold him for a moment before slowly pulling away until Aziraphale's hands slid down his arms and landed on his hands, pulling him a little farther away.

Indeed, everyone headed for the large bay windows and the first shower of colorful rockets drew all eyes skyward with oohs and aahs of delight. Lilith had clearly outdone herself in impressing her guests, and the sky quickly filled with a thousand fleeting stars and deafening noise.

Aziraphale watched with wondering eyes as he felt a hand take his. Forgetting the spectacle outside, he turned to Crowley. His friend didn't bother to speak over the cheering and crackling and nodded to a slightly out of the way corner, a window embrasure hidden by heavy velvet curtains. Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley immediately pulled him by the hand to the spot he had just shown him. They stopped in the window embrasure, hidden by the curtains but illuminated by the glow of the fireworks they could see on the other side of the window, Aziraphale's hand still in Crowley's.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, whose face was very close. There was enough light to see his eyes, his gaze more intense than ever. Aziraphale's pulse quickened when Crowley didn't look away, and he held his breath when a hand came up to rest on his cheek.

Aziraphale couldn't help but whisper, "Are you going to kiss me?"

Crowley laughed slightly, his voice deep and sensual as he replied, "Yes, unless you stop me."

"Never."

That was all it took for Crowley to lean in gently until his lips brushed Aziraphale's, so softly that it sent Aziraphale into a kind of agony. A sweet agony.

The kiss quickly became more intense and lingered, their lips slowly getting to know each other.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist to press against him, erasing any hint of distance, and in response, Crowley parted Aziraphale's lips with a gentle flick of his tongue, deepening the kiss until there was nothing left but them.

Fireworks, music, crowds, lights - all had disappeared, leaving only them. 

When Crowley's mouth left his, Aziraphale whimpered, but the warm lips landed on his cheek, leaving a trail of searing kisses down his neck before returning to his half-open lips, which let out small gasps. 

"Anthony..."

"Say it again..."

"Anthony..."

As if starved by all those lost years, Crowley's lips picked up the whisper of his first name on Aziraphale's lips, leading to another kiss that lasted until they had no choice but to separate to catch their breath.

Between gasps, Crowley asked, "When did it start?" 

"For me? The first day. It was always there, but it just got stronger."

Crowley murmured, "So long. We're both idiots."

Aziraphale raised his hand and gently stroked his lover's cheek, "But we're here now, that's all that matters."

Anthony leaned his cheek into his lover's hand and nodded.

"Yes. It is."

Gradually, still entwined, they made contact with reality, sounds and light, but it was as if they weren't part of it.

Crowley asked in a playful tone, "This sounds cliché, but...your place or mine?" 

Aziraphale replied in the same tone, "It doesn't matter where, as long as we're both there."

"My place then. I'm the closest."

Aziraphale nodded and immediately Crowley took his hand and pulled him behind him, they quickly grabbed their coats under the astonished looks of the waitresses, the fireworks weren't over, the entrance was deserted and they could leave quietly without being noticed.

It would have taken them less than five minutes to get to Crowley's if they hadn't stopped every few seconds to take advantage of a darker corner to kiss. It was as if, now that they were both letting their desires run wild, it was impossible for them to control themselves. 

Arriving at Crowley's, Aziraphale hesitated slightly for the first time.

It hadn't even been an hour.

What if they ruined everything by rushing in?

What if...

A hand gripping his chin snapped him out of his spiral as Crowley said quietly, "We don't have to do anything tonight, or tomorrow, or even a week from now. In fact, I don't care what we do or when. I just don't want us to part tonight."

A sigh of relief escaped Aziraphale's lips as Crowley's thumb gently caressed his kiss-swollen lips.

"Neither do I. I don't want us to part tonight. But..."

"But?"

"If we could just slow down a little."

"Whatever you want, my angel."

"My angel?"

"You call me Anthony so I can call you my angel."

Aziraphale murmured, "Say it again."

"My angel."

"Again..."

Crowley smiled and leaned forward, murmuring against his lover's half-open lips, "My angel."

Then they said nothing more as he captured Aziraphale's lips in a kiss that was both sweet and passionate. They didn't know who moaned first as Aziraphale's tongue brushed along Crowley's lower lip, but it didn't matter. In the seconds that followed, their tongues intertwined in a wild, feverish dance, both finally giving free rein to the passion that had inhabited them for so long. 

When they had to pull away to catch their breath, Crowley bit Aziraphale's lip before gently releasing it. 

Forehead to forehead, they gasped for breath.

Then Aziraphale raised his hand and, tucking a lock of Crowley's hair behind his ear, said with a breath, "We've waited so long. I don't want to wait any longer. Take me to your bedroom now."

"Aziraphale, you-

"Yes." Then, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he said softly, "But only if you keep calling me your angel."

Crowley laughed, took his lover's hand, and they were both still laughing when he closed the bedroom door behind them.

The next morning, they awoke to each of their phones vibrating insistently on the nightstand.

With a synchronized sigh, they extricated themselves from each other and picked up the phones to read their messages.

"My mom asks me if I'm going to refuse to come to next year's gala now that I have a partner. Then she tells me to say hello."

"Give her my best. As for me, I have three messages, do you want to know?"

"Even if I say no, I know you'll read them to me anyway."

"Um, Muriel asks me if the evening was everything I hoped it would be, Maggie asks me to fill her in on all the details, and Nina...ahem..."

Crowley turned and then slid over Aziraphale, his elbows framing his face as he said teasingly, "You're making me very curious now, my angel."

Blushing, Aziraphale replied, "Nina asks if we broke the mattress..."

Crowley leaned over and, after planting a kiss on his lover's nose, said, "Answer her that we almost did."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, then they both laughed as he texted Nina exactly what Crowley had suggested. 

At the same time, at Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, the coffee shop on Whickber Street, Nina, phone in hand, threw her cleaning rag in the air and exclaimed, "They did it!"

Word spread like wildfire that the bookseller and his handsome, longtime friend were finally together.

The Whickber street gossips would have to find another target.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[laughtalelogs]

In the Shadows of Buffalo Bay - Prologue

word count: 1.5k+

Zoro x afab!Reader x Sanji, cowgirl!reader no use of y/n, no beta reader, all my reader characters are black even if not explicitly stated. if that's not ur jam, then don’t read!

Rating: M (smut will be in future chapters, labelled as Explicit.)

Warnings: themes of alcohol, drug use, smoking, mental health issues, implications of self-harm, and violence to come.

Summary: Right after the Straw Hats leave the land of Wano; they land on Buffalo Bay, a gourmet cattle island known for its famous fairs, cowboys, and food. What they find is a dusty town, ruled by a sheriff with more secrets than she lets on. When she challenges the swordsman and seduces the cook, they both can't help but wonder: what is she hiding? And how will her past, entwined with the island's dark history, affect their crew? cross-posted to ao3 @laughtalelogs

Special thanks to @sigilsmut for giving me major inspiration with his OC, Honeko. Please check them out, they’re both pretty neat!

Prologue: Dark Red

Prrr. Prrr. Prrr. Cu-lick.

“It’s been quite a while since you’ve called, are you sure about this?”

“Quite. They made it clear it would be utterly careless not to. Expected arrival time is at sunrise. No messes, you hear?”

“Clear as day, sir. Considering the walk in the park you just gave me, should I leave the ‘Thank You’ note with them, or should I save that for when you decide to ring again?”

“Focus. Stick to the plan. And it wouldn’t hurt to remember our deal.”

Cu-lick.

“Great.”

Zoro stirred from his slumber as soon as he heard the laugh of his captain. Was it already time for Brook to take his shift? Did he sleep through breakfast? He didn’t feel the sun on him just yet. He shrugged it off. If there was danger, he’d know, no doubt. He allowed his shoulders to relax as sleep absorbed him once more.

Until suddenly, “Now, Usopp, Chopper!”

The floor shifted, he shot back, the air in his lungs suddenly slammed out of him as his head struck the glass of the crow’s nest. His eye shot open, but his vision swam, followed by a thrumming on the base of his skull. He quickly grabbed his swords that slid under the bench from the change of position, scoping his surroundings. 

Of course, when his guard was down, something would happen to the ship. He ignored the way his vision blurred to turn around and scan the ship through the glass beneath him. He saw a familiar straw hat from a distance and loosened the tight grip of his blades. At least someone was out there.

What he still was trying to figure out was why in the hell was Luffy at the helm? Zoro ran to the hatch. He angled himself down the ladder and tightened his grip as he quickly realized they were soaring through the sky. 

“What the fuck is happening?!” He shouted over the whipping wind, watching Luffy let go of the wheel to stand on the now horizontal mast.

  He just laughed and held onto his hat, his standard goofy grin shined in the moonlight.  “We’re going to the city of meat, duh!”

“You idiot!” Zoro yelled. “We were going to be there in the morning!” His warning fell on deaf ears. Luffy, who was singing and dancing about meat, was too busy to care. He hoped everyone else was safe.

He already had a bad feeling about the poster they’d found on the ghost ship yesterday. The rest of the crew, however, seemed unfazed. Nami had determined from her Log Pose that they’d reach the island by sunrise, and everyone was eager for a break after the war they’d just endured. But, of course, Luffy’s hunger had to ruin that plan.

He glanced around while his thoughts wandered for a brief and unwelcomed moment.

Where was the damn cook? His face soured, trying to force the thought down as soon as it came. He’s probably clinging onto his bed in the men’s quarters like an idiot, he thought again, but the idea of Sanji flying overboard refused to leave his mind. 

“He’ll survive just in spite of me thinking that,” He humored, muttering under his breath to himself, the usual bite in his tone gone. Still, he scanned the doors for a mop of blonde hair that he wouldn’t admit he waited to appear. If he had half the brain Zoro thought he had, he’s probably helping the others. 

Now, Zoro was stuck there, gripping the rope ladder as he tried to make sense of the chaos. Over Luffy’s shoulder, he caught glimpses of the dark horizon. The Sunny pitched forward sharply, teetering above the sea before nose diving toward land. Zoro was relaxed as ever—if relaxed meant cursing under his breath and bracing for impact.

“Hold o-” Zoro’s warnings were cut off as the ship slammed into hard dirt, skidding like a rock skipping across a pond. Zoro jostled against the rope ladder with each impact, gritting his teeth. The hull screeched. Luffy was laughing, because of course this was absolutely hilarious to him, as he swung on a stretched arm. A chorus of startled yelling joined the ship’s groaning protests, the crew must have been rudely woken up just like him. 

Finally, they stopped. The wood wheezed underneath them, the pitch black enveloping them on all sides. 

“That was awesome!” Luffy’s cackle echoed off into the dark night as he dropped from the mast back onto the grassy deck. “Did you see that Zoro?!” 

He did more than see it, he thought. He drops from the rope onto the deck. He went to reply, but heard doors slamming open and shut, followed by multiple yells for the same person.

“LUFFY!”

Everyone clambered in, one after another. Jinbei carried Brook’s head, while Franky angrily dragged the other two culprits with him. Behind them, Zoro sees a shock of blonde, and he lets go of a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. He scratched the back of his head and rolled his shoulders, as if his previous worries would fall off of them. Adrenaline is still pumped through his veins under hot skin, cooled off by the night’s air. 

“Morning everyone!” Luffy said excitedly, smile stretched so wide Zoro wouldn’t be surprised if his face stayed like that. “We’re here! Good work, Usopp and Chopper!”

“I can’t believe I let him talk me into this..” Usopp groaned and whimpered under the tight grip Franky held his waist in, and Chopper gasped for air. 

  “Too tight, too tight!” He clawed at the large hand with his hooves to no avail.

Nami was already tearing Luffy a new one, and Franky was following suit. Even Jinbei had a look of dismay, while Brook was steadily complaining in his palm.

“You can’t believe it,” Franky says through his teeth, dropping the two to the floor. “I can’t believe all the work I’m going to have to do on the Sunny because of you 3, this is not super, bros.” 

“I’m thinking we should’ve kept him in the cage,” Sanji muttered as he let go of Nami and set down robin on the deck. 

“I agree with you Sanji,” Nami bellowed as she charged past Zoro, and pinched hard on Luffy’s cheek. “I don’t think he learned his lesson from the waterfall, after all,” 

Luffy whined halfheartedly like a child. “Ow- I’m really sorry, Nami.. I was just hungry, ya know!”

“When you’re hungry, you wake up Sanji. You don’t crash the ship into land in the middle of the night!” She screamed, and it ringed in Zoro's ears, the sharp pain in his head roared to life. He winced and rubbed the back of his head again. It didn't surprise him when he removed his hand that he saw smudges of red on his finger tips.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” He felt a gentle kick at his shin, turning to see Sanji staring at him. He had dark circles underneath his wide, tired eyes that bore straight through Zoro. The blond hair that covered his face illuminated with the light of his lighter. The flame flickered to life as he scanned around, taking in their surroundings. “What happened to keeping watch?"

  Zoro rolled his eyes, “I keep watch against threats, not our own crew. Besides, how was I supposed to know what he was going to do, curly?” He really wasn’t in the mood to fight with the bastard, especially not this early in the morning. He watches Sanjis eyes look at him, squinting like he could see through him, his eyes lingering on the hand Zoro had rubbed his head with. Zoro wipes his hand on the back of his pants, shrugging it off like he already knew what Sanji would say next. They remain silent, but everything in Sanji’s eyes looks like they’re begging a question. Zoro chest tightens as he bit back the pain in his head and heart.

“I’m fine, Cook. Nothing happened,” Is all he gives, turning away to look at the rest of the crew. "Drop it."

“I didn’t say a thing, Moss,” Is all he says in response, lighting a new cigarette as he listened to the crew begin to brainstorm a plan of action.

After a moment of arguing and tired deliberation, All adventures to the mysterious Buffalo Bay were cut off for the night. Even with Luffy’s master plan, they had no choice but to wait until sunrise with how dark it was. Even with Franky’s freak ass lights, they could only see dirt and grass for what seemed to stretch on for forever. Robin questioned if there was any land of meat at all, and the fact they were stranded settled amongst the group in a grim veil.

So much for a tourist destination, he thought. He had heard enough of the plan. He walked away from the group, settling on the edge of the grass to rest his aching head. As sleep began to overtake him as he droned out the sounds of his friends talking, he couldn’t help but to feel a pit in the bottom of his stomach. It was small, but large enough to annoy him and eat away at his steeled nerves. Something was really off about this island. As sleep washed over him, he could only think that that was just something he’d have to worry about later. 

A/N: AHHH finally!! I have been planning this fic in my head with multiple drafts and outlines and brainstorming for I think 2 months at this point, and finally feel pretty good about how to started this off.

I hope you enjoyed the prequel! I have the chapter one 75% done, I just need to edit it some more but expect it some time 11/28 at night. I hope to have it up and chapter two by Sunday! The next chapter will introduce the reader, i promise! also, future chapters will switch between perspectives. This will be a slow burn so stick around if you wanna see how it plays out! Feedback, love, and criticism is much appreciated ♡

Also, all chapter titles are based off songs, please listen to them if you want to feel immersed!