#especially for someone shouldering it alone

[ziggy-stardust-drinks-napalm]

spotify

perpetually messy

blue

yeah, i chose it. i think it fits me.

in a relationship hell yeah

friendly, adventurous, anxious

auburn, a little more red in the summer

i dont have a car

thrift stores, anywhere at the mall

grunge

tumblr

idk what it's called, not queen but not twin

2 brothers, one older, one younger

a big city. theres a lot of stuff to do.

i dont have snap 😭😭

i dont use makeup

7, i have ocd and freak the fuck out if i dont get a shower

stranger things, idk i usually just watch movies

9

im not admitting this

sneakers. i havent worn a shoe other than my converse in years

not often, i work out but dont usually use equipment since i cant drive

getting slushies and snacks and then walking around or finding somewhere thatll let us up on the roof and chill, or teaching them how to skateboard

37 bucks and some coins

white with high mushrooms on them

1

no, im tryna get one soon though

depends on what you count as a friend

i didnt realize venting to someone without asking wasnt ok since i was younger and vented to this person on a constant without asking, still feel bad about it

anything woodsy. pine trees mostly, palo santo too.

pat, alejo, andres

taj, max, tina

FINN WOLFHARDD but pauly shores up there too

melissa mccarthy

finn wolfhard

between talladega nights, a beautiful mind, prayers for bobby, and it (2017)

horror, especially stephen king i love stephen king. misery.

brains.

im the juice guy

at least like 8 i dont really remember

been a son (nirvana), as we go up we go down (guided by voices), tourette's (nirvana), pigs (cypress hill), noid (tyler the creator), dont push (sublime), paranoia (C.C.T.V.), freaks (pat and the pissers), ziggy stardust (david bowie), abduction (callejera)

yeah

oily

being stuck in a situation

maybe 3? idk i wanna foster older kids so i guess they would come and go so it would prolly add up

i dont rlly do my hair, its like shaggy shortish, kinda mullety but not rlly so i dont have to do it. if i rlly want i can tiny it in a tiny pony.

normal i guess

this one friend

on my hair :)))

'LMFAO WHAT THE HELL'

9

orange hippie van or pickup truck

eh i dont rlly mind. if ur not pressuring other people into it its your funeral. i cant rlly give a lecture on how bad it is, im more likely than not to become an addict and ive seen what that shit does to people so im not gonna say anyone who does it is inherently a bad person bc if it

no

i wanna play guitar in a band

neither, urban. if i had to choose, suburbs. ive watched too many horror movies and couldnt stand being that far away from help if smth happened

yes

only rlly faint ones on my face. on my back and shoulders fs

depends on the kind of picture

4000

yeah

yeah

mcdonalds

idk tbh

during summer, boxers and a tshirt. during winter, sweatpants or flannel pants and a hoodie

nope

drawing, anything music related, guitar, reading, exploring, baking, writing poems sometimes, researching random topics that ill prolly never need

YES

guitar :))))))

apes of state

both but leaning towards coffee

dunkin

yeah

RM

maybe??? idrk

green i think

yeah

CLOSED IM NOT PSYCHO

yeah

people in big groups walking rlly slow in a hall so you cant get around them and youre js stuck

my friend raisel

mango or cookies and cream

regular all the way

rainbow

nirvana shirt :)

the shit on the incesticide album cover

outgoing if im w a friend, shy if im alone

YES

some of them

yes, morning

.

.

burger

"the laundromat will miss your quarters. nickles, dimes, the dust in corners. save it up to buy yourself a bigger coat and smaller chest." and "she shouldve stayed away from friends. she shouldve had more time to spend. she shoudlve died when she was born. she shoulve worn the crown of thorns. she shouldve been a son."

summer

night

dark chocolate

september

gemini

no clue

Unusual Asks

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? 

is your room messy or clean?

what color are your eyes?

do you like your name? why?

what is your relationship status? 

describe your personality in 3 words or less

what color hair do you have?

what kind of car do you drive? color?

where do you shop?

how would you describe your style?

favorite social media account

what size bed do you have? 

any siblings?

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

favorite snapchat filter? 

favorite makeup brand(s)

how many times a week do you shower?

favorite tv show?

shoe size?

how tall are you?

sandals or sneakers? 

do you go to the gym? 

describe your dream date

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

what color socks are you wearing? 

how many pillows do you sleep with?

do you have a job? what do you do? 

how many friends do you have? 

whats the worst thing you have ever done? 

whats your favorite candle scent? 

3 favorite boy names

3 favorite girl names

favorite actor? 

favorite actress? 

who is your celebrity crush?

favorite movie? 

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? 

money or brains? 

do you have a nickname? what is it? 

how many times have you been to the hospital?

top 10 favorite songs

do you take any medications daily? 

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

what is your biggest fear? 

how many kids do you want? 

whats your go to hair style?

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) 

who is your role model? 

what was the last compliment you received?

what was the last text you sent?

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

what is your dream car? 

opinion on smoking?

do you go to college? 

what is your dream job? 

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? 

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? 

do you have freckles? 

do you smile for pictures?

how many pictures do you have on your phone? 

have you ever peed in the woods? 

do you still watch cartoons? 

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?

Favorite dipping sauce? 

what do you wear to bed? 

have you ever won a spelling bee?

 what are your hobbies?

can you draw? 

do you play an instrument?

what was the last concert you saw? 

tea or coffee?

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

do you want to get married?

what is your crush’s first and last initial?

are you going to change your last name when you get married? 

what color looks best on you? 

do you miss anyone right now? 

do you sleep with your door open or closed?

do you believe in ghosts?

what is your biggest pet peeve? 

last person you called`

favorite ice cream flavor? 

regular oreos or golden oreos? 

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? 

what shirt are you wearing? 

what is your phone background?

are you outgoing or shy?

do you like it when people play with your hair?

do you like your neighbors? 

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

have you ever been high? 

have you ever been drunk? 

last thing you ate? 

favorite lyrics right now

summer or winter? 

day or night? 

dark, milk, or white chocolate? 

favorite month? 

what is your zodiac sign

 who was the last person you cried in front of? 

[gay-dorito-dust]

soft bob becuase bob is soft and deserves soft. e

Yelena didn't need to be an expert to know why Bob was standing in the doorway, watching you as you read a book, completely unaware of the awkwardly pinning man with the dark locks that glowed golden in the light.

It was innocent kind of love that Bob had for you, nothing within his eyes other then pure adoration and fondess for the person with unwavering paitience, the glue and heart of the group as many have called you and for good reson. Yelena sees how Bob fiddles with the sleeves of his baggy sweater, or how he shifts from one foot to another, he wanted to talk to you but couldn't find it within him to interput your moment of peace from your chaotic teammates and their exploits.

'They don't bite you know.' Yelena smiles upon seeing Bob jolt and look at her with wide eyes, embarresed that he had been caught lingering in the doorway of the makeshift library of the Watchtower, something you had demanded to have before moving in and it offered plently of benifits for not only yourself but Bob too; it acted as a safe haven for him when things became too much, or when he just needed to be where you've been when you were away on missions with the group.

'i wasn't- i was just-' Bob tried to explain himself poorly, much to Yelena's amusement.

'staring at (name) longinly like a puppydog?' She asks with a smile gorwing across her face, finally having some normality in having someone to tease for their innocent crush, especially when that crush of Bob's happened to be you because if there was any two people who'd belonged together it's you and Bob. 'It's cute really but i'm sure (name) wouldn't mind you joining them, if anything i'd think they would be happy to have you join them.' She encourages Bob who only smiles as he looks down at his hands, a nervous habbit he would do when he felt too exposed for his liking.

'I'm not so sure.' Bob trails off as he glances up at you, sitting on a comfy chair that faced the wall to floor glass windows, allowing the light to bath you in an ethreal glow or maybe that's just how he always saw you from the moment he had met you, but there was always this warmth that followed afterwards and filling him with a sense of calm. 'I don't wan't to ruin their alone time, i mean they've come here for a reason and i don't want to be a-

Yelena gives him a ponted look when he was about to put himself down, especially when it came to wanting to spend time with you, but not wanting to in fear that you didn't want him to and how you wouldn't feel the same warmth he felt when just looking at you. Yelena knows that this was false becuase she had noticed how you would always want Bob to sit next to you for just about anything, whether it was movie night or dinner, you always saved a seat for Bob next to you without fail and it was enough for her to know for certain that you reciprocated his feelings.

'Don't. Don't put yourself down becuase i know they would be happy, estatic even to have sit by them even if it's just to read a book, or to watch a moive, Bob they want you to be near them all the time.' Yelena reassured as she held Bob by his shoulders, hoping that her words would sink in and allow himself to be happy and get to share that happiness with you like she wants you both too. 'So just go in there and sit next to them and you'll see what i mean.' she adds as she gives Bob an encouraging shove towards the door.

Bob looks back at her with those wide eyes of his, seeing her give him a thumbs up, before looking straightforward and seeing you still sat on the comfy chair bathed in a golden light just like the last time he had looked at you. He takes a deep breath and forces his nerves into becoming still and steady, just enough to let himself braving the first step across the doorway and into the library, just as the coldness of the hallway seemingly vanished and was replaced by a calming warmth; something he had associated with you almost as though you were welcoming him without having looked at him from your book.

Yet one stray floorboard seemed to give him away as it creeked under his weight, making him freeze and you look up from your book for thr first time since you got there, smiling immeditely upon seeing Bob who looked as though a deer in headlights. You set aside your book after bookmarking your palace in order to give Bob your undevided attention, happy to see him where you felt most at ease and calm. 'Hi Bob, can i help you?' You asked.

'no- i mean i just-' Bob stops himself to compose his thoughts, to let himself breath out his anxiety, and tries again as he sees you smiling at him as though he hung the stars in the sky himelf. 'i wanted to ask if you've got room for one more?' He asks, hunchung his shoulders and trying to make himself as small as he possibly could in hopes of not intimidating you into agreeing, yet it seemed as though none of that was necessary as you were quick to pat the comfy chair next to you.

'for you? there's always room for one more.' You told him and Bob felt a weight leave his chest as he smiles and hurries to take his seat next to you, almost tripping over his own two feet in the midst of his excitment, something that made your smile wider as he makes himself comfortable unaware that his thigh was presssed against yours deliciously as though it was meant to be as you two were. Bob reciprocated your smiles and graciously take the throw blanket that you seemingly produced out of nowhere and drapped it across his lap and fiddles with it between his fingers.

You two made light conversation as you talked about the books you have read so far, not notcing that Yelena was watching you both as you smiled, laughed ans sheepishly looked away when caught staring at one another for a second longer then to be taken as platonic. You both deserved this and Yelena was certain to make sure no one ruins it for the both of you, as your biggest supporter she had been waiting for the day you'll say something towards one another, but she was paitient and is willing to suffer seeing more adorable shared moments until you both see that you belonged together and confess.

[irithiadourden]

Come back home

Pairing: AzRis x f!reader

Summary: You decided to ignore Azriel and went on that mission alone, knowing that there was a chance it could go wrong. A furious Azriel takes you to the Forest House where Eris heals your wounds. There is a moment when things seem to look very bad, but fate has other plans for the three of you.

Words: 1,081

Warnings: A little bit of angst? mentions of blood.

Day 3 of @sjmxreaderweek Fate

N/A: This is my first time writing this style of fic (characters x reader), so have mercy.

Div by @olenvasynyt ❤️

As Azriel carefully deposited you on an unfamiliar bed, it didn't take you long to realise that you weren't in the Night Court, especially when Autumn's High Lord appeared at your side with the same desperate look on his face as the Shadowsinger.

"She's lost a lot of blood, she has a deep cut on her thigh and several serious bruises on the rest of her body."

Eris wasted no time in answering him, instead approaching your almost motionless form on the now crimson stained sheets. His hands were quick and methodical as he moved over the points Azriel had indicated, healing and using magic to mend skin, muscle and internal wounds. The look of concentration did little to hide the panic and worry that could be seen in his amber eyes.

Being so close, a little dizzy and with the adrenaline starting to drain from your system, you couldn't help but think back to what you had buried a few years ago. As Azriel's right hand, one of his most trusted spies, personally trained by him, you had been in direct contact with Eris on more than one occasion, especially when the Koschei problem had arisen.

At first, each meeting had been tense and left you in a terrible mood, but over time you had begun to look forward to seeing him again. Sometimes you had wondered if he felt it too, the lingering tension between the two of you, but when the mate bond had snapped for him and Azriel, you automatically dismissed any possibility. Azriel was your friend .... and so much more, a person you loved and trusted blindly, the thought of betraying him in any way was unfathomable.

"Hey, you need to stay awake." Eris's deep, rich voice was like a caress. But it wasn't your fault that sleep made your eyelids flutter.

Azriel hadn't said a word since he'd put you there and told Eris where to find your wounds so he could heal you. It didn't take a genius to know that his anger was about to erupt. Swallowing hard, you used what little breath you had left to blurt out to him in an almost inaudible tone.

"I'm sorry."

That seemed to break something in him, for his stoic expression was wiped away, replaced by one of fear. In a second, his scarred hands were on your face. "Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I found out you disobeyed a direct order and went there anyway?"

You barely smiled. It was dangerous, but someone had to do it. And you were less important. You could sacrifice yourself to buy them time.

You wanted to tell him again that you were sorry, even if it was a lie, to try and wipe the despair and pain from his eyes. But you couldn't.

Eris had said something out loud, sounding worried, practically screaming.

Your eyes closed for a second, just long enough to rest. Azriel was still holding your face, and you were almost sure he was repeating your name.

The place you were in was dark, too dark even for a creature of the night like you. You were used to starry skies and snow covered peaks, to the fire that softened the freezing nights when you were out on a mission and far away. This thick blackness was just that, an emptiness that made you feel so lonely you wanted to cry. You wanted to wake up again to see Eris, to thank him for healing you. You wanted to tell Azriel that you had valuable information, that it had been worth the pain, just to take the weight off his shoulders.

But the darkness whispered, pushing you further and further away.

For an instant, you were completely filled with regret. You could not believe that you would never again be able to see the smile on Eris's face as his smokehounds greeted you. You couldn't understand the injustice of knowing that you would never wake up again to enjoy the feeling of flying, safe in Azriel's arms.

It was then, as you began to drown in the darkness, that two bright golden stars appeared in the middle of the threatening night. They were so beautiful, dancing as if to show you the way back. You decided to follow them because you wanted to return to the light. You wished to open your eyes and desperately tried to hold on to the warmth they made you feel, a sensation that enveloped your soul.

"Our mate," the two males holding your body whispered, their faces showing the surprise of this revelation.

It took you a moment to understand, to come to your senses. But then you realised what they meant. You could feel it, the golden thread that wrapped around your heart, bonding you not only to Azriel, but to Eris as well. And you could also sense the connection between them. You were so confused that you were not sure if you were breathing.

It was the lips of the High Lord that anchored you to reality, as ardent as the fire that ran through his veins. And then, while Eris embraced you, trembling slightly as if still too moved by the news, Azriel kissed you with all the love and anger of what had just happened. You felt his apprehension, his relief, the deep love that was there, which now gave rise to no guilt or doubt.

That evening, the two of them took it upon themselves to stay awake and take care of you. They wouldn't let you fall asleep for a few hours just to be sure, as if fear wouldn't allow them to be away from you for even a second until they were sure you were totally okay. There were so many questions to answer, so much to say, but that could wait until the next day.

Right now, as exhaustion finally took its toll, all you could do was smile, incredibly happy and blessed, for while Azriel embraced you from behind, wrapping his wings around you and Eris, Eris had settled his head on your chest, listening to the sound of your heartbeat to lull him to sleep.

These two males, your mates... you could only thank the Mother and Fate for allowing you to return to them. You had no intention of letting them go, just as they had shown you with every word and gesture that they would not let you go either.

[eeerrrrewsd]

Temptation’s Game

You’ve always been the good girl—the one who never steps out of line, the one who smiles politely, nods at orders, and never makes a fuss. But lately, a new side of you has been waking up—one that craves a thrill, a danger you’ve only read about in stories. And no one embodies that temptation more than Remmick.

Remmick’s reputation precedes him—rough around the edges, commanding, and unpredictable. You’d be lying if you said his presence didn’t send a shiver down your spine. Maybe it’s the way his intense gaze lingers a little too long or how his deep, gravelly voice makes even a simple greeting feel like a challenge.

Tonight, you’re alone in the safehouse, cleaning up and organizing supplies. The dim light flickers, shadows dancing across the worn walls. You’re humming softly when you hear the door creak open. You turn, heart pounding, only to see Remmick leaning against the frame, his eyes locked onto you like a predator sizing up his prey.

“Didn’t think anyone else was here,” he mutters, his voice low.

You smile sweetly, pushing a stray strand of your dark hair behind your ear. “Just me. Figured I’d tidy up a bit.”

His eyes rake over you, lingering just a second too long on the curve of your neck. “You always this good?” he asks, his tone almost mocking.

“Depends,” you reply, your voice softer, hinting at something unspoken. You swear you see his jaw tense.

He steps closer, the air thickening between you two. “You don’t fool me,” he says, reaching past you to grab a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. “That innocent act. It’s cute. But I know better.”

Your cheeks flush, but you tilt your head up, eyes meeting his defiantly. “Maybe I just like playing the part,” you murmur.

Remmick’s smirk is dangerously enticing. He sets the bottle down and moves closer, his hand grazing your hip. “Playing with fire, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “Maybe I’m not afraid of getting burned.”

His hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him. “You think you can handle me?” His breath ghosts over your lips, and you shiver despite yourself.

Your hands find his chest, fingers tracing the muscles under his shirt. “I think you’re underestimating me,” you whisper.

He chuckles darkly. “Sweet girl. You’re gonna regret teasing me like that.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is on yours—rough, demanding, and impossibly intoxicating. You gasp, but your hands fist his shirt, pulling him closer as he pushes you back against the worn wooden table. The kiss is a clash of heat and want, and you can’t help but let out a breathy moan when his hands grip your hips harder.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Still think you’re the one in charge here?”

You smirk, running your fingers through his hair. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Remmick doesn’t waste another second. His lips trail down your neck, nipping at your skin just hard enough to leave a mark. You can feel his frustration mingling with desire—how you push his buttons just right. Your sweet, innocent act crumbles as you let out a soft, needy sound, and he growls in response, his hands sliding under your shirt.

“Thought you’d be quieter,” he teases, his voice husky.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. “Only for you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pulls back, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before he’s capturing your lips again, more possessive this time. And as the night goes on, you realize just how dangerous it is to play with fire—especially when it’s with someone like Remmick.

But in that moment, wrapped up in his touch and his smoldering gaze, you can’t bring yourself to care.

[killmeleatherface]

It Had To Be You

Part 2

AN: this is a part 2 to my ongoing series about Dr Robby on The Pitt. I am very new to Tumblr and formatting so pls forgive any formatting mistakes. I’m just having fun being creative and I hope you enjoy :)

TW: kissing, petting, age gap relationship. No smut in this one :) cursing, medical setting.

Summary: You and Dr Michael Robinavitch started as friends, attendings exchanging information. Until he asked if tou wanted to go to a diner to talk about an especially hard shift. The rest was history. That was years ago and your forbidden fling became an actual relationship, boyfriend and girlfriend. And then the love of your life proposes. Life couldn’t be better, until it comes crashing down. You catch the person you couldn’t be more in love kissing his ex girlfriend in a trauma room when they obviously thought no one was looking. You instantly react with fight of flight instinct and flee home, using all your vacation and sick time. You escape, leaving behind no call or text for your fiance and get the first flight out of there. Now you’re back. And life didn’t wait for your arrival, it just kept on coming like a freight train at The Pitt.

—-

2 Years Ago

“Listen, I really wanted to talk to you about something” the man next to you eyes the nurses station, while talking to you to see if anyone else is listening to him. He comes back to look you in the eyes. He loves eye contact.

“Can I take you for a bite to eat after work?” Robby asks you. The way he was looking at you was unusual, not that he never looked at you, but there was an unknown glimmer of something else behind his words. It also wasn’t usual for you guys to share a meal, although it was usually at a diner a few blocks away from the hospital. Or on top of the roof shoulder to shoulder looking at the lights of the city. Sometimes, if you got really lucky, you’d be able to share a 10 minute break in the designated break room, where you could actually sit down and enjoy your food. Robby never brought anything besides a granola bar or apple, so you’d, almost without thinking, started packing extra snacks for him. You’d double up the amount of cucumber slices, or dates, you’d throw an extra sandwich together “just in case.” And Robby always took it with a large smile that you came to know was only reserved for you.

You put the iPad you’ve been looking at but not really reading and turn to your attending.

“Yeah, Dr. Robby. I could go for a bite to eat,”You smile back.

“Alright. I was a little hopeful you’d say yes and I made reservations at 9 PM.” He says quietly.

Because of course he did. Michael Robinavitch takes charge. He knew, even if for some crazy reason you said you couldn’t, he could still convince you to agree. There was a way he looked at you, made deep eye contact with you, that hit something inside of you so deep that you didn’t know it existed in you before. You never said anything out loud but this man has an extremely tight hold on your heart. You hadn’t even been on a date, hell you hadn’t even kissed, let alone held hands. Actually, neither of you even crossed any real boundaries that would have Gloria up in arms about. More him than you kept whatever was between you as professional as he could while also making it known you were some form of special to him beyond coworkers.

He’d opened up to you about things. Growing up with his grandmother, how he didn’t know who he was talking to but in really hard situations in the Pitt he’d talk to someone, something, for something resembling hope. He talked about his relationship with Adamson, how he changed how he saw medicine when he started working with him. How much Adamson taught him not only professionally, but personally. How it took him years to realize how wrecked he was because of letting his best friend go and not being able to properly grieve him or any other person during the literal hell that was Covid. You never said anything back, just nodded, and every once in a while you’d reach for his hand and he’d let you stroke his thumb in comfort.

You knew you loved him a year into your residency. You always thought he was the sexiest man you’d ever met, almost immediately upon shaking his hand. But loving him took longer. You weren’t even more than friends when you’d realized it. You were on the roof top after an especially brutal shift. There was a multiple car pile up that brought 10 cars of people in, none of them be able to be saved. You and Robby were involved in calling TOD on most of them. It was brutal. He was looking to the skyline when he turned around, making immediate eye contact with you.

“I know I’m your attending and I know you’re my resident but I’m too fucking tired to pretend right now. Way too fucking tired.” And with that he approached you, stepping forward with his hands and skimming them down to wrap around your waist, pulling him into you. You’re surprised he made the first move but you don’t dare pull away. You relish in hearing his heartbeat through his chest, bringing your arms up to wrap around his shoulders. You of course don’t speak the actual words to him for quite some time but on some level you think he knows you so well that he’s known the whole time.

Now all these years later you were finishing residency and weeks away from being an attending. Years of being Robby’s confidante, secret favorite resident, and best friend (besides Jack).

“I’ll pick you up at 8:30 if…that works.” He puts the iPad down. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds good Michael.” You respond quietly.

If you were right, and you were, because you knew him, he was nervous. More so than usual, and it wasn’t about any of your coworkers hearing. Was it because he’d asked you to dinner? Was it because this was a date?

This was a date right? He made reservations, he asked you out and it wasn’t to a greasy diner. It had to be a date. You know you weren’t alone in your feelings, either. Not even close. If Robby knew you, you knew him. You could predict his next move before he made it. His heartbeat was yours. You almost moved as one when you were both with the same patient in the Pitt. It was magical, almost like a staged opera. Mesmerizing.

And to prove your point, like he can read your mind Robby leans in to you and says “Just so there’s no doubt about this in any way. I’m done playing around. You’re not going to be my resident anymore in less than 2 weeks and it’s as long as I can wait. Look at me.” You take your eyes away from the nursing station, and look up into his eyes. But I want to be very clear about what you’re accepting. All my cards are on the table. Are we on the same page doctor?” And prods, obviously eyeing your lips.

“Yes Dr, I think so.” You reply.

So this would be a date.

AN: I knooooow. It’s shorter, but I wanted to pump this out while it was still fresh. It’s a flashback again, but I promise you’ll wanna keep reading this!! The next chapter will be the first official date and it may get steamy ;)

AN continued: I edited this a bit to take out some too steamy stuff at work but no big deal in plot ways

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * JASPER HALE HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

pre-relationship / discovery of the bond

jasper knew the second you walked into the room.

not just “noticed”—felt you. like gravity shifted, and suddenly his entire existence narrowed down to you.

the first time your scent hits him, it nearly knocks the breath from his lungs. not because it tempts him—no, it calms him.

at first, he was terrified of it. not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t think he deserved it.

“i’ve done things i don’t want her to even imagine,” he tells alice one night, eyes dark with guilt. “how can i be the one meant for her?”

he keeps his distance at first, almost painfully so. you’ll notice him staring but always retreating when you look his way.

he’s constantly using his empathy to gauge your feelings, fascinated by your emotional landscape. you feel bright to him. alive.

he accidentally mirrors your emotions often, because yours are stronger than anything he’s ever felt before. your joy makes him smile without realizing it.

alice helps him understand it—encourages him, gently. “you don’t get to keep punishing yourself forever, jazz. maybe this is the beginning of something better.”

he keeps finding excuses to be near you. quiet glances from across the room. walking slower so he ends up next to you. little things.

and the first time you touch him? just a casual brush of your hand when you pass him something? he feels peace. real, complete peace.

getting together

he’s old-fashioned, so expect subtle southern gentleman behavior—opening doors, standing when you walk into a room, offering his arm.

jasper is incredibly careful with you at first.

he doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it, terrified of overstepping or triggering a memory you haven’t shared.

every date is deliberate. thoughtful.

a hand-picked book he thinks you’ll like. a midnight walk under the stars. a letter slipped into your bag with a dried flower.

he’s a subtle romantic. not loud or flashy—but deeply poetic. he sees your soul, and treats it like something sacred.

he insists on asking for your permission every step of the way—even when he knows you’ll say yes. he likes hearing your consent. it grounds him.

he’s incredibly attentive. you won’t even need to say what you’re feeling—he just knows and acts accordingly.

overstimulated at a party? he’s already gently guiding you to a quieter spot. feeling insecure? he’s whispering how proud he is to be yours.

protective jasper

extremely protective. not overbearing, but there’s a very specific tone in his voice when someone upsets you—and everyone learns quickly not to test him.

if someone flirts with you in front of him? you don’t even have to react. jasper’s stare alone is enough to make them regret breathing.

he doesn’t lose control, but it’s chilling how calm he is when warning someone off. his southern charm vanishes, replaced by cold steel.

“you okay, sugar?” he’ll ask, even though he knows you’re angry or upset—he always gives you the space to name your emotions.

his body reacts before his brain when he senses you’re in danger. one second you’re just talking to someone; the next, jasper’s in front of you, eyes dark.

you’re the only one who can calm him down afterward. a touch. a word. one look from you and his shoulders drop.

he won’t fight unless he has to. but he will place himself between you and danger without hesitation.

and afterward, even if he didn’t get a scratch, he’ll come back to you and ask, “did i scare you? are you alright, sweetheart?”—his only concern is you.

even when there’s no physical danger, he’s protective of your emotions. if someone makes you feel small or disrespected, he’s the first to validate you.

he’s especially protective when you’re sick, injured, or emotionally overwhelmed.

when you’re sick, he’s gentle to the point of obsession. he reads every label, follows every instruction, makes sure you’re hydrated, warm, and resting.

“you just rest, honey. i’ve got everything else covered.”

carries you to bed. reads to you in that soft, slow drawl. kisses your forehead like it’s holy.

little moments

he hums old civil war-era lullabies under his breath without realizing it when he’s relaxed around you. it’s soft and hauntingly beautiful.

he calls you “darlin’,” “sweetheart,” and occasionally “sugar.” but when he’s really soft or overwhelmed? he just whispers your name like it’s a prayer.

he traces your face with his fingers when you’re asleep, memorizing it over and over like he still can’t believe you’re real.

whenever you laugh, his entire expression changes. the stoic, brooding mask slips and he looks young again. alive.

jasper thrives in stillness with you. he’s lived through chaos, through war, through fire and pain. quiet domestic life is heaven to him.

loves slow dancing in the living room with you, especially when it’s quiet. no music—just the sound of your heartbeat and the feel of you in his arms.

has an old journal where he writes about you. bits of poetry, little memories, sketches of your smile. you don’t know about it. yet.

he brings you trinkets from his travels—old coins, pressed flowers, strange books—like a crow in love.

loves the feeling of your heartbeat against his chest when you fall asleep on him. it’s the only sound that ever silences the ghosts in his head.

if you cry, he hurts. it’s not just emotional—it’s physical. he feels the ache in his chest and wants nothing more than to take it from you.

“let me carry it, sweetheart. please. you don’t have to do this alone.”

when he feeds, he always tries to finish quickly so he can return to you. being away from you too long makes him tense, restless. he needs you to stay grounded.

his love language

i. physical touch

touch is his primary love language—because after years of cold detachment, being able to feel love physically again is everything.

he always has a hand on you: resting on your lower back, fingers laced with yours, thumb brushing your knuckles.

in bed, even if you’re not cuddling, some part of him is always touching you—ankle to ankle, hand to your waist, his chest against your back.

ii. acts of service

jasper does little things to make your life easier—always quietly.

he’ll fix something without you asking, make your tea just right, or track down a book you mentioned once.

never asks for credit, either. he just wants to take care of you in the ways you won’t even notice until later.

the first time you thanked him for something small—like charging your dead phone—he gave you this soft smile and said, “you don’t have to thank me. loving you is the easy part.”

iii. words of affirmation

jasper’s not the most vocal at first, but when he does speak, it means everything.

he’ll tell you you’re brave, kind, strong, and the light of his eternity—but always in that quiet, emotionally-heavy drawl.

“you have no idea what you mean to me, darlin’. none.”

his kisses

jasper’s kisses are intentional. always. whether it’s soft and slow or heated and desperate, he never rushes—he savors.

he kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your soul, not just your lips.

his favorite spot to kiss you (besides your lips) is your forehead. it’s protective, tender, and makes you feel cherished.

when he’s overwhelmed by how much he loves you, he kisses your hands—your knuckles, your palms, your fingertips—like you’re something fragile and sacred.

he also kisses the inside of your wrist, where he can feel your pulse. it calms him.

after a nightmare or a bad day, he kisses your temple with a whispered, “i’ve got you now, darlin’. you’re safe.”

when he kisses you in private, it’s slow and deep—like he’s trying to convey everything he can’t say.

when he kisses you after being away? he cups your face in both hands like he needs to ground himself. his voice goes low and reverent:

“missed you like hell, sugar.”

the first “i love you”

jasper doesn’t say it quickly. not because he doesn’t feel it—he feels it constantly—but because he knows what those words mean, and he doesn’t take them lightly.

you feel it in everything he does long before he says it: the way he looks at you like you hung the stars, the way he memorizes your favorite songs, how he tracks your moods without a word.

the first time he almost says it, it slips out mid-sentence: “i just—god, i love—” and he cuts himself off, lips pressed together. you pretend not to notice to spare him.

the actual first time is quiet.

maybe you’re sitting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, and you say something that makes him laugh—something small, but genuine.

he leans in, voice soft and raw:

“i love you. and i know what that means, sugar. i don’t say it ‘cause it’s easy—i say it ‘cause it’s true.”

he watches you like he’s bracing for impact. and when you say it back? his entire body relaxes, like he’s finally home.

angst potential

the idea of accidentally hurting you terrifies him.

he disappears sometimes—not to run from you, but to protect you from his darker moods. when he feels himself slipping into old war-born rage, he retreats.

some nights, he distances himself just to be sure you’re safe, and it hurts both of you.

“i love you more than you’ll ever know,” he’ll whisper against your hair when you sleep. “but i still don’t know if i deserve someone like you.”

there was a moment—early on—when he snapped during a hunt, overwhelmed by thirst, and afterward he wouldn’t let you near him for days.

“i saw myself in the mirror,” he whispered, hollow. “and i thought: ‘she can’t love a thing like that.’

you had to pull him back to you. remind him he’s more than a soldier. more than a scarred past. that you choose him, always.

you’re the one who helps him forgive himself.

and eventually, he lets you in fully. lets you see every scar. because loving you makes him want to be better. not just for you—with you.

his greatest fear is losing you—because he believes the universe gave him one final chance at peace. and if you’re gone…

“i won’t survive it, sugar. you leave, and that’s the end of me.”

[ilyprs]

P I S T A N T H R O P H O B I A | s.geum

───𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛───

pistanthrophobia : the fear of trusting people, forming close romantic relationships, and being vulnerable in interpersonal connections

' in which she can't escape her first love

•seong-je x reader

•part 3. (part 1&2 are out on my profile💌)

ׂׂૢ་༘______________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•✩♬ now playing: monster | irene & seulgi

Lee Serim was literally counting the seconds until the school day was finally over, and she had to pull herself together just to survive it patiently. The mere thought of what was awaiting her later made her hands instantly start to sweat, and a wave of nausea hit her.

„Yah, what are we doing later today?" Gotak's voice snapped her out of her thoughts as the two of them stood in the cafeteria line to get their lunch. The girl hadn't been listening, her mind elsewhere—or more precisely, on someone else—when she looked at him, startled, a confused expression on her face. Gotak quickly realized his best friend hadn't been paying attention and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

„Man, what's wrong with you lately, Serim?" he asked, concerned. When she just kept staring at him and didn't answer, he rolled his eyes in frustration, slowly growing impatient. The problem wasn't that Serim didn't trust him. On the contrary, she would've trusted Gotak with her life—he had proven his loyalty to her plenty of times. That wasn't the issue. The issue was that she simply couldn't tell him because she knew what kind of consequences it would bring. Only after changing schools had she truly realized how dangerous this "Union" business really was. The boys had explained their activities to her and told her just how immoral everything about it was. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Seong-je had to be one of the founders of that horrible system. Baku was always in a bad mood whenever the topic of the Union came up, which was why they all avoided talking about it whenever they could. Sure, the friend group had been confronted a few times by Union members, but each time the teens had fought back and were usually left alone afterward—no one dared touch them again. Atleast not until a new guy was naive enough to try again and learned his lesson the hard way.

It wasn't until a year into their friendship that the boys found out what had happened between Serim and Seong-je. When she finally told them everything, they were shocked. The boys simply couldn't imagine a time when Seong-je wasn't driven by hatred and greed but could actually be loving. Especially Baku, who had known him the longest, didn't believe a word at first. But eventually, he realized she had nothing to gain from lying, and her honesty became clear. From the moment she confessed, the boys never let her walk anywhere alone at night again—especially not in areas where gang members usually hung out. Their protective instincts were no joke. Just hearing Seong-je's name made them instantly tense up. They were also one of the main reasons there was never another meeting between Serim and Seong-je. Even if she had wanted to meet him, the boys would've ruined that plan and stopped her from going through with such a reckless idea.

Trying her best to steer Gotak away from the topic, Serim brought up the new student who had transferred that day. She told him the guy seemed strange and incredibly cold. She had also overheard whispers from other students saying he had put someone into a coma—but Serim didn't believe that. If it were true, she figured she'd find out soon enough anyway.

Gotak knew she was trying to change the subject, but he also knew that forcing her to talk wouldn't work. If Serim had been ready to open up, she would've done it on her own. So he just looked at her gently and listened patiently. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders and ruffled her hair, which earned him a hard slap against his head. He didn't bring the subject up again.

She had no idea how she'd made it through the day, but somehow, she was still alive—though she'd honestly have preferred not to be. If she weren't alive, she wouldn't have to deal with all her problems, most of which revolved around him. The entire school day, she had been wondering what to do, because there was no way she wanted to go to that meeting. She knew nothing good would come of it—Seong-je attracted trouble like a magnet. No matter where he went or what he did, he always ended up in a fight or some kind of dirty business. Serim never wanted to be part of any of it. Still unsure, she pulled her school bag closer and sighed loudly. The weather was sunny and not cold at all—just how Lee Serim liked it. Unfortunately, she didn't get to enjoy it for long.

—

She had finished her long training session and quickly taken a shower before blow-drying her hair and slipping into fresh clothes. She tucked her hair behind her ears and threw on a cardigan before slinging her training bag over her shoulder and leaving the locker room. The training had drained the last of her energy, and all she wanted now was to crawl into her cozy bed and never get up again. The fact that she had barely slept the night before made that idea even more appealing.

When it came to training, her father never showed her mercy. He always emphasized how unsafe the area was and kept pushing her beyond her limits. Gotak and Baku hadn't come to training that day, both caught up in private matters, and Serim had missed them. It never took long for her to start missing her friends. Seeing them every day felt so natural that it always felt off when they weren't around. With a heavy heart, she left the gym and sent a quick message to the group chat the trio shared:

"Just finished training. I'll text you when I'm home."

Baku replied immediately, telling her to be careful and to call him right away if anything happened. Serim smiled at his protective instincts and glanced quickly at the clock on her phone.

8:14 PM.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she considered calling Baku after all, uncertain of what might be waiting for her once she took just a few more steps. Seong-je hadn't sent her another message, but Serim was smart enough to know he'd never leave it at that. She knew that no matter where she went, he could show up at any moment. With ears sharp and alert, she left the street where the gym was and headed home.

She checked every corner three times and expected someone to appear at any moment, avoiding all eye contact with strangers. She had to be as paranoid as possible—otherwise, she wouldn't make it home tonight. Serim acted like someone on high alert, and a few people were already giving her odd looks, but she didn't care. Her safety came first, and as long as Seong-je was still alive, she would never be safe on the streets at night. Not from strangers—but from him.

Serim was about five minutes from her apartment when she suddenly saw a shadow between her legs. She whipped around instantly. Her heart was racing, and her body went into survival mode as she gripped her bag tightly and prepared to fight off whoever was following her. But when she turned, no one was there—just a small black cat with white spots circling around her legs and meowing loudly.

Still breathing heavily, Serim took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

False alarm.

She immediately dropped to her knees and began petting the super cute cat. Cats were her absolute favorite animals, and she could never resist them. Unfortunately, her father had a cat allergy, so she could never have one of her own, which made her sad every time she thought about it. If it were up to her, she'd rescue and adopt every stray cat she saw—but that was just wishful thinking. Reality looked a lot different. Smiling happily, she sat there, now rubbing the cat's belly as it rolled onto its back, clearly enjoying the attention. She quickly pulled out her phone and took a photo before starting to talk to it in a baby voice.

She completely lost track of time and didn't even notice someone quietly stepping up behind her—until this time, she really did see a shadow behind her. Her heart stopped. Damn it. She hadn't been careful enough. Her heart stopped for a second and she cursed herself out for being this reckless. Serim didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. She could feel it. His presence was unmistakable.

„You didn't come."

That was all he said. His voice was rough, and she could hear the cigarette which was sitting in his mouth.

She fought with everything in her not to turn around and look at his ridiculously handsome face. She had never been able to resist him.

Without a word, she gave the cat one last stroke, took a deep breath, stood up quickly, and started walking—without even giving him a glance. She heard him hiss quietly behind her, then the sound of a cigarette hitting the pavement, followed by a hand grabbing her wrist, pulling her back. Serim tried to yank her arm away, but he was faster and stronger. He always was. Seong-je turned her toward him, forcing her to face him.

Seong-je looked deep into her eyes and said nothing at first. Oh how much she had missed that beautiful face of his. His grip didn't loosen even though Serim tried hard to break free. He weirdly seemed to cherish this encounter between the old lovers.

„Let me go, what the fuck!" she snapped angrily, pulling harder at her wrist.

This time, he let go—and because she hadn't expected it, she couldn't catch her balance in time and fell flat on her butt.

Those were the first words they had exchanged in two years, face-to-face, and they ended with her on the ground.

In her dreams, the first words would have been more romantic—but reality, as always, was far more brutal. She looked up at him and saw that stupid smirk on his face, which only made her angrier. She harshly balled her fist and it took everything in her to not just hit the damn ground she was now sitting on.

„You could've just told me you missed me. You didn't have to get on your knees for it, baby," he said teasingly, slowly kneeling in front of her. That smirk never left his face, and Serim saw red. She couldn't describe how much she hated him and that dirty mouth in that moment. Still - his words left her speechless for a moment and a small blush appeared on her cheeks despite her hard efforts. Serim was very easy to get flustered when it came to him and he knew it. He immediately picked up her blushing cheeks and only grinned harder at the girl sitting in front of him.

Without a word, she raised her right hand—and the next moment, Seong-je's face turned to the side. A bright red handprint formed on his cheek from the slap she had just landed. Serim knew that what she'd done was dangerously stupid, but in that moment, she didn't care. She just felt so exposed near him knowing that he could always read her like a book. Seong-je had always known exactly which buttons to push to make her lose control.

But he just pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, fixed his glasses which slipped due to the impact of her slap and looked at her with amusement. That bastard enjoyed pushing her to the edge, took pleasure in making her feel crazy. Even though it had to hurt, he didn't show any sign of pain. Even worse, he laughed about it.

„Baby, you know how much that turns me on right? Are you trying to seduce me right now?"

He laughed even louder, and his glasses reflected the stunned expression on her face. She desperately wanted to scream at him and hit him at the same time, she was just so fed up with everything. But none of that happened, instead he slowly stood up, then yanked her up by the arm. Once she was on her feet, she instantly pulled away from him. Her mind was spinning, and she felt so helpless in that moment that she almost started to cry—but she held herself together. She had promised herself she'd never cry because of him again, and she had no intention of breaking that promise now.

Seong-je looked at her for a long time before placing his hand on her cheek and leaning closer.

„You don't know how much I missed that helpless look on your face. Nothing I've done since then has made me feel the way just one look from you does."

He spoke softly, gazing deeply into her eyes. She was frozen in place, unable to move. His eyes had something hypnotic about them, and she couldn't resist them. She stared at him for several seconds—until that smirk reappeared. That was when reality snapped her back.

Without warning, she stomped on his foot with all her strength and spun around to run. She knew that no matter how fast she ran, he'd catch up. But she didn't care. If she wanted to survive, she had to get as far away from him as possible.

„You'll never escape me, Sera—remember that!" he called after her, laughing loudly enough for her to hear.

The old nickname he used for her made her skin crawl and left her feeling sick. She briefly considered turning around and shouting an insult at him—but knew it would only excite him more, so she held back. She was already turning the next corner when she saw him still standing there, taking a slow drag from a cigarette she hadn’t noticed he even pulled out with a wide grin—

—and she ran for her life.

taglist: @gacktsa @dripoftheseus @rockerica @b3autyist3rror @jaymiwrld @shonerd @mordessaa @inhoswifee

[padawan-snack-packer]

[TW: Andor Spoilers- Episode 9 Season 2]

I’m sorry but the new set of episodes absolutely wrecked me because Bix leaving Cassian like that — slipping away in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye, without letting him speak, without talking to him face to face —...

That wasn’t mercy. That wasn’t kindness. That wasn’t sparing him a hard choice.

That was stealing it from him.

That was deciding for him that he didn’t get to have a say in it.

That his feelings didn’t matter as much as her fear or her guilt or whatever she convinced herself this was — and yes, she left a video message, maybe she thought that was enough...

But it wasn’t, it isn’t.

Because Cassian Andor has spent his entire life being left, being abandoned, being pushed into decisions without being told the truth, and now the one person who knew that, the one person he trusted — she did it too.

And pregnant or not, scared or not, wanting to protect him or not, he deserved a conversation. He deserved the chance to fight for her, or at least to look her in the eye and say goodbye — not another hole in his chest where someone used to be.

He would’ve chosen her. He would’ve fought for her.

And now he’s left shattered, again, walking around with his hands shaking and his voice gone and his heart broken, again, because every time he tries to build something, every time he tries to choose love or hope or peace, it gets taken from him — not by blasters or the Empire, but by the people he would’ve died for, quietly, like a whisper.

He didn’t deserve that. Not from her.

And listen — I love Bix. I do. I understand where she’s coming from. The trauma, the pain, the years of loss piling on her shoulders, the sheer exhaustion of always being the one to survive, the one to stay, the one to fight. I get it. She’s not heartless. She’s scared. She’s been through hell. And maybe in her mind, leaving was an act of mercy. Maybe she thought she was protecting him — protecting both of them — by not making him choose, by walking away before the cost got too high.

But girl. You knew him. You knew what abandonment does to him. You knew what being left without answers, without closure, does to someone who’s already lost too much.

And you still walked away. In silence. At night. Without a word.

And I’m not saying she didn’t hurt too. I’m not saying it was easy. But when you love someone — really love someone — you don’t get to make that kind of choice alone. Especially not with a goodbye that sounds more like a pre-recorded apology than a conversation.

Especially not to a man who spent years fighting for something just to realize that the fight wasn’t enough if he was always alone.

She didn’t betray him. But she did break him. And I think a part of her knew that, and left anyway.

[sleepylaing]

Énouement

You are something hot on my eternally cold hands. You are the spring morning sun, while I am the fall raindrops dripping down the glass. You are something loving on my eternally cold self. You are something important on the infinitely insignificant me. You are everything, and I've never had much,

which is probably why I want you so deeply.

it's a fem!reader (disguised as a student furin) × suo. there's definitely a backstory here that hasn't been written yet and I'm not sure anyone wants it written at all. so this is just my OC and her interactions with others. let me know if you want a part two or something. and please don't take it too seriously

ch. 1 — Adronitis.

The classroom door swings open, almost flying off its hinges. Many of the students are distracted from their work and turn to hear Enomoto's booming voice. A silent Kusumi walks to his right and only a grumpy Kaji reluctantly follows.

“All right, you brats, listen up! You're going to clean up the town today, got it?”

A rumble of angry voices spreads through the classroom. “Again? But we cleaned up a few days ago,” someone says, and the rest of the class agrees.

“Shut up, you bastards! Are you men or what? I want every garbage can shining and the streets clean! Kaji will check it personally, won't he, Kaji?”, Enomoto turns to the uninvolved Ren, whose look was anything but interested. He catches his eye, stubbornly for a few seconds, then sighs hopelessly, looks around the classroom with a heavy gaze, and nods in agreement. Enomoto grins contentedly and rests his arms at his sides.

“Mop in hand and get to work! Tsugeura, Sugishita, help us with the heavy stuff, Kiryu, get the brooms, Sakura, you take care of the garbage collection, Nirei, please supervise, the rest of you help those I just named,” the vice captain says, but then his gaze glides over the students until it stops on two specific figures.

“Akashi, stop snoozing and leave Suo alone!” he shouts indignantly, and everyone hurries to turn in the direction of his stern gaze. “Just because you haven't gotten a punch for your insolence yet, doesn't mean you should! You'll soon be glued to each other. Hey, Suo, do something!”

You didn't move an inch and continued to snuggle into Suo's neck. You felt warm, comfortable and good. You didn't want to leave.

But apparently your senpais had other plans for your sweet, long-awaited sleep.

You frowned, picking up Enomoto's familiar timbre through the haze of rapidly slipping sleep. Something about cleaning, mops, and Kaji-kun again. The usual.

Your eyes are still closed. You don't want to get up. Suo's skin was soft — softer than any pillow you've ever laid on, his neck was nice to snuggle against, and he always smelled good: some kind of tea you didn't know the name of, the subtle scent of his cologne, and a little bit of shampoo. It was the perfect place to take a nap, especially when Hayato didn't seem to show his displeasure at temporarily serving as your pillow and held you almost weightlessly, allowing you to lean almost entirely against him.

“It's okay, Enomoto-senpai,” Suo says with an angelic smile as Enomoto's disgruntled look slowly starts to burn you alive. “It's just that Akashi-kun is a bit tired. Don't worry, we'll be right over. I'll personally make sure that he does all the work.”

Suo's expression definitely sounded reliable and convincing enough for the vice captain to calm down a bit and stand behind you. You snorted mentally. Of course Suo's voice would make sense against such an unreliable you. Anyway, you're grateful for the extra minutes of sleep.

Your peace doesn't last long, though.

As Tsugeura walks past you, he grabs your shoulders and tries to pull you away from Suo, whose serene smile fades for a moment. “Akashi-kun, get up now! You'll sleep through everything. I still want to compete with you in paper throwing, but I can't if you're still lying on Suo-kun like that!”

As a tough guy, obviously one of the strongest in the class, he manages to lift you up almost effortlessly, but you're not so easy either: you cling to Suo with a deadly grip and don't want to let go, and you moo long and protesting:

“Noooo... Tsugeura-chan, let go...”, sleepily, unintelligibly, you burn Suo's ear, and finally you struggle to open your eyes. The first thing you see is someone else's red lobe, but you don't dwell on it. “I promise I'll throw papers with you, just don't torture me.”

“What a drama,” Kiryu comments sarcastically as he walks past you.

“Akashi-kun always has a hard time getting up. Especially if he slept on Suo-san before,” Nirei says, thinking he's softening the situation, but in fact it's the opposite, encouraging Tsugeura to pull you down even harder.

“Hup!” he shouts, and in the next moment, you're already standing unsteadily on your feet. Your hands are still frozen in the air, clutching at the emptiness.

At this moment, Hayato finally raises his voice.

“Thank you, Tsugeura-kun, but enough,” he says, and his tone is impeccably warm as always, but you can detect a hint of irritation in it. “We'll take it from here.”

Taiga looks at him for a while, then at you. After he has decided something, he calms down and nods in agreement. “Well, I'll go then, senpais are waiting for me. Akashi-kun, I'll meet you at the dumpster.”

“Thank you Tsugeura-chan, you're such a gentleman. This is a great place to meet.”

“You know why, don't make me look ridiculous!”

“I had no idea,” you smile sweetly at him, and he, accepting the challenge, smiles back broadly as he leaves the classroom.

Suddenly, you turn around from the strange chill at the back of your neck to find a motionless Suo staring at the door. You can't remember ever seeing him stare at anyone or anything like that, but he thaws out after a few seconds anyway. The clinging gaze returns to you.

Suo's smile is infinitely gentle, but you can't help but feel that something is wrong with it.

“Shall we go?” he asks and you nod in agreement.

***

“You're more distracted than usual today,” Suo observes as you yawn again, not even bothering to cover your mouth with the palm of your hand. You've fallen behind the others, so he leans over to you and asks quietly: “Working late again, Hoshi-kun?”

You squint at him. As always, awfully smart.

You never told him that you work nights, too.

That's okay. It wasn't really a big secret. Especially from Suo.

You moo in agreement, lower your head and kick a pebble under your feet boredly. Suo's interested look eats away at your cheek like acid. He's obviously waiting for you to continue. Waiting for you to tell him more. You don't understand why he's so interested, but you give in and answer him calmly.

“I've had to work more lately, but I can't go out during the week because of school. I had to go out at night. So now I sleep when our teacher blinks, when my desk decides to be a little softer than a rock, and when you sit next to me.”

Suo's ruby eye flashes with pleasure at your last words. You don't see it. Too engrossed in the candy store sign with the announcement: 45% off Tuesdays and Thursdays. Too bad it's Friday, you mentally sigh.

“Did I satisfy your curiosity, Suo-chan?” you turn to him. You try again to understand why he was so interested, but trying to understand Hayato Suo is almost like trying to learn every language in the world in one day.

He's an enigma. But who says you're better?

“As much as it raised new questions in me.”

“Оh. Really?” you answer sarcastically. Your short ponytail had become quite disheveled during your nap, so that the blonde strands now fall over your eyes. You wrinkle your nose slightly, but keep your hands warm in your jacket pockets.

“Yeah.”

Someone's warm fingers gently touch your forehead. They tuck disheveled strands behind your ear with precise, careful movements. Hayato's fingers linger on your cheek longer than they should.

He does it quietly, naturally, and you say nothing, content to let the hair stay out of your face.

“Why do you need money so badly, Hoshi-kun?”

The question hits you like a bucket of boiling water down your throat and another bucket of ice water on your head.

“Don't all humans need it?” you laugh softly at the end. “I'm just thinking about my future, Suo-chan. I want to save for college.”

The lie falls from your lips as easily as hundreds of others before it.

The heaviness in your chest wraps itself around another layer. Another one of hundreds of others.

And even if Suo catches you at it, he doesn't say anything.

“You can tell me. I want you to know that I'll always listen to you, Hoshi-kun.”

No, I can't.

I can't tell anyone, no matter how much I want to.

“I will, Suo-chan. You don't have to worry.”

You both know that you are lying again.

Suo lets you do it, smiling brightly.

You don't want to admit — not even to yourself — that your heart trembles as you see his smile. Like he understands. Like he doesn't judge.

Like he really cares.

You find the strength to smile back weakly.

[twistedheartsclub]

Badge Of Control Male X Female Reader

⚠️ Warnings: non-consensual touching, sexual assault (implied), psychological abuse, stalking, authority figure manipulation, gaslighting, forced intimacy, grooming, trauma response, dissociation, domestic violence (referenced), coerced engagement. This is a work of fiction. The portrayal of law enforcement in this story does not represent real officers or the profession as a whole. It is purely for dark fictional narrative purposes.

A/N: I AM making a tag post if you wish to be tag in future stories please respond here <-

Everyone in town knew Officer Grayson Wolfe.

He had a presence that couldn’t be ignored—tall, broad-shouldered, always dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform, gun resting at his hip like it belonged there. The silver in his hair only made him look sharper, more dignified, like age had refined him instead of softened him.

He was everywhere.

At the high school football games, he stood tall on the sidelines, barking commands and clapping players on the back like he was still one of them. The boys loved him. Their parents trusted him. On Sundays, he knelt in the front pew of the church alone, head bowed, hands folded in reverence. At the grocery store, he helped elderly women load their bags with a smile. At the town fair, he shook every hand, posed for every photo, always looking like the man every mother hoped their daughter would marry—or avoid disappointing.

People adored him. Worshipped him, even.

“Solid man,” they’d say. “A real role model. Damn shame about his wife.”

Everyone knew the story. She’d left him five years ago—cheated on him, they said, packed her bags in the night and disappeared without a trace. Some said she ran to the city. Others hinted at something darker, but never too loudly. Not with Wolfe always nearby. Always watching.

Lately, it was her he’d been watching.

It started subtly. A smile that lingered too long. A hand that brushed her arm when it didn’t need to. A few too many “coincidental” run-ins—at the diner, the library, outside her apartment. And when he spoke to her, there was something in his tone that didn’t match his words. Like a warning dressed as a compliment. Like a man who’d decided something—and expected her to fall in line.

Grayson Wolfe had already made up his mind about her.

And no one was going to stop him.

Y/N had always been the quiet type.

At twenty-five, she was in her second year of teaching at the elementary school—the same one she’d once attended, now standing at the front of a classroom instead of behind a desk. After a few years in the city chasing something bigger, she’d come home. Said it was temporary at first, but then her mother’s smile softened something in her, and she stayed.

It made her mother happy, especially after her father passed. It felt like the right thing. And Y/N had always done the right thing.

She lived in the same small house she grew up in, still hung laundry outside on Sundays, still folded programs at church with the older ladies who’d known her since birth. She wasn’t flashy or loud. She didn’t drink, didn’t date, didn’t stay out late. Her world was small, structured—early mornings, lesson plans, parent conferences, potlucks, and PTA meetings. She brought casseroles to funerals. Volunteered at school dances. Organized bake sales.

People admired her. Thought she was sweet. Responsible. Safe.

They called her “a good girl.”

Some said she was wasting her youth. Others whispered that maybe she was still grieving. But no one really asked her. They were content to keep her in her box—small-town golden girl, reliable and pure.

Grayson Wolfe watched her like something holy. Like something breakable.

And Y/N, as kind and careful as she was, had no idea how dangerous it was to be noticed by a man like him.

Grayson had known of her, of course.

Everyone did. Y/N had been the quiet, polite girl in the back pew—always with her parents, always dressed modestly, always helping someone. When she left for the city, most figured she’d disappear like the others her age. But she came back.

And he noticed her—really noticed her—the first time she stepped out of her mother’s car that morning last spring, fresh-faced and soft around the edges, carrying a tray of cupcakes into the school.

She wore a long skirt that caught the wind and a cardigan pulled tight around her, her hair pinned back like she hadn’t meant to draw attention to herself. But she had. She always did. Not with her body, but with her goodness—that kind of small, radiant warmth that made men look twice. That made him look twice.

Grayson had pulled up beside the school in his cruiser, just to check on things—he told himself. She hadn’t even looked in his direction. She was laughing with the secretary, brushing flour off her cheek with the back of her hand.

She didn’t see the way he stared. Didn’t feel how long he sat there in his idling car, fingers tightening on the wheel.

That was the first time.

But the craving came later.

It was a week before summer break. He’d gone to speak at the school, part of some local “community heroes” program. She was there, seated near the front with her students. She wore a blue dress—soft fabric, high neckline, delicate sleeves. A gold cross hung at her throat.

He spoke to the kids. But he only looked at her.

And when she met his eyes for the briefest second—nervous, polite, nothing more—something inside him shifted. Snapped. A sweet, trembling sort of hunger bloomed in his chest. A need. Not just to look at her.

To have her.

To be the one to teach her what the world was really like. What men like him were really like. She didn’t even know what kind of danger she invited just by existing.

That night, he sat alone in his dark kitchen, replaying the way she’d smiled at a child, the way she’d nodded respectfully when he passed. That smile. That softness.

His hand curled around his glass. He hadn’t touched a woman since his wife left. But this wasn’t about sex.

It was about ownership.

And Grayson Wolfe had just decided that sweet little Y/N belonged to him.

The sun was low when Y/N stepped outside, the weight of another school day settling in her shoulders. She had a stack of graded papers tucked under one arm, her hair pulled into a loose bun, a soft blouse clinging to her from the early summer heat. Most of the kids were gone by now, the buses long disappeared. Only a few straggling parents stood near the front office, chatting quietly.

She didn’t notice the cruiser parked near the curb until she was almost to her car.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

The voice was smooth, deep, and too familiar. She turned quickly, startled, blinking against the sun.

Officer Wolfe stood beside his patrol car, sunglasses in hand, gaze steady on hers. He smiled. Not a wide smile—just a slow, practiced tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh,” she said, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Good evening, Officer Wolfe.”

“Evening,” he echoed. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just saw you walking out and thought I’d say hello.”

She shifted her books slightly, suddenly hyperaware of the low neckline of her blouse, the sweat at the back of her neck. “That’s kind of you.”

He moved closer, just a step, slow and casual. “How’s the second year treating you?”

She smiled politely. “Better than the first. Still learning a lot.”

“I bet those kids adore you.” He said it like a fact, not a compliment. “You’ve got that...warmth. Gentle voice. I’ve had teachers like that. Ones you don’t forget.”

Her smile faltered for a moment. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I meant it,” he said, eyes sweeping over her—not with lust, not overtly. But there was a hunger there. Controlled. Contained. “Your mother must be real proud. I see her at church sometimes.”

“She is,” Y/N replied, her voice softening slightly. “She’s happy I came home.”

He nodded slowly. “We all are. It’s good to have you back here, where you belong.”

The words lingered strangely in the air.

She glanced down at her keys. “Well, I should get home. Papers to finish, and I promised my mom I’d help with dinner.”

“Of course,” he said, but didn’t step back. “Still living out on Cypress Lane?”

She froze for a half second. It wasn’t a secret, not really. Small town, everyone knew everything. But the way he said it—so smoothly, so certain—sent a strange chill down her spine.

“Yes,” she said. “Same house.”

He nodded. “If you ever feel uneasy, or if anything strange happens—someone hanging around your place or whatnot—you let me know. Call me directly. Don’t even bother with dispatch.”

Y/N hesitated. “I...thank you. I appreciate that.”

His eyes didn’t leave her. “Pretty girl like you. Living alone. Makes a man want to keep watch.”

Something flickered in her chest—discomfort, warning, but wrapped in layers of politeness she’d been raised on.

“I’m alright,” she said gently. “But I’ll remember that.”

He stepped back then, just enough to ease the moment.

“You do that.” He opened his car door. “Be safe, Miss Y/L/N.”

And then, with one last look, he drove off slow, the cruiser disappearing down the road.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment longer, clutching her keys, her papers suddenly feeling far too heavy.

She didn’t know why her heart was beating so fast.

The road was empty, bathed in quiet darkness, save for the dim hum of Y/N’s headlights cutting through the mist that clung low to the trees. She wasn’t in a rush—just tired, her shift at the church potluck cleanup running later than expected. The leftovers were boxed in the back seat, her mother’s prized cherry pie wrapped carefully in foil for Sunday service.

The blue and red lights in her rearview mirror came out of nowhere.

Her heart jumped.

She pulled to the side quickly, hands shaking slightly as she rolled down the window. She already knew who it would be. She knew.

Boots approached slowly on gravel. Purposeful. Then the tap of knuckles against the window.

“Evenin’, Miss Y/L/N.”

She looked up into Officer Wolfe’s face. Calm. Professional. Smiling.

“H-hi, Officer. Is...is something wrong?”

“You were movin’ a little fast back there.” He shone his flashlight inside the car. “Mind telling me where you’re headed so late?”

“I was just driving home from the church, sir. We had cleanup after the potluck.”

He leaned in a little, sniffed the air exaggeratedly. “Been drinking?”

Her eyes widened. “No. Of course not.”

He tilted his head. “Mm. Step out of the car for me.”

“Officer, I—”

“Now,” he said, more firmly.

Her pulse roared in her ears. But she obeyed.

She stepped out slowly, the gravel cold beneath her flats. The night felt far too quiet, the two of them alone on that stretch of road. His flashlight skimmed over her body in a way that made her arms fold tightly around herself.

“Stand straight. Feet together. Hands by your sides.”

She complied, trembling.

He circled her slowly, voice low and deliberate. “You know, I’ve pulled you over three times this year. You think maybe you’re distracted when you drive? Or maybe just nervous around me?”

“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, sir,” she whispered.

“No, I don’t imagine you meant to,” he said softly, stepping behind her. “But you’re such a little thing. Shaky hands. Flushed cheeks. Someone might think you were guilty of something.”

His hand landed on her waist—firm, possessive.

She froze.

“Officer—”

“Shh. Just making sure you’re steady,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath hot against her ear. “That’s what I’m here for. To make sure you’re safe. To keep you in line.”

His fingers skimmed lower, brushing the curve of her hip, the swell beneath her blouse. Her stomach turned, but her body locked in place. Powerless.

“You ever get lonely in that house?” he whispered. “Ever wish someone’d come knockin’? You’d open that door in your nightgown and realize you didn’t have to be alone anymore?”

Her throat constricted. She couldn’t speak.

He held her there for a second longer—his hand pressing just a little too low, his breath ghosting down her neck—then stepped back, slowly, letting the air shift between them.

“Alright,” he said suddenly, all professionalism again. “Everything checks out. But do be careful. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you out here alone at night.”

Y/N didn’t move.

He tipped his hat, smile returning. “Can’t wait for that pie on Sunday, sweetheart.”

Then he turned, walked back to his cruiser, and drove off—leaving her standing in the dark, shaking, her skin crawling.

The house was full of soft music, laughter, and the smell of pot roast and candles. Her mother was glowing, seated at the head of the table surrounded by neighbors and cousins, beaming at the simple beauty of her birthday dinner.

Y/N moved quietly through the kitchen, refilling glasses and bringing out slices of cake. It was warm, loud with chatter, and usually this kind of night would’ve brought her comfort. But her stomach twisted when she heard the knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” she called automatically, wiping her hands on her apron and crossing the living room.

She opened the door—and froze.

There he was.

Officer Grayson Wolfe, in casual clothes that somehow looked more dangerous on him than his uniform. Jeans, dark button-up, sleeves rolled. His eyes dropped immediately to her apron, then up to her face.

“Evenin’, Miss Y/L/N,” he said smoothly. “Heard it was your mother’s birthday. Figured I’d stop by with something sweet.” He held up a small bakery box.

Her lips parted. “I—thank you. That’s… very kind.”

Before she could protest, he stepped inside. Just like that. Familiar. At home.

“Officer Wolfe!” her mother’s voice called from the dining room. “Grayson! You didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, moving through the house like it was already his. “Town treasure like you? Deserves a proper celebration.”

Y/N stood rooted, heart pounding. Her hands trembled as she reached for the box he’d brought—but her fingers slipped, knocking over a full glass of tea on the counter.

It shattered on the floor with a loud crack.

“Y/N!” her mother gasped. “Are you alright?”

“I—yes, I’m sorry,” she muttered, already kneeling, her face hot with embarrassment.

“Let me help with that,” Grayson said, crouching beside her.

“No, it’s fine,” she said too quickly.

But he was already reaching for the broken pieces, his large hand brushing hers—then lingering. His fingers curled around her wrist, firm, steady.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, close enough for her to smell his cologne. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll cut yourself.”

She tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go—not right away. His eyes dropped to the curve of her chest where her blouse gaped ever so slightly, then to the way her skirt rode up as she knelt. His gaze lingered there far too long.

“You wear these skirts on purpose, don’t you?” he murmured under his breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Pretending not to know how soft you look crawling on your knees.”

Her breath hitched.

“Such a little thing,” he whispered, his voice low and hot at her ear. “You keep trembling like that, and I’ll have to come check on you tonight. Make sure you sleep alright.”

She jerked away finally, grabbing a towel and mumbling something about more napkins. She stood quickly, trying to hide her panic behind a forced smile.

Grayson rose too, slow and calm, wiping his hands like nothing had happened.

He turned toward her mother with that practiced grin. “All cleaned up. No harm done.”

Y/N slipped into the kitchen, heart thudding against her ribs, hands gripping the counter as if it might ground her.

From the other room, she heard her mother laugh softly.

“You’re always so helpful, Grayson.”

He chuckled back, voice like honey.

“I just like taking care of what’s mine.”

It had been a week since she last saw him.

Seven days of shallow sleep, nervous glances through the window, flinching at the sound of tires on gravel. A full seven days of pretending everything was normal—teaching spelling words, grading worksheets, hugging little arms during recess.

She thought maybe, just maybe, he had let it go.

But then Career Day came.

The children were buzzing with excitement, squirming in their seats as they took turns listening to local professionals—farmers, nurses, mechanics—talk about what they did. Y/N stood at the door with her clipboard, scanning the list. There were three slots reserved for the local sheriff’s department. Three officers. Three chances.

She prayed it wouldn’t be him.

When the cruiser pulled up, her stomach dropped.

He stepped out slowly, in full uniform, mirrored sunglasses on, badge gleaming under the spring sun. A few parents outside waved at him cheerfully. Some clapped him on the back. He smiled like he hadn’t crushed her under the weight of his hands a week ago.

She had hoped for anyone else.

But he chose her classroom.

Officer Grayson Wolfe strode in like he owned the building. The children gasped in awe, thrilled by the presence of a real police officer. Y/N stood stiffly to the side, arms crossed in front of her, heart thudding with every step he took closer to her desk.

“Well, hello there,” he greeted the class. “Heard there were some bright young minds in here. I’m Officer Wolfe, and I keep our town safe.”

The children clapped.

One little boy raised his hand. “Do you get to use your gun?”

Grayson chuckled. “Only when I have to. I try to use my words first. Most problems can be solved if you look someone in the eyes and speak slow.”

His eyes flicked to Y/N. She felt her blood run cold.

Another hand shot up. “Do you arrest bad guys?”

“All the time,” he said. “But not everyone who does bad things looks like a bad guy. Sometimes they smile real pretty. Sometimes they pretend to be sweet. But I see right through that.”

The kids giggled, but Y/N’s stomach turned.

Then a little girl near the front raised her hand and asked innocently, “Do you know Miss Y/N?”

He smiled wide—too wide.

“Oh, I know Miss Y/N very well,” he said slowly, letting the words roll out like molasses. “We go way back. She’s someone I keep an extra close eye on.”

The kids laughed, confused but delighted.

“Why?” another asked.

He chuckled low. “Because sometimes the people who look the softest... hide the most trouble.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. Her mouth went dry.

“But don’t worry,” he added, kneeling dramatically beside the girl who asked. “It’s my job to protect people. Especially the ones who don’t know they need it.”

He stood and looked right at Y/N, gaze unblinking. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Right, Miss Y/N?”

She swallowed hard and forced a tight nod.

“R-right.”

Grayson winked. “Told you I’d make it to class someday.”

The children clapped again.

And she smiled for them—because she had to—but behind her back, her hands were shaking.

The children’s laughter still echoed in the room as he made his exit, tipping his hat like some old-fashioned gentleman. He was halfway down the hall when she slipped out behind him, her steps fast, hushed—barely louder than the rush of her own heartbeat.

“Officer Wolfe,” she whispered, catching up to him.

He stopped without turning, his body still, but she could feel the tension in the air as if he’d been expecting this.

“Please…” her voice cracked. “Please stop.”

He turned then—slowly, eyes scanning her face with clinical calm.

“Stop what, sweetheart?”

Her lips trembled. She kept her voice low, afraid to be overheard. “The stops. The comments. The way you… the things you said in there.” Her voice tightened. “This isn’t right.”

He stepped forward, and she instinctively backed up until her spine met the cool cement of the wall. He followed, not quite touching—but close enough for his breath to fan across her cheek.

“I am the law,” he said, voice low and sharp. “You don’t get to tell me what’s right.”

His hand came up slowly, brushing her hair from her face in a mockingly gentle gesture. “You think I don’t see how you flinch? How you run off and shake behind closed doors? You think you’re hiding it?” He leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “I could press you against this wall right now and no one would stop me. You’d cry, sure. You’d sob like a little girl. But in the end? You’d be mine. You already are.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, her mouth opening in a silent gasp.

Then—

“Officer Wolfe!”

A cheerful voice rang out from the other end of the hall. Mr. Delaney, the P.E. teacher, strode toward them with a clipboard in hand, utterly oblivious.

Grayson’s hand dropped instantly. He took a casual step back, his whole posture shifting like a light switch flipped—from predator to polite.

“Hey there, Delaney,” he greeted smoothly, like he hadn’t just whispered filth into a trembling woman’s ear. “Good to see you, man.”

Y/N quickly turned her head, blinking hard, willing the tears not to fall. Her hands were still clenched at her sides.

Mr. Delaney gave her a bright smile. “Miss Y/L/N, you okay? You look a little pale.”

She nodded, too fast. “I’m fine. Just—long day.”

Grayson clapped a hand on Delaney’s shoulder with a soft chuckle. “She’s a hard worker. That’s why we all keep an eye out for her.”

Delaney laughed, distracted by a question on his clipboard.

But Grayson turned just slightly, just enough to murmur one last thing before walking off—

“Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens when I stop being polite.”

Then he was gone, whistling as he walked, like nothing had happened at all.

Sunday morning came with soft bells and sunlight streaking through stained glass. Y/N sat stiffly in the pew beside her mother, hands folded in her lap, the Bible untouched. Her heart wasn’t in the sermon. It hadn’t been for weeks. Not since him.

Officer Wolfe sat just a few rows ahead, as he always did—his broad frame taking up space like a shadow. He laughed when the pastor made a joke, nodded at each verse like he believed it. When the congregation rose to sing, he tilted his head toward Y/N’s mother and offered a small, respectful nod.

Her mother smiled back, completely unaware of the ice that ran down Y/N’s spine.

After the service ended and people slowly filed out, shaking hands and offering hugs, Y/N slipped from her mother’s side and made her way to the front, where Pastor Lawrence stood shaking hands by the altar.

“Pastor?” she said softly.

He turned with a warm smile. “Miss Y/N. Always good to see you. How’s your mother feeling?”

“She’s well, thank you. I—I was wondering if I could speak with you. In private.”

The pastor's brows lifted slightly in surprise, but he gestured toward a bench by the side wall. “Of course.”

They sat. Y/N kept her voice low, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“It’s about Officer Wolfe,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t watching.

Pastor Lawrence’s smile didn’t falter. “What about him?”

“He’s been… following me. Saying things. Pulling me over for no reason. I think he’s—” she hesitated, throat tightening, “—I think he’s watching me. And I don’t know what to do.”

The pastor listened, but his expression didn’t change. He sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on hers.

“I know Grayson can be...intense,” he said kindly. “But he’s a good man. A little lonely since his divorce, maybe, but he’s been nothing but respectful to me and my family. He’s served this town for almost two decades.”

Y/N blinked. “I’m telling you he’s—he’s touching me. Whispering things. He makes me feel unsafe.”

Lawrence’s face grew tighter, more patronizing. “Sometimes when a man has lost as much as Grayson has, he doesn’t always know how to express himself. I’m not excusing anything, but maybe give him grace. The Lord asks that we show compassion.”

Her chest tightened. “But—”

“I’ll say a prayer for your heart, Miss Y/N,” he said gently, already standing. “You’re a strong girl. Don’t let misunderstandings trouble your spirit.”

Y/N stood too, the weight in her chest heavier than before.

Outside, her mother waited near the car, chatting with a neighbor. Y/N walked up slowly, eyes down.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” her mother asked as they got inside.

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Can we… talk? About something?”

Her mother buckled her seatbelt, not catching the shake in her daughter’s voice. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

Y/N stared at her hands. “It’s about Officer Wolfe.”

Her mother looked over with a raised brow. “Grayson?”

Y/N nodded. “He’s been… acting strange. Saying things to me. Pulling me over. He—he’s making me uncomfortable.”

Her mother’s lips thinned in confusion. “But he’s always been kind to us. He brought me that pie on my birthday. And didn’t he help you clean up after that mess in the kitchen?”

“That’s not what it was,” Y/N said quickly, voice cracking. “He’s… he’s scaring me.”

There was a pause. Then, gently:

“Honey,” her mother said, “I think you’re just stressed. You’ve been working so hard lately. Maybe you’re reading into things. Grayson’s a good man. Maybe a little forward, sure, but men like him don’t come around often.”

Y/N turned to the window, biting her lip to keep from crying.

And in the mirror of the church across the lot—she saw him again.

Standing at his cruiser. Watching.

Smiling.

Later That Evening

The house was too quiet.

Y/N sat curled on the couch, blanket wrapped tightly around her legs, a cup of tea long since gone cold between her palms. The TV played softly in the background, but she wasn’t watching. Her eyes were fixed on the door. The deadbolt was locked. She’d checked it three times.

Her mother’s words rang in her head like poison.

“Grayson’s a good man.” “Men like him don’t come around often.” “You’re just stressed.”

She’d almost screamed. Almost begged.

Instead, she just nodded.

Because it was pointless. He had them all. The town. The church. Her mother.

And now she was alone with the truth no one would believe.

A sudden knock shattered the silence.

Y/N jumped, her tea spilling onto her lap. She clutched the cup tightly, frozen.

Three more knocks. Slow. Measured.

She stood, legs trembling, and approached the door quietly. She didn’t need to ask who it was.

“Open the door, sweetheart,” came the low voice through the wood. “You know it’s me.”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t move.

“Come on now. I was real patient all week. Didn't even call. Didn't come by. Just watched. I thought you'd appreciate that.”

Her fingers hovered near the lock.

“I just want to talk,” he said, voice softer now. “You said you didn’t feel safe. I’m here to make you feel safe.”

Y/N swallowed, backing away from the door. “Please go home.”

A pause.

Then the handle rattled. Hard.

“You don’t tell me to go home,” he growled. “You’re home. This is where you stay. Where I’ll keep you. Because no one else sees what I do.”

There was a sound—a loud, metallic scrape—as if something ran down the door. Her heart dropped.

And then… silence.

She waited five minutes before she could even breathe again. Then twenty more before she finally opened the door a crack.

The porch was empty.

But on the doormat sat a small pie tin, still warm.

On top of it, a note scrawled in neat, all-caps print:

“I WANT TO BE INSIDE WHEN YOU BAKE THE NEXT ONE.”

The Field Trip – Thursday Morning

The sun was bright, too cheerful for how heavy Y/N’s chest felt.

She stood among a swarm of second graders waiting to board the buses for their field trip to the local nature preserve. The kids were buzzing with excitement, backpacks stuffed with juice boxes and hand wipes, teachers organizing roll calls and laminated name tags.

Y/N tried to smile as she crouched to tie a loose shoelace.

She didn’t see the cruiser until it pulled into the parking lot.

Her body stiffened.

Officer Wolfe stepped out, dressed down in his county-issued polo and cargo pants, sunglasses hiding his eyes. His badge was still clipped to his belt, gun at his hip. He looked casual. Approachable. And when the principal waved him over, he offered that same easy grin that fooled them all.

“Just here to help supervise,” he told the staff. “Keep an eye on things.”

Y/N felt cold all over.

They boarded the buses, and of course, Grayson chose hers. He sat toward the front, but his presence filled the small space like smoke—inescapable. Every time she looked up, his eyes were on her.

At the preserve, the kids scattered toward the nature trail in pairs, teachers trying to herd them like cats.

Y/N stayed near the back, gently guiding stragglers forward—until she felt it.

A hand on her lower back.

She froze.

“Careful,” came his voice beside her, too close. “Trail’s a little uneven. Wouldn’t want you twisting an ankle.”

She moved away, mumbling something about needing to help a student.

But it didn’t stop.

At the bird-watching post, his hand brushed her hip as he “reached” past her for the guide pamphlet. At the pond, he stepped too close behind her, his breath ghosting over her neck as he asked about the curriculum. At the narrow trail bridge, she slipped on the damp wood—just slightly—and he caught her.

Both arms around her waist.

She gasped, her palms pressing against his chest as she tried to push off. But he didn’t let go immediately. His hands lingered. One thumb brushed over her ribs, slow, calculated.

“Easy there,” he murmured, low in her ear. “I’ve got you.”

Her cheeks burned as she stepped away, murmuring thanks, the kids nearby unaware.

But others noticed. Just not in the way she feared.

Later, as the group sat on picnic blankets for lunch, a couple of fellow teachers sidled over to her, smiling like they’d just uncovered a juicy secret.

“Y/N…” “Girl, he caught you like a movie scene.” “Is something going on there? That man’s been hovering around you all day.”

Y/N forced a laugh, brushing it off. “No, it’s nothing. He’s just… being helpful.”

But her sandwich sat untouched in her lap. Her hands shook.

Grayson, a few yards away, leaned against a tree, sipping from a water bottle, eyes locked on her.

He smiled when she looked up.

And mouthed something only she could see:

“You belong to me.”

Back at School – That Afternoon

The sun was already sinking low by the time the buses rolled back into the school parking lot. The kids were loud and exhausted, the kind of chaos that usually made Y/N smile.

But not today.

Her nerves were frayed from the constant grazing touches. From the way he’d watched her—all day—like he was waiting for the exact moment she'd break.

She hurried her class inside, gently herding them to their desks with instructions to start their quiet drawings. She just wanted a moment. Five minutes to breathe. Five minutes to feel alone.

She turned to reach for a stack of papers on her desk when the door eased shut behind her with a soft click.

Her breath caught.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Officer Wolfe said from across the room, voice smooth, as if he belonged there. “Privately.”

She turned slowly. “Now’s not a good time. The kids—”

“I won’t be long,” he said, already closing the distance. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” he said, stepping closer. “But that’s alright. I understand. You’re scared.”

She backed slightly, her desk pressing into the back of her thighs.

“I have to get back to the students, Officer Wolfe—”

“Grayson,” he corrected softly. “Say it.”

She didn’t.

He sighed, mock disappointment curling the corners of his lips. “You know, most women would be grateful for the kind of attention I’ve given you. But you... you’re special, aren’t you? So good. So soft. You don’t even know how badly I want to ruin that.”

His hand reached out, brushing her arm—barely, but it lit her skin on fire.

She flinched.

He leaned in slowly, not touching her face, not forcing anything overt—but his lips pressed firmly, deliberately against her temple. A long, claiming kiss that burned.

“Mine,” he whispered against her skin.

The doorknob rattled.

He stepped back instantly.

A teacher—Ms. Crane—opened the door, pausing when she saw them.

“Oh,” she blinked, smiling awkwardly. “Everything alright?”

Grayson gave her a charming grin. “Just checking in. Making sure Miss Y/L/N here’s got everything she needs after the trip. She's a real trooper.”

Y/N's voice didn’t work, but she nodded, eyes wide.

Ms. Crane didn’t question it.

Grayson tipped his head. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

He left, boots thudding quietly down the hall.

Ms. Crane lingered only a moment before disappearing too.

Y/N shut the door behind them with trembling hands, her heart hammering. She leaned against it, trying to slow her breathing, eyes stinging.

No one said anything.

No one ever said anything.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, forced a deep breath, and smoothed down her skirt.

Then she walked back to her class, smiling gently as if nothing had happened.

Sunday Morning – The Party

By Sunday morning, the whispers had already started.

The women at the bakery counter spoke behind cupped hands. Parents at the school drop-off gave her knowing looks. Even the pastor’s wife paused too long when shaking Y/N’s hand after service, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They didn’t say it outright—but she heard it in the tone. The way her name came attached to his.

“I heard Officer Wolfe’s been spending time with Miss Y/N.” “Well, she is of age.” “He’s such a gentleman. Maybe she needs someone like that. Older. Stable.” “Bit strange, though... isn’t it?”

Y/N tried to smile through it all. Pretended she didn’t hear. Pretended she didn’t feel the eyes.

It only got worse by the time the town’s spring celebration rolled around that afternoon. It was tradition—live music, homemade food, and decorations strung between trees in the community square. Y/N hadn’t wanted to go. She told her mother she wasn’t feeling well.

But her mother had already picked out the dress.

“It’ll cheer you up,” she said. “Besides, I worked hard on it.”

So Y/N came.

The dress was lovely—soft lavender, fitted just right, flowing at the hem like a petal when she walked. Her mother had curled her hair that morning, humming with pride as she pinned a silver clip behind her ear.

Y/N smiled because she had to.

But the moment they arrived, she felt it—that shift in the air.

People were watching.

Not cruelly, not yet. But with that curiosity. That hungry little flicker of interest small towns never failed to fan into flame.

She tried to blend in. Helped serve punch. Sat beside her mother during the raffle.

But then—she felt it.

That stare.

Her eyes snapped up—and there he was.

Grayson Wolfe.

Across the square, standing near the band, dressed sharply in a deep navy shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His badge wasn’t pinned tonight, but he didn’t need it. He carried the same heavy air of control. The same cool charm.

And he was staring straight at her.

Not blinking. Not smiling.

Just watching.

She looked away quickly, heart climbing into her throat.

Her mother nudged her lightly. “He cleans up well, doesn’t he?”

Y/N forced a laugh. “I suppose.”

“You could do worse,” her mother murmured. “A man like that would keep you safe.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

She excused herself soon after, slipping behind the tents to try and breathe. The dress clung to her skin with heat. The curls felt too heavy on her neck.

But even back there—beneath the string lights and laughter—she felt it again.

He was coming.

Behind the Tent – During the Party

The laughter and chatter of the crowd faded as Y/N slipped behind the tent lined with paper lanterns and folding chairs. The space was quiet—mostly storage, crates of leftover drinks, a few balloons still tied to a beam. She exhaled, trying to press a hand to her chest and force her heart to still.

“Run out of smiles?”

The voice came like a blade across silk—familiar, sharp, low.

She froze.

Grayson stepped into view slowly, hands in his pockets, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, a picture of false ease. He looked so perfectly composed. So handsome. No one else saw the storm behind his smile.

“I just needed a moment,” she said quietly, already inching toward the side opening.

He stepped in her path.

“Mm. I’ve been patient all day, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You wore that little dress. Curled your hair. And then you ignored me like I’m nothing.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.” His voice hardened. “You let them talk. Let them whisper about us like it’s a joke. Like you haven’t been the one crawling under my skin since the day I saw you walk out of that damn school.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. “Please, someone might—”

“No one’s listening.” He took another step, and the backs of her thighs brushed the tent wall. “They see a man trying to be good. Trying to give a lonely girl a future. But you?” His hand rose, fingers trailing the edge of her neckline, thumb grazing her collarbone. “You keep making me into something I’m trying so damn hard not to be.”

She whimpered, shoulders pressed back, her body trembling beneath his touch.

“You’re gonna be mine anyway,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

Then—just as quickly as he stepped in—he stepped away.

Straightened his collar.

And disappeared around the side of the tent as if nothing happened at all.

Y/N stood frozen, trying to will the heat from her cheeks, her skin crawling where he’d touched her. She wiped her face, steadied her breath, and returned to the crowd just before her absence was noticed.

End of the Party – Dusk

The celebration wound down slowly. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in deep pinks and golds. Children were picked up by tired parents, the band packed their instruments, and neighbors waved their goodbyes with leftover desserts wrapped in foil.

Y/N was gathering her mother’s purse and a few paper decorations when his voice came again.

“I’ll walk you both home.”

Grayson was already beside them, smiling wide, looking like a savior to anyone watching.

Her mother smiled. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“No, that’s not—” Y/N started.

But her mother was already nodding, tucking her arm around Grayson’s as they started walking.

Y/N had no choice but to follow.

The walk was quiet, deceptively peaceful. Her mother chatted with him about the town, the food, the music. Grayson played the part well—nodding, laughing, glancing back at Y/N with that sick satisfaction when her mother wasn’t looking.

At the front porch, her mother turned to open the door.

“I’ll let you two say goodnight,” she said, unaware of the iron in Y/N’s spine as she froze on the steps.

Grayson turned to her, eyes heavy with intent.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he murmured. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted me to watch you.”

“I didn’t,” she said quickly, quietly.

He leaned in close—far too close—pressing a kiss just beneath her ear. “Lie to me again, sweetheart.”

Then he stepped back, smiled toward the door, and called out: “Goodnight, ma’am.”

He disappeared into the dark like a ghost—leaving Y/N trembling on her porch, trying not to cry as her mother called her inside.

Monday Afternoon – The Sheriff’s Office

Y/N stood outside the sheriff’s station with clammy hands and a heart beating out of rhythm. The sun was bright overhead, but it felt too cold inside her chest. She hadn’t told her mother. She hadn’t told anyone. This—this—was her last card to play.

She stepped inside the station, her flats scuffing against the worn linoleum. The front desk deputy glanced up.

“Help you?”

“I… I need to speak with Sheriff Daly. Privately. Please.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You got an appointment?”

“No. But it’s important. It’s about Officer Wolfe.”

That made him pause. Then he muttered something under his breath and nodded her toward the hall.

She followed the long corridor to the office at the end and knocked with shaking fingers.

“Come in,” said the familiar, tired voice.

Sheriff Jim Daly sat behind his cluttered desk, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, paperwork spread in lazy stacks. He looked up when she entered, brows lifting in mild surprise.

“Well, Miss Y/L/N. Haven’t seen you in a while. Everything alright?”

“No, sir,” she said, voice cracking. “That’s why I’m here.”

She told him everything.

Not all the details—she couldn’t find the words for the worst of it—but enough. The traffic stops. The touching. The way he followed her, whispered things, cornered her when no one was looking. Her voice broke halfway through, but she kept going. She had to.

Daly didn’t interrupt. Just watched her the entire time, lips pressed into a tired line.

When she finished, there was a heavy pause.

Then he sighed.

“Y/N… I believe you feel scared. I do. And I’m sorry for that.”

Her heart dropped. “But?”

“But,” he said, leaning back, “Grayson Wolfe’s served this department for nearly two decades. I’ve never once had a formal complaint. He’s respected, connected, and next in line once I retire. Which—” he motioned toward a plaque on the wall, “—is in three weeks. You understand?”

Her breath hitched. “You’re not going to do anything?”

“I’m saying… maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe he’s being too forward, sure. But men like Grayson?” He shrugged. “They don’t just snap. They’re measured. Thoughtful. If there was something real here, I’d have heard about it from more than one nervous schoolteacher.”

Y/N’s face crumpled. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said quickly. “But if this is a situation you can handle quietly, I’d strongly suggest doing so. No need to stir up trouble that could follow you around this town.”

She stood there, blinking hard. “You’re letting him take everything from me.”

“No one’s taking anything. You’re still safe, still working. Still whole.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a tissue box, and slid it across the desk. “And Wolfe? He’s a good man. But I’ll remind him to stay professional. That should ease things up for you.”

She didn’t take the tissue.

She turned and left, tears falling silently down her cheeks as she exited the building and stepped into the sun that now felt so far away.

Inside the Sheriff’s Office – Moments Later

Sheriff Daly waited until the front door clicked shut behind her.

Then he picked up the desk phone and dialed.

“Yeah. It’s done.” He scratched his chin. “She came in. Shook up, real upset. You’ll want to get a handle on your situation before it gets messy.”

A pause.

“Don’t worry,” Daly added, glancing at the retirement plaque again. “It’s all yours soon anyway.”

The sky was dimming by the time Y/N pulled into the driveway, her trunk full of groceries, her bones aching with exhaustion. Her visit to the sheriff had left her raw, exposed—like she’d peeled back a wound and been told to keep quiet about the bleeding.

She killed the engine, grabbed the first few bags, and forced herself up the front steps. Just one evening. One evening to herself. That’s all she needed.

As she unlocked the front door, she heard it—the low crunch of tires on gravel.

Her heart dropped.

She turned her head slowly, dread blooming fast and thick in her chest.

Officer Grayson Wolfe’s cruiser came to a stop just a few feet from her house. He stepped out casually, as if this was normal. Expected.

Her fingers clutched the paper bags tighter.

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” he called, walking up the path like it was his own.

She turned quickly toward the door, fumbling with her keys. “I’m fine, Officer Wolfe. Just getting groceries in. Thank you.”

He was at the steps now.

“Let me help with those.”

“No—thank you,” she said too fast. “I’ve got it.”

“I insist.”

His voice was soft, but there was an edge beneath it. A warning.

She opened the door and stepped inside, hoping—praying—he would stay on the porch.

But he followed.

No invitation.

No hesitation.

The door clicked shut behind him.

She turned around slowly, groceries still in hand, trying to keep her breathing even.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He tilted his head slightly, stepping further into her space. “I shouldn’t be? That’s a funny way to talk to someone who just wants to take care of you.”

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

His smile disappeared.

“Good.”

She blinked, stepping back.

Grayson moved in closer, reaching for the bags in her arms—not gently, but with a sudden jerk that made her gasp. He set them on the counter too hard, one nearly tipping over.

“You went to Sheriff Daly today.”

Her blood ran cold.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, low and sharp. “You went there, you told him stories, you cried to him about how the big bad cop touched you.” He stepped closer. “And do you know what he did?”

Her silence was answer enough.

“He called me. Told me to handle it. Told me to keep my little problem quiet.” He leaned in, brushing her hair back with the back of his knuckles. “So here I am. Handling it.”

She flinched away, but his hand snapped forward, grabbing her by the jaw.

“I was gentle with you,” he hissed. “I gave you time. I played nice. But you don’t want nice, do you?”

Her eyes filled with tears, lips trembling under the pressure of his grip.

“You want truth, sweetheart? Fine.”

He shoved her backward—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make her stumble against the kitchen counter. He stalked toward her, a dark gleam in his eyes.

“No more playing house. No more smiling and waving like we’re strangers. You are mine. You’ve always been mine. And if you ever even think about going to someone else again—”

He grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she let out a soft cry.

“—I’ll break something. Something that won’t heal right.”

Tears slipped from her eyes.

Grayson stared down at her, his chest heaving, face flushed with quiet rage.

Then—like flipping a switch—he let go.

His fingers trailed down her arm slowly. “But you’re gonna be good from now on, right? No more trouble.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

He leaned in, kissed her cheek so slowly it felt like a brand. Then another kiss, lower, along her jaw, hovering near her lips without touching them.

“Clean yourself up,” he whispered. “Someone might stop by and think you’ve been crying.”

And just like that, he turned.

Strolled back out the door like nothing had happened. Like he didn’t leave her standing in her kitchen, cradling her wrist, shoulders shaking, silent sobs breaking loose as soon as she heard his cruiser disappear into the distance.

Two Days Later –

It was a bright, windy afternoon. The sound of children laughing and screaming on the playground filtered in through the open windows, their voices rising and falling like waves. Y/N stood by her desk, sorting spelling tests and trying to breathe through the ache that never quite left her chest anymore.

Then came the knock. Three slow, deliberate raps on the classroom door.

Her stomach turned.

Grayson Wolfe stepped in, dressed in a casual button-up and his duty belt, smiling wide as he held up two takeout bags and a tray of drinks.

“Brought lunch for the teachers,” he said cheerfully. “Thought you all could use a treat. Recess duty’s no joke.”

Y/N forced a smile. “That’s… thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replied. “But I saved yours for last. Figured we could eat together.”

She hesitated. “I have some things to grade—”

“Y/N,” he said, voice dipping just enough to make her freeze. “Please. I brought your favorite.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He was already setting down the food at her desk, pulling out her chair for her like it was some kind of date.

She sat, slowly. Trembling on the inside.

He pulled his chair close. Too close. Their knees brushed beneath the table.

He handed her a sandwich, unwrapped hers, and began to eat, relaxed like they did this every day. He talked between bites—about the school, the upcoming festival, the weather. But it all shifted when his gaze wandered to the window.

To the children.

He stopped mid-chew, a strange softness spreading across his face.

“You ever think about it?” he asked, his voice lower now. “Kids?”

She blinked. “I… I teach them every day.”

“No, I mean yours. Ours.”

She froze.

Grayson smiled, watching the children tumble across the grass.

“Little girl with your eyes. Little boy with my jaw. They’d be perfect. You’d be a beautiful mother.”

She gripped her sandwich tighter, her appetite gone.

“Grayson, I don’t—”

“You’d raise them right. Gentle, but firm. You’ve got that in you. That warmth.” He looked at her, his expression more serious now. “I think about it all the time, you know. Waking up to you. Coffee brewing. Kids in pajamas running around.”

Y/N’s breath shook.

She didn’t know what compelled her—defiance, fear, desperation—but she whispered, “What about your first wife?”

His jaw tensed.

The entire mood of the room changed. Like a storm sweeping in too fast to run from.

Grayson leaned back slightly, chewing slowly. “What about her?”

“I just… I don’t understand what happened. She left so suddenly.”

He was silent.

The sound of children outside continued, oblivious to the tension flooding the room.

Then he smiled—but it was all teeth.

“She didn’t appreciate what she had. Thought she could find better.” He leaned in again, close enough that his breath brushed her lips. “She disrespected me. Lied. Shamed me in front of people who owed me respect.”

Y/N tried to look away, but he gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“She forgot her place.”

Her pulse raced. His hand tightened ever so slightly before he let go.

“I’m not worried about you doing the same,” he added, voice soft again. “You’re smarter than she ever was.”

She nodded, mechanically, just to get him to stop.

He kissed her temple—slow, deliberate—and then stood, tossing his sandwich wrapper in the trash.

“Next time, I’ll bring pie,” he said casually. “We’ll talk names.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving Y/N alone in her classroom, still holding a sandwich she couldn’t bring herself to eat, the taste of ash in her mouth.

Spring Dance – Two Weeks Later

The community hall glowed beneath string lights and paper lanterns, the scent of fried dough, sweet cider, and blooming lilacs filling the warm spring air. It was supposed to be a celebration—Sheriff Daly’s retirement, the end of the season, a chance for the town to gather and laugh before the summer heat rolled in.

Y/N had been working since dawn.

She and her mother had cooked nearly everything on the buffet table—apple pies, cornbread, baked chicken, deviled eggs stacked in glass dishes. A few other church ladies had helped, but it was Y/N who’d set the centerpieces, folded the napkins just right. She hadn’t planned to stay long, just long enough to serve and smile politely, then slip out quietly.

But the music was loud, the mood festive, and everyone kept pulling her back in.

“You’re glowing, dear,” her mother said, adjusting a curl that had fallen from her updo. “Now, when was the last time you danced?”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Oh, nonsense. Go have a little fun. Just one.”

And that’s when he asked.

A young man—maybe in his late twenties, familiar but not close—offered his hand. “Would you?”

She hesitated, but the crowd around her cheered.

“Go on!” “Don’t be shy!” “You deserve it, Y/N!”

Peer pressure. Kind smiles. And a yearning in her chest she tried to ignore.

She took his hand.

And for a moment, just a moment, she smiled.

They moved in a slow circle beneath the lights, the fiddle music lilting around them. He was respectful, hands careful, conversation light. She laughed once—softly—when he made a joke about burnt cornbread.

She didn’t know Officer Wolfe had arrived.

Didn’t see the way he stood at the edge of the crowd, his jaw tight, eyes locked on her. His fists clenched at his sides as he watched her laugh, watched her dance, watched another man’s hands resting—however innocently—on his girl.

The moment the music ended, Y/N thanked her partner, smiled, and excused herself to the bathroom.

She never made it back to her mother.

The hallway behind the dance floor was dimmer, quieter. The sound of music faded behind closed doors as Y/N stepped into the small bathroom and splashed water on her neck to cool herself.

When she opened the door to leave, she didn’t get two steps before she ran straight into him.

Grayson.

He was waiting.

His hand closed around her upper arm before she could react, guiding—shoving—her back inside the bathroom.

The door slammed shut behind them.

“Having fun?” he asked, voice low and venomous.

“Grayson—please—”

“You think I wouldn’t hear about it? You think I wouldn’t see it? You, smiling like a little flirt, dancing around like you're free?”

“I didn’t—he just asked—and people—”

“People?” he snapped, his hand tightening. “People think you’re mine. Because you are. And now they’re going to think you’re loose. That you’re looking.”

He backed her up until she hit the sink.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were. And you liked it.” His voice dropped. “You liked having him touch you. Liked being looked at.”

Her chest heaved. “I just wanted to feel normal.”

His expression darkened.

“You don’t get normal anymore, sweetheart. You get me.”

He grabbed her jaw then—firm, painful—and leaned in close. His breath was hot and heavy with anger. “And I hope you danced real pretty, because it’s the last damn time you ever do it.”

He kissed her then—not with tenderness, but with punishment. A hard press of his mouth to hers, forcing her still.

When he pulled away, her lips burned, and her eyes were wet.

He stared at her for a long moment. Breathing heavily.

Then—soft again, suddenly—he brushed a tear from her cheek with a mock-gentle touch.

“Fix your face,” he said. “And go back out there before your mother starts asking questions.”

He turned to the door. Paused.

“Oh—and tell that boy if he ever touches you again, I’ll break every bone in his hand.”

Then he left.

Y/N slid down against the wall, clutching her stomach with trembling arms, the music beyond the door now feeling like a cruel, distant dream.

Her fingers couldn’t move fast enough.

Y/N had rushed home straight from the spring dance, skipping the goodbyes, ignoring her mother’s calls. Her skin still burned from his touch, her lips throbbed where he’d kissed her like punishment. The moment she stepped inside, she locked the door and flew up the stairs to her room.

She grabbed the old duffel bag from her closet—the one she hadn’t used since college—and started throwing in clothes: sweaters, socks, a pair of flats. No plan, just go. She didn’t know where, only that she needed to leave before morning. Before he came back.

But it was already too late.

Grayson Wolfe had noticed the moment she vanished from the dance floor. When her car was gone from the parking lot, he knew. Something in his gut twisted into rage, deep and dangerous. By the time he pulled into her driveway, he was seething.

And he didn’t bother knocking.

The door creaked open slowly.

Y/N didn’t hear it at first. She was in her room, heart pounding, stuffing her phone charger into the side pocket of her bag. But then—footsteps. Heavy. Measured. Purposeful.

She froze.

A slow creak on the bottom step.

Then—

“Going somewhere?”

His voice slithered up the stairs before he did.

She turned, pale and breathless, just as he stepped into the doorway of her bedroom.

Grayson’s face was unreadable at first. Just cold. Silent.

Then he saw the bag on the bed.

His jaw clenched.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please—just let me go.”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“You think you can just run?” he asked, his voice low and deadly. “After everything I’ve done for you? Everything I’ve planned?”

Her hands trembled. “I’m not safe with you.”

He laughed—just once. A bitter, humorless sound.

“You were never safer than you are with me,” he said. “I protected you. From the world. From men like that little boy you danced with. You think he could’ve kept you safe? He couldn’t even keep your attention for ten minutes.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“You didn’t have to,” he snapped, moving fast.

He reached the bed, grabbed the duffel, and threw it against the wall. It hit with a dull thud, the zipper busting halfway open.

“You don’t get to leave me.”

She backed up, but he was already there—pinning her between the dresser and his towering frame.

“You belong here,” he hissed. “In this house. In my life. And if you ever try to run again—” he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up, “—I swear to God, I’ll make sure you can’t.”

Her voice came out in a broken whisper. “You’re hurting me.”

“Good,” he said, his face twisted with betrayal. “Because you hurt me the moment you even thought about walking away.”

His hand slid down to her throat—not squeezing, but cradling it, thumb brushing under her jaw.

“But I’m not going to lose you,” he whispered. “Not to fear. Not to stupidity. Not to anyone.”

His lips pressed against her temple, almost gentle—but it wasn’t comfort. It was claiming.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said softly. “And if I have to break you to keep you... then so be it.”

He finally pulled away, breathing hard, and looked around the room like he was deciding what to do next.

“Unpack the bag,” he ordered.

She didn’t move.

He grabbed her wrist, hard this time, and dragged her toward the bed.

“Unpack. It. Now.”

Y/N stared at the bag crumpled against the floor, her breath coming in shaky gasps. Her body wouldn’t move. Her limbs had gone numb. Grayson stood over her, eyes dark with fury, his presence filling the entire room like a cage.

“Unpack it,” he said again, slower now. “Or I will.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her knees buckled as she slowly sank to the floor. With trembling hands, she crawled toward the duffel and began to pull her clothes out—one by one. A shirt. Socks. The small framed photo she’d packed of her and her father fell out last.

She paused.

Her throat burned as she reached for it.

“Please,” she whispered, cradling the photo to her chest. “Please let me go. I’ll disappear. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t ruin your life—just let me go.”

Grayson knelt behind her.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched her.

Then, slowly, he reached forward and took the picture from her hands. Studied it for a moment.

Without a word, he placed it gently back in the bag.

“I told you,” he said softly, dangerously. “You don’t get to leave. You don’t ask to leave.”

His hand slid down her arm—mockingly tender—before curling around her waist and dragging her upright, against him.

“You made me like this.”

She shook her head, sobbing now. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” he snapped, gripping her face again. “Every time you looked away. Every time you smiled at someone else. You made me starve for you.”

He kissed her then—not gently, not lovingly. A hard, possessive press of lips meant to punish.

When he pulled back, his hands moved lower, down her sides, gripping her hips.

“You want to run?” he growled. “Then run now. Go on. Try.”

She didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He smirked.

“That’s what I thought.”

He stepped back slightly, hands still on her waist.

“Take it off.”

She blinked in confusion, breath catching. “W-what?”

“Your dress,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Take it off.”

Her heart stopped.

“No,” she whispered.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t strike.

He just stepped closer.

His fingers moved to the zipper at her back, slow, deliberate. “Then I will.”

She reached behind her in a panic, trying to stop him, but he grabbed her wrists and yanked them forward, pinning them against her chest.

“I said,” he murmured in her ear, “we do this my way now.”

He dragged the zipper down.

Her dress slipped slightly off her shoulder.

“Good girl,” he whispered, breathing heavy. “Let me see what’s mine.”

The zipper whispered down her spine like a blade.

Y/N stood frozen, the room spinning as her dress slipped from one shoulder, then the other, the fabric loose around her waist but still clinging—like it, too, didn’t want to fall. She trembled beneath his stare, her arms slowly rising to cover herself.

Grayson didn’t let her.

He gripped her wrists and gently—so gently it made her sick—pulled them down.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said, voice a low, shaking breath. “You don’t get to pretend you’re not mine.”

Tears streamed silently down her face. She didn’t sob. Didn’t scream. She just stood there—barely breathing—as he looked at her like something sacred he was about to desecrate.

“I waited,” he murmured, running his fingers along the curve of her shoulder, down her arm. “I was good. I gave you time. Patience. I let you dance and cry and run... but now?”

His hand slipped around to her lower back, pressing her closer, their bodies flush.

“Now I take what’s mine.”

Her lip trembled. “Please don’t.”

He kissed her. Not her mouth—but her cheek, wet with tears. His lips dragged slowly down to her jaw, then her neck.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Her body shook beneath his hands, her knees weak. She felt like she might collapse—but he held her upright, firm and steady.

When he pulled back, her dress fell to the floor in a hush of fabric.

And then—

He began to unbuckle his belt.

She watched through blurred vision, her face pale, lips parted in silent shock as the leather slid through the loops with a hiss. Her entire body locked. The sound was too loud in the stillness. Too final.

Grayson watched her as he worked—his expression unreadable now. Almost reverent.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he said, eyes dragging down her figure. “This is the part where you finally stop running. Where you let go.”

She whispered something—maybe no, maybe please—but her voice was too small, too broken to matter.

He dropped the belt to the floor with a heavy thud.

Then stepped forward, lifting her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look him in the eye.

“Look at me,” he breathed. “I want your eyes on mine when I make you understand.”

And in the silence of that room, surrounded by shattered hope and a ruined duffel bag, Y/N stared into the eyes of the man who had been allowed to own her world—and knew there was no one coming to stop him.

And in the silence of that room, surrounded by shattered hope and a ruined duffel bag, Y/N stared into the eyes of the man who had been allowed to own her world—and knew there was no one coming to stop him.

Grayson watched her, chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. He looked calm. Certain. Like every inch of her had already been signed over and sealed.

“Lie back,” he murmured.

She didn’t move.

His hand—warm, heavy—pressed against her chest, not rough, but firm. Not allowing resistance. He guided her backward, until her shoulders touched the mattress, until the world tilted above her, swallowed in shadow.

She tried to speak. Tried to say no again. But her voice wouldn’t come. Only a dry sound, broken and small.

He leaned over her, and kissed her.

Not her lips.

Her neck. Her collarbone. Lower.

His hands were moving now—slow, intentional—touching places they never should have touched. Fingers grazing her inner thigh, pressing gently until her legs shifted without meaning to. Until she was laid bare beneath him, and he sighed like she was something he’d earned.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, his voice thick with hunger. “I could keep you like this forever.”

She turned her face away as he touched her—beneath the hem of what was left, over the curves of her chest, trailing down her ribs. His hands were everywhere, pressing, exploring, taking. Her body flinched under him, but he didn’t stop.

He only groaned softly. “That’s it… you feel it too, don’t you?”

She shook her head, tears rolling silently to the pillow.

But he didn’t care.

His hips settled between hers.

The moment stretched thin—horrible, quiet, and shaking with her silent refusal.

Then—

He pressed his forehead to hers. His breath heavy. His hands holding her wrists to the bed as he whispered:

“This is the part where you stop pretending. Where you let me make you mine.”

She closed her eyes.

And everything went still.

Grayson hovered over her, his body heavy between her thighs, her wrists pinned above her head like offerings.

“Sweet little thing,” he whispered against her skin. “All that innocence wrapped in silence. All mine now.”

His hand moved between them, slow and deliberate. She felt pressure—an intrusion, terrible and inevitable. Her breath caught as he pushed closer, pressing against her like he had every right to be there.

She turned her face away, tears slipping freely now. Her legs trembled, but his hand slid around one thigh, curling it around his hip like it belonged there.

“That’s it,” he murmured, breath hot against her throat. “Knew you’d hold me. Knew you’d feel good like this.”

He guided her other leg up with forceful tenderness, locking her beneath him. Her legs were around him now—not by desire, but because he put them there, tangled and helpless.

“Perfect little fit,” he breathed. “Tight and soft. God, you were made for this.”

His hips rolled against hers, and she whimpered—quiet, broken, like a sound she didn’t mean to let escape. He kissed her then, muffling the noise, stealing her voice with his mouth.

“You’re gonna take it,” he said, rougher now. “Take all of me. Because you’re mine.”

One hand moved to her chest, groping her roughly, possessively, like he was molding her into something that had never belonged to herself. He thumbed the sensitive skin with no care for her whimpering, only focused on what pleased him.

“God, you’re sweet,” he growled. “Sweeter than I dreamed.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in like a drug, groaning as his rhythm deepened, his grip bruising now.

“So tight, baby,” he gasped. “You’ll remember this. Every time you look in the mirror. Every time you feel me dripping out of you.”

Her eyes filled again, her body shaking.

And then—with a deep, guttural sound—he buried himself against her and shuddered. His whole body went rigid.

She felt him still, panting, his weight pressing her down like stone.

He stayed there for a long moment, his hand moving gently over her ribs, brushing her hair back.

“You were perfect,” he murmured. “So good for me. So sweet.”

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

The Next Morning

Y/N stirred slowly.

Her body ached in ways that didn’t feel real. Her limbs felt too heavy. Her skin too thin. Everything between her legs throbbed with a dull, violating heat. She didn’t remember falling asleep—only the dark, the weight of him, the way her body had finally gone still under his.

She blinked awake at the soft clink of metal.

His belt.

He was dressing.

The sun hadn’t even fully risen yet, pale light just beginning to leak through her curtains. Grayson stood by the edge of the bed, sliding the leather strap through the loops of his uniform pants. His back was to her at first.

Then he turned.

Smiling.

“Well, good morning, sweetheart,” he said in a voice too warm, too soft. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Y/N slowly sat up, the blanket falling from her bare shoulders. Her lips—bruised, cracked—parted with shallow breaths. Her arms instinctively pulled the sheet tighter around her.

Grayson’s eyes dragged over her like a slow hand.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Still shaking.”

He stepped closer, reaching down to brush a finger along her jaw.

“You should see yourself,” he said with something like awe. “Covered in me. Bruises on your hips. That mouth all swollen. God, you’re beautiful when you’re used.”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to cry, scream, vomit—but she stayed quiet. Still.

He leaned down and kissed her lips, gentle but unyielding. She didn’t kiss back.

“Still sore, huh?” he whispered against her mouth. “Good.”

He pulled back and ran a hand through his hair, fixing it before grabbing his badge and keys.

“I’ll see you at work later,” he said cheerfully. “Thought I’d stop by and bring your favorite lunch—those little lemon bars you love. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

He didn’t need her to.

As he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder—eyes roaming her bare form beneath the blanket.

“Maybe next time, I won’t let you sleep so much after.”

Then he left.

The door shut behind him with a soft, final click.

Y/N stared at the wall for a long time.

And only then did the tears come—slow, silent, and without end.

That Morning – At School

The halls of the elementary school were alive with morning chatter—children unzipping backpacks, sneakers squeaking across the linoleum, and the familiar chime of the bell echoing through the building.

Y/N walked in slowly, her steps careful, too careful.

She smiled when people said hello.

She nodded when the receptionist asked how her weekend was.

She even laughed—once—when another teacher made a joke by the coffee station.

But it didn’t reach her eyes.

She wore long sleeves today. A sweater that went down to her wrists, even though it was nearly 70 degrees. Her skirt brushed her calves, conservative and stiff. The neckline of her blouse sat high on her collarbone, where a faint bruise peeked just under the fabric.

She’d woken up early to put on more makeup than usual.

Foundation layered until the discoloration around her mouth was nearly hidden. Concealer under her eyes to mask the shadows carved there. Mascara to make her lashes look alive.

But nothing could cover the way her hand trembled when she picked up her clipboard.

Or how she winced when one of the kids hugged her waist.

“Miss Y/N?” one of the students asked during morning circle. “Are you sad?”

She blinked.

“I—no, sweetheart,” she said softly, forcing a smile. “Just tired today.”

But she could feel it—eyes watching her.

From the staff table during lunch. From the teacher down the hall who’d always been warm but now tilted her head with quiet concern.

Even the janitor, Mr. Hale, paused longer than usual when he greeted her, his brow furrowing as he looked her over.

Still, no one asked.

No one said the words out loud.

She moved like a ghost through her day—smiling when needed, laughing too softly, flinching too easily. Every time the front doors opened, she froze, expecting him to walk in. To drop off those lemon bars he’d promised. To wave at her like nothing had changed.

Her phone buzzed in her desk drawer during planning period.

1 New Message – Grayson “You looked beautiful walking in today. That skirt is cute. I love when you cover up just for me. Can’t wait to see you later. Smile more, okay?”

She locked the screen without replying.

And when the bell rang for dismissal, Y/N kept her head down, voice soft, her eyes flicking toward every shadow.

School – Lunch Period

She should’ve known he’d keep his promise.

Y/N sat in the teacher’s lounge, lunch untouched. Her fingers barely wrapped around the plastic fork in her salad. She wasn’t hungry—her stomach was too tight, too sick. Her eyes flicked to the clock.

12:27.

The door creaked open behind her.

Her blood turned to ice.

Grayson entered, still in uniform, holding a white bakery box and two lemon bars tucked neatly on a napkin. He smiled like they were just old friends meeting on a sunny afternoon.

“Figured you could use something sweet,” he said warmly.

A few of the teachers turned, smiled at him, nodded.

Y/N forced her lips to curl. “That’s… thoughtful.”

“You’ve earned it,” he said.

His voice was light, but when he leaned down to place the treat on the table, his fingers grazed her thigh beneath the table. He squeezed—quick, hard. A quiet warning masked as affection.

“You wore my favorite color,” he murmured close to her ear. “God, you’re good to me.”

She sat still, her pulse thudding in her throat.

He stood upright, smiling at the room. “Y’all take care of her, now.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The door closed.

She couldn’t move.

Her legs were shaking. Her palms were slick. Her entire body buzzed with the aftershock of his presence—his touch still burning on her skin through the fabric.

The room spun.

Five Minutes Later – Girls’ Bathroom

Y/N didn’t make it back to her classroom.

She slipped into the staff bathroom down the hall, locked herself in the farthest stall, and crumpled onto the closed toilet lid, one hand pressed over her mouth to stifle the sobs.

Her body shook uncontrollably.

Her blouse still smelled faintly like him. Her inner thighs still ached from the marks he’d left over the weekend. Her mind kept replaying his voice—soft and cruel all at once—reminding her that no one would believe her. That this was what love looked like now.

She didn’t hear the door open.

“Y/N?”

A voice. Soft. Female. Concerned.

Footsteps.

“Sweetheart… are you okay?”

It was Ms. Rivera—third grade.

Y/N didn’t respond.

Then the knock came, gentle against the stall. “I saw you run in here. You’re crying.”

Silence.

“I—I’m not prying,” she continued quietly. “But… if something’s wrong… you don’t have to say anything. You just need to know someone sees you.”

Y/N’s shoulders crumpled, her face buried in her hands. Her breath hitched, and the tears kept falling.

Ms. Rivera didn’t ask again. She just sat down on the bathroom floor on the other side of the door and said nothing—only stayed.

And for the first time in weeks… Y/N didn’t feel completely alone.

After School – Ms. Rivera’s Classroom

The final bell had rung. The halls were mostly empty now, just a few teachers tidying up, a janitor humming faintly as he swept.

Y/N stood outside Ms. Rivera’s door, her hands clutched tightly around the strap of her bag. She looked like a ghost in modest clothing—exhausted, washed out, but trying to breathe.

The door opened before she knocked.

“Come in,” Ms. Rivera said softly, stepping aside.

Y/N entered slowly, eyes scanning the quiet classroom. Ms. Rivera had dimmed the lights, left only a small lamp on by her desk. The room felt safe. Warm. Almost untouched by the outside world.

“Sit wherever you like,” she offered, pulling two chairs to face each other.

Y/N sat down and twisted her fingers in her lap.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ms. Rivera leaned forward. “You don’t have to tell me everything. You don’t have to name names. But whatever you say stays between us. I promise.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. Her voice came out in a whisper. “It’s Officer Wolfe.”

Ms. Rivera didn’t flinch.

Y/N’s eyes welled up. “He’s been following me. Showing up everywhere. At my house. At school. He touches me. He… forces things.”

Ms. Rivera’s gaze didn’t waver. She reached over, gently covered Y/N’s shaking hand with hers.

Y/N looked down at the contact. “And no one will listen. Not the sheriff. Not even my own mother. They all love him. They say he’s good. That he’s… respectable.”

Ms. Rivera was quiet for a long moment.

Then she said something Y/N didn’t expect.

“I know.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“I know what he is,” Ms. Rivera said, her voice low. “And I know what he did to his wife.”

Y/N’s mouth went dry.

“She didn’t leave town like they all said. That was the story—she cheated and disappeared.” Ms. Rivera gave a hollow laugh. “But I saw her. I was there. I knew her.”

“What happened to her?” Y/N asked, voice cracking.

“She tried to run too,” Ms. Rivera whispered. “Just like you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest.

“She got as far as her sister’s house in the next county. He found her. Took her back.” Ms. Rivera swallowed. “A month later, she was dead. Car accident, they said. But I saw the bruises before they buried her.”

A cold silence fell over the room.

Y/N’s body went stiff.

Ms. Rivera looked at her, eyes serious, shadowed with something deeper. “You’re not the first. But you might be the last if you don’t get out.”

Y/N’s voice shook. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because no one would’ve believed me then either,” she said. “I was a teacher. A woman. And he was already being groomed for promotion. You see how this town works.”

Y/N nodded slowly, the truth sinking into her bones.

“But I believe you,” Ms. Rivera said gently. “And if you really want to escape, I’ll help you.”

Y/N’s lips trembled. “How?”

Ms. Rivera’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You leave everything behind. No phone. No bank cards. Nothing he can trace. We fake something. Make him think you broke. Then, when he’s looking the other way…”

She paused.

“…you vanish.”

Two Days Later – The Plan

Ms. Rivera laid it out carefully.

They would wait. Watch. Keep pretending.

“You need to let him think he’s still winning,” she said softly, sitting beside Y/N in the back corner of her classroom, where no cameras watched. “Smile. Nod. Let him believe you're breaking on your own.”

Y/N nodded. Her hands were clenched in her lap, but her eyes were hollow with determination.

“We’ll time it with the promotion ceremony. Everyone will be distracted. He’ll be surrounded by cameras, press, half the town. That’s when we’ll slip the first message.”

“A message?” Y/N asked.

“To someone who matters outside this town.”

Saturday Night – Grayson's Promotion Party

The town hall was transformed into a glittering celebration. String lights draped from the ceiling. Tables were loaded with catered food. A banner stretched across the back wall:

Congratulations Sheriff Wolfe.

Y/N stood stiff in a modest navy dress her mother picked out, sleeves to her wrists, neckline high. Her makeup was perfect. Her smile had edges.

Grayson had his hand on her lower back the entire evening.

He looked the part of a rising man—sharp suit, polished boots, and the whole room orbiting around him. People hugged him. Toasted him. Called him “the future.”

And Y/N? She floated from conversation to conversation like a ghost.

Every now and then, she met Ms. Rivera’s gaze across the room. And each time, the older woman gave her a slow, subtle nod.

Hold steady.

Play along.

And then—Grayson tapped his glass.

The chatter in the room died.

“I want to thank you all,” he said, standing beside the podium, Y/N just behind him. “This town raised me. Gave me purpose. Gave me family.”

He smiled at the crowd, then turned slightly.

“But there’s someone else I want to thank. Someone who’s stood by me through everything. Someone who reminds me what I’m fighting for.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Grayson reached into his coat pocket.

Pulled out a small velvet box.

The room gasped as he turned, got down on one knee—grinning—and opened the box to reveal a glittering, oval-cut diamond set in platinum.

“Y/N,” he said, voice warm and full of command. “Marry me.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

All eyes on her.

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

Then—from the front row—her mother wiped a tear, smiling proudly.

“He came to me first,” she said. “Asked for my blessing. I told him yes.”

Y/N felt everything tilt.

She looked at Rivera.

Rivera nodded once.

Y/N turned back to Grayson, her mouth trembling.

“Yes,” she said softly. “The ring is stunning.”

The crowd erupted in applause.

He slid the ring onto her shaking finger.

Kissed her hand.

Whispered, “Told you we’d get here.”

And Y/N smiled.

Because it was the only thing she could do.

But inside, she was already packing her second bag.

A/N: I AM making a tag post if you wish to be tag in future stories, please respond here <-

[themuses-rp]

"Sometimes the night will surprise you on where it can go." There's a hint to her tone that suggests there's a double meaning. "Usually no but I was meaning the other people. If you get to know someone, it makes them feel... at ease and can help them open up." She's done that plenty of time with new followers to feel comfortable, "people are often quick to dismiss those who require effort."

Her hips move against his body, leading and guiding him to move with her as she laughs freely. Her head leans back against his shoulder and she closes her eyes as she revels in the music. Maybe she has misread things, come on too strong but right now, she's content in just dancing especially since her friends have left her on the floor alone.

Eunseo (📚) Starter For — @mysterymanjoseph

The weather was nice, the air warm despite the later time, as the woman walked down the street with a few of her fellow classmates. Eunseo laughed at a joke and responded in Korean, her hand over her mouth as she spoke since she couldn't stop laughing.

It has been a couple of weeks since the woman landed in New York, having secured a summer program at NYU, but this was the first time that she had been able to go out with the other attendees. The courses have kept her busy and while it promoted being able to enjoy the city, Eunseo was determined to make the most of her chance; though, the call of the night life and free drinks did manage to pull her out of her room.

Her outfit choice tonight being a little black dress, matched with stilettos and subtle make-up, allowed her to scope out the scene because nobody liked to be overdressed in a club.

"Drinks first?" She asked, bowing her head to the bouncer at the door as she made her way through. She already knew the answer — she just wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page.

Nobody wanted to drink alone.

[mysteroads]

JOY AND WOE: Chpt 3: "Can I See Another's Grief"

Summary: Mary Arkham wakes up in the lab, alone and in pain, until Dante comes back, his twin in tow. Conversations are had, choices are laid out, future paths chosen, and alcohol is blatantly stolen.

Excerpt:

“You listen here, dumbass,” Dante said, voice gentle. “I do not regret killing those motherfuckers. Hate myself for losing control, hate that I killed people without tryin’ to find another way, but I do not feel guilty for protecting you. I'm not the brightest, but I try not to make the same mistake twice. I stayed back and let you fight alone once. Never again.”

His gentle tone turned into a snarl that tap-danced right past Mary’s forebrain and straight to her hindbrain, where it proceeded to awaken the ancient instincts that had her primitive ancestors scrambling into trees. It was the snarl of a predator, top of the food chain, and Mary’s hindbrain was pretty sure she was going to die. Her Hunter training agreed with this assessment and promised to go down fighting, futile as it would be. Mary tried to reign her fight-or-flight in with frayed ropes of logic, because that snarl hadn’t been for her, and Dante was still speaking to Vergil. 

“No one's going to hurt you ever again without me making sure they regret it for whatever short life they have left. You understand, Vergil? And just so we’re extra clear, me telling you this has fuck all to do with you rescuing my frozen ass, and everything to do with you being my stupid big brother. Even if DARKCOM had decanted me, pumped my blood full of exploding microchips, and sent me out to fight for them like some damn super soldier, I’d still have found a way to go looking for you. Ten years apart, twenty years, thirty, or a thousand doesn't matter. Because you’re my brother and I love you, you gigantic dickhead.”

Vergil’s face had gone blank for this unexpected tirade, but at that last, he let out a long sigh and sagged against his brother, letting his forehead rest on Dante’s shoulder. “I hate you.”

Dante smiled smugly, leaning his cheek against Vergil’s head. “‘Course you do.”

Taking a deep breath and sounding much calmer, Vergil asked, “At least explain to me why you insist on helping the woman. Why offer mercy to the soldier of an organization that gave none to you?”

It took Dante a moment to reply, and when he did, his voice was more somber than Mary had ever heard it. “I want to help her because… because it sucks to be trapped alone with the dead, okay? Especially when you’re helpless and scared. And just because they're a bunch of raging assholes doesn't mean I have to drop to their level. I'm Hell-blood, but I'm not a complete monster. I won’t leave someone alone in the dark.” 

Vergil frowned, but when no rebuttal came, Dante kept talking, his tone now coaxing, “Tell you what? Help me at least get her home, and we'll put olives on the entire pizza.”

Vergil let out a surprised huff that might've been a laugh. He raised his head and met Dante's eyes. “You'll eat them?”

She couldn’t see it very well, but she could hear Dante’s eye roll. “Yes.”

“Then I want anchovies too.”

Dante's gasp of horror was genuine. “You… You… You don't even like anchovies! You hated them! You always said they were looking at you and it freaked you out!”

Vergil shrugged the best he could while still held captive by Dante's wings. “I've eaten far worse in the past decade. My desire to see you suffer far outweighs my own distaste for tiny fish.”

“Sadist,” Dante hissed. “Psychopath!”

“Most likely, yes. Do we have a bargain?”

~*~*~*~*~

Here's another link! (Because for some reason tumblr is being stupid about that. https://archiveofourown.org/works/64878991/chapters/167925175

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

So while I’m on my “You’re Losing Me” riff, another thing that really strikes me about the song is how pervasive loneliness is in it.

This isn’t inherently unique in Taylor’s music; she is after all the narrator in most of her songs. They are inherently self-centered and not in a selfish way, but in a literal way: these are songs about her and her perspective. It makes sense then that YLM is uniquely about her experience in this relationship and this breakdown.

But when I talk about the theme of loneliness, it’s how alone she as narrator is throughout the story. Even in the opening salvo, where he says, “I don’t understand,” and she says, “I know you don’t,” the conversation represents two people fundamentally pushed to their own corners.

There is a clear split between we and I throughout the story.

We thought a cure would come through, now I fear it won’t. We loved this room cause of the light, but now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time. Should I throw out everything we built?

There’s a divide between when they were on the same team, and when she’s been cast adrift. They were working on fixing their problems, but now she alone is burdened with the knowledge that they’ve passed the point of no return. They chose a home to house their future dreams together, but now she’s left all alone in the dark feeling those dreams slip away. They built a life, but now she’s the one having the make the call to take it down.

But it gets progressively darker than that. The line about being a phoenix mending all her own gashes has always jumped out at me, because it connotes her dealing with blow after blow by herself, having to put herself back together each time, the onslaught relentless even if she ultimately overcomes. Yet it’s him who tears her apart for good. The image it paints is of a person continually facing her own struggles on her own, dealing with the fallout like a lone wolf (sorry for the continued animal allusions?), but whatever it is that the subject he does breaks her worse than the thousand cuts she’s experienced before. Even here, the idea is of a person who shoulders her burdens by herself and being praised for it (something something when I used to fight you’d tell me I was brave etc. Even though I know that’s an entirely different situation but it’s also not) or at least being expected to do it, but the subject’s actions — or lack thereof— cut deeper than any of those lonesome fights. She keeps fighting for herself, trying to grow from the hurt, but his “blow” threatens to undo it all in one fell swoop.

Of course, as the song continues, the story expands and becomes one about miscommunication and apathy. I’m not one to believe that every single line in Taylor’s songs is literal; she’s a master at metaphors and scene setup, so as much as some commentary interprets the line about glaring and sending signals as literal and therefore putting the onus on her for not communicating effectively and expecting the person to be a mind reader, I feel like this is where her affinity for being flowery paints a far sadder picture.

She glared at him with storms in her eyes could mean she’s acting pissed but not saying why, but it could just as easily be a metaphor for sharing anger/upset with your partner who refuses to acknowledge its weight. (How can you say that you love someone you can’t tell is dyin’ when it’s right in front of you?) I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick could be seen as again not saying what’s wrong and expecting him to pick up on her behaviour, but I also feel it’s an instance where her penchant for emotive language is at play: it’s not that she expected him to read her mind, it’s that she tried every way she could and he still didn’t care. The signals could be that like a lighthouse in a storm: clear and guiding, but dangerous if ignored. She told him in all the ways she could, literal, emotional and physical, that she was wasting away, but he wouldn’t take it seriously. It once again details the experience of a person living through this tragedy completely on her own, whose pain is dismissed at every turn.

Which brings us to, “My face was gray but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick.” It could mean, she was making herself ill and he ignored the reasons why, but as I mentioned in my post earlier, death hangs over the entire song. (There’s a larger essay to be written about that theme alone.) To me, it’s not just that she’s grey because she’s ill, her face is grey because she’s (metaphorically) dead. She’s already died (or the relationship is dead) before he’s even admitted there was anything wrong to fix. She alone is sitting with this realization.

As the song continues, the loneliness with the burden of this knowledge shifts to the loneliness of everything she feels she’s done or felt that’s been ignored or dismissed.

My pain is an imposition. (On you.) I gave you all my best me’s. (And I didn’t get yours in return.) I bled and tried to be the bravest soldier only in your army frontlines. (But you didn’t fight in mine when I needed you.) I’m the best thing at this party. (But you’d never acknowledge I exist.)

By the time she gets to the end of the bridge, she’s fading fast but even as she’s losing the battle, she’s still imploring him to fight for her and them in a last-ditch effort. Show me you’re still with me. But she never gets that answer, because ultimately they’ve lost the pulse, and her heart has stopped. While the song begins with them fundamentally misunderstanding each other, it ends with her confirming her fears in the opening: there is no more we, but there is no more her either. She’s gone, all alone, without anyone there to see it.

In spite of the fact that the song is super catchy and uptempo, with a characteristic banger bridge that is fueled by anger and seeping with resentment, “You’re Losing Me,” is incredibly sad and kind of morose. It leaves such an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, which I imagine is only a fraction of the feeling of the person experiencing the story is.

[unnonexistence]

me: but what if I fuck up and lose my new job-

the little newt geiszler who lives in my head: then you'll find another job! you're a fucking rockstar and they're lucky to have you!

me, tearing up: okay newt geiszler thank you newt geiszler

[chastiefoul]

how they'd react when you wanted to sleep on the couch... just because.

fluff. light-hearted ft. gojo, nanami, sukuna, suguru, toji, choso

satoru

“baby scooch over.” a whispered voice along with a gentle nudge on the shoulder woke you from your dozed off state. “hmm?” you mumbled out, blinking your terribly heavy lids open although to no avail they’re begging to keep themselves shut. satoru glanced at you with a frown on his eyes with a pillow held close to his body. “scooch over baby,” he pleaded, kneeling beside the couch you’re currently lying on.

“go back to bed toru,” you said softly, tugging your blanket closer. “but you’re not there,” he whined, intertwining his hand with yours as he attacked it with kisses, not letting you go back to sleep, especially if it’s without him. “i thought you said you’re going to be fine?” you asked, jogging the memory of him being all smug while saying you could do whatever you wanted. “that was not me, i would never say that,” he said promptly and goodness you didn’t know before someone’s lips could turned that much downward. you chuckled breathily, knowing this will happen sooner or later.

you scooted over on the big couch, leaving him the space he’d been begging for. you could have sworn you heard a squeal before you’re wrapped in satoru’s warm hold, his head resting snugly atop of yours. “no sleeping on here anymore. not without me,” he said into your hair, kissing it softly.

❀

nanami

“but why, love?” he asked, having a hard time comprehending your wish to sleep alone on the living room only because... you randomly wanted to? you chuckled looking at his bewildered face, an expression of someone who’s probably racking his brain upside down thinking that he’s done something wrong. “ken, i promise it’s just because i feel like it and no reason other than that.” you cupped his face, planting a soft kiss on his nose.

nanami looked a little relieved, albeit sullen, hesitant in asking whether he could invite himself in or you wanted a little time for yourself. and when it’s finally time to sleep it’s becoming more obvious that your lover wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

“need any more blanket honey?” he asked tapping the head of the couch as he stood there a tad nervous, knowing full well you got everything you needed since he insisted to be the one to prepare it. pillows, blanket, a hot drink, he’s got it all for you. “i’m perfect here, ken. you can go to bed,” you said with a reassuring smile, yet it did the opposite effect to the man.

“can i be here until you sleep, my love? it’s just that i feel like i wouldn’t be able to rest properly until i see you do the same.” he stroke your cheek softly with his thumb, and when you leaned into his touch he knew he’s gone for you. that there’s no way he could be asleep if he went back to the bedroom in that moment—unless you’re with him, of course. though, he didn’t say this, he just continued combing through your strands of hair, loving the peaceful expression on your face.

and unfortunately for the blond man, when it comes to these things his thoughts were written all over his face. you already caught on the fact that he wanted to lie down with you there yet his wish in prioritizing your wants refrained him from speaking his. you laughed a little, feeling a burst of fondness towards the tall man.

“on a second thought, can you sleep here with me ken?” he moved as quick as the sentence ended, already making his way under the blanket. he sneaked a hand around your waist, pressing your body closer against him. “i was kind of hoping you’d ask,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed. you snuggled closer to his chest, feeling utmost comfort as he rubbed your back gently.

“i know.”

❀

sukuna

not even ten minutes in trying to sleep on the said couch, sukuna had already carried you back towards your shared bedroom.

“but-“

“no.”

he put you on the bed gently, then he draped a blanket over as he tucked you in. sukuna has that look of a man who’s determined in keeping you there, and you already knew it’s a fight you could not win thus, you turned for another plan instead: pouting.

even until he got beside you as he rested his big hand on your stomach, you refused to look at him, crossing your hands in front of your chest. he sighed, “give me one good reason i should let you sleep out there,” he said exasperatedly. “cause i want some me time?” you claimed. even you weren’t sure why you’re battling him so hard on this.

“then have it here in this bed with me. you’ll get all cold later and cling to me later anyways. i’m just speeding up the process.” he replied, already closing his eyes.

“what a strange way of saying you couldn’t sleep without me,” you said, with a grin on your face. the feeling of his thumb moving against your skin brought you immense comfort, your impulsive plan long forgotten.

“if you already knew that then quit making it harder for me, brat.”

❀

toji

he stared at you who’s already making yourself comfortable on the couch, amused. “looking cozy there,” he said with a grin, a face of someone who’s up to no good. “yeah, it’s actually not ba-“ the sentence was cut off was your own squeal, toji had picked you up as he took your lying down position and put you top of him.

“you could’ve just asked first!” you fumed, hitting his bicep—which did more to you and it did him, how could one even get their muscle to be as hard as that? he just chuckled in response, putting a hand around your waist. “sorry doll, got too excited,” he said lazily, already seemed all happy, like he had all he needed.

and he did, with you close to him resting your head on his chest, knowing that you loved counting his heartbeat. the man was truly content.

“we really should get a bigger couch,” you mumbled. we should get everything you wanted, toji thought. but it’d be a bit much to say in the moment so instead he just continued rubbing your sides until you dozed off, plunging into the dream land.

“sleep.”

❀

suguru

“whatcha got there baby?” he asked, an easy smile on his face. there’s really no day with you where you didn’t make him tilt his head questioningly. “’m going to sleep here tonight,” you said, fluffing the pillow before lying down on it comfortably.

“okay, where’s mine then?”

“your what?”

“my pillow. you didn’t bring mine along yours?”

“oh well i just thought you’d want to sleep in the bed anyway?” you replied, and suguru looked like you just insulted him deeply. the couch dipped, he then lied down beside you on the same pillow, making him extra close as he embraced you. “i sleep where you sleep baby, you make me this way. i can no longer rest when i don’t get to hold you close like this,” he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you have a big smile on your face as he said this, inhaling his familiar scent as you put your arms around him. “that better not be a complaint,” you said, cuddling closer to the man.

“never.” he kissed your temple.

❀

choso

it seriously look like it killed him when he had to walk away from the room, leaving you to sleep by yourself on the couch. his steps were excruciatingly slow, taking as much time as he could in case you changed your mind.

“cho?” you almost laughed looking at the way he perked up, a hopeful expression on his face. “can you turn off the light on your way?” and it almost felt too cruel the way the sparkle on his eyes dimmed, his shoulders beyond slumped. he then practically had to drag his own feet before letting out a small nod.

you chuckled, couldn’t keep up with the teasing anymore. “i’m kidding baby, do you wanna get in here?” you lifted up the blanket, patting the empty space next to you. it was the fastest you’ve ever seen him, as he’s beside you in no time.

he clinged to you tightly, like he’s making sure as much of his skin made contact with yours, a satisfied smile on his face. his hair tickled your neck nicely, as you traced the area below his eye with back of your finger.

“next time you want something just ask, cho.”

[bizarrelovetriangel]

lipstick stains.

reader decides to dabble with art using several lipstick as her tools and sylus' sleeping face as her canvas.

fluff. inspired by one of sylus' texts in the game (included down below near the end). no warnings, just little kisses and reader having a little fun <3

It's two in the afternoon and there's nothing to do until sunset, when it's time to get ready for a date with your lover who's currently sleeping.

No... maybe there is something you could do.

A certain someone recently just bought you several new shades of lipstick from the brand that you love. Maybe now is a good idea to see which color would suit your outfit best for your date.

You wore a sly grin as you gathered all of your new lipstick and tiptoed your way inside Sylus' bedroom.

He's still in the same position as when you put him to bed: mostly on his back, though his upper body's slightly on a higher level due to the fluffy cold pillow supporting his shoulders.

He's wearing his satin burgundy robe, which had gotten a little loose to expose a portion of his chest. You were tempted to rest your head against it, but you can't afford to be distracted right now. You have a mission.

You're going to test the shades of your new lipstick with Sylus' help.

First up is cherry.

You put on a single layer of that color on your lips, then you carefully leaned down towards Sylus' face and softly kissed his forehead. You made sure it was as light as a feather so he doesn't wake up and end your fun so soon.

Next: rose.

You painted your lips with the brighter shade and pecked Sylus' left cheek. It gave a similar result as the previous contender: it looks great, but this particular color probably won't match your outfit tonight.

Third candidate is: wine

This one went to his right cheek and your gaze lingered on it for a little longer than the rest, as the color seemed so fitting on Sylus' face. The stain of wine always did compliment him, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

Up next is blood-red.

It's darker than wine and you also love its velvety texture. More importantly, the kiss mark of its hue looks wonderful on Sylus' left jawline.

Following that is blush.

This one's brighter and more on the pink side. Even though you like it, tonight won't be the night when you'd wear it. Nonetheless, it certainly looks lovely on your lover's chin, which twitched for a second after you kissed it.

Next one is apple.

You kissed the right side of Sylus' jaw and awed at its surprisingly vibrant tone. This one might work quite well with your outfit.

There's the shade called merlot, too.

It's more on the darker side, but you're not sure if it'll look good with your outfit tonight. On the other hand, it's cute on Sylus' nose.

Last but not least: ruby

This one seems like it's in the middle of the palette in terms of saturation, and it appears to have an appealing texture as well. To test it out, you put it on your lips and left a mark on the little spot just above his lips.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Sylus stirred all of a sudden, so you ended up kissing him on the lips.

From the very moment your lips touched, your face heated up and you backed away in panic.

You've kissed him plenty of times. You've kissed him on the lips and on spots that are not his lips. You've done way more than kissing. And yet still, your heart raced at the thought of him catching you stealing kisses from him while he sleeps.

It's still a little early for him to wake up, so you decided to leave him alone for now. You took all of your lipstick with you and ran out before he could detect your presence.

//////////

Your mouth drops at the text message you just received.

"I need to hide, quickly! You guys better not snitch on me! Especially you, Mephie!" You glared at the crow before leaving Luke and Kieran, suddenly ending your game of Kitty Cards.

You fled to look for a hiding spot, but it's too late. Your face planted against a strong chest.

You swore you heard a cough from behind you, followed by the sound of someone's phone clicking for a picture.

It didn't matter though because Sylus spared no attention to Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto as his eyes are completely focused on you.

"Sylus....." you laughed nervously. "Good afternoon. Had a nice dream?"

"Mhmm." He crossed his arms, giving you a raised brow. "In my dream, I was being attacked by a mischievous kitten while I was asleep."

"...."

"You're coming with me." He took one step towards you and leaned down to whisper to your ear. "You have to be punished for your crimes."

Suddenly, he threw you over his shoulder and retreated back to his bedroom.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other.

"Did you get the picture?"

"Yeah."