#its good and i love it with my whole heart

[heartsriki]

CUPID'S CHAOS ⌇화살

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇Lee Heeseung | next

pairing ᝰ heeseung x fem!reader

— featuring.. n/a | word count: 4k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ college au, fluff, bickering, misunderstandings, obliviousness, 2000’s rom com vibe, kisses, pet name use (?), reader is a writer!

synopsis — You accidentally become the campus’s cupid, delivering love letters to everyone— no exception to the one meant for Heeseung even though you had the biggest crush on him. When he asks for help finding his secret admirer, You scramble to keep your own feelings hidden… until you realize that love letter was your own.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊I’m not sure if I like this but… I hope you guys do… guys fair warning these oneshots will be extremely corny and fluffy but its valentines month so i cant control it fr! MY FIRST HEESEUNG FIC WHO CHEERED, also happy birthday jw my baby :(

Seriously just what did you get yourself into?

The first incident or “love letter” arrived onto your doorstep on a random Wednesday. It was just a soft pink envelope sealed with a heart-shaped sticker. At first, you thought it was for you until you saw the name of the girl in your english class. Maybe someone had the wrong dorm number. But when another letter shows up the next day, and then another, you start to realize two things:

1. Someone on campus has a serious crush problem.

2. You have somehow become their personal delivery service.

By Friday, you had a whole collection of letters meant for people you barely know. With no better plan, you start slipping them into the correct mailbox, dropping them onto desks, and handing them off with a whispered, “This is for you.”

Before you know it, people started calling you the ‘Campus Cupid’.

It’s kind of fun—watching couples get together, seeing people’s eyes light up when they read something sweet. That is, until you find his letter.

Lee Heeseungs letter. The guy with the lazy smile and unfairly good hair. The guy who always seems to be exactly where you don’t need him to be. The guy you have been crushing on way more than you meant to.

It was no surprise that he would get sent a letter. He was the darling of the campus, he was a charmer, talented in sports and without a doubt extremely handsome.

You examined the letter. It was morally right to give it to him… right?

Frowning, you place the letter in his usual seat. Just because you liked him didn’t mean you can take his right of knowing that someone else does.

The day passes without you thinking too much about the letter you placed on Heeseung’s desk. Or at least, you try not to think about it. It’s not like it matters, right? Someone else likes him. No big deal.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

But then, right after your afternoon lecture, Heeseung finds you outside the lecture hall, love letter in hand.

“Hey, Cupid.” His voice is casual, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He holds up the letter between two fingers. “Any idea who wrote this?”

Your heart stops.

You stare at the letter, forcing yourself to keep calm. You knew this would happen. Of course, Heeseung would be curious. You should just tell him you don’t know. That’s what you should do.

But something about the way he’s looking at you makes you hesitate.

Frowning, you take the letter from his hands, pretending to examine it like if you hadn’t stared at it for hours before handing it to him. But when you open it and your eyes scan the page, confusion settles in.

There’s no name. No initials. Nothing.

That’s strange. Most of the letters you’ve delivered always had at least a tiny clue. An initial, a signature, sometimes even a number with a name.

“What’s with that look? You must’ve seen who gave it to you, no?” Heeseung asks, raising a brow.

You look back at the letter, skimming over the heart felt words. It was weird intruding someone’s feelings like this but with Heeseungs intense stare you couldn’t say no. The letter said:

I don’t know when it started, but you’ve always been there. In the background, in the crowd, just close enough to notice, but never close enough to reach. It’s frustrating, liking someone like this. Sometimes I wish I never met you in that cafe because now you’re all I ever think about, I hope I can confront you someday.

Your stomach twists.

The handwriting. The way certain letters are slanted. The way some words are scratched out and rewritten.

It’s… familiar.

Too familiar.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Oh no.

It was yours.

See, the first time you met Heeseung, it wasn’t in a lecture hall or at some college party—it was at a small cafe just off campus, the kind of place students flocked to for overpriced lattes and last-minute study sessions.

You had been there first, tucked into a corner seat with your laptop open and a half-empty cup of coffee beside you. The cafe was packed, the usual rush of students scrambling for caffeine before their next class, and you were too focused on your work to notice him walk in.

That is, until you heard a voice—smooth, slightly out of breath—directed at you.

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

You looked up, and that was the first time you saw Lee Heeseung up close.

Messy brown hair, a hoodie thrown over a plain t-shirt, dark eyes filled with something playful yet sleepy at the same time. You recognized him vaguely—he was in one of your general electives, though he always sat near the back, half-hidden behind his laptop. He was the kind of guy people noticed without him even trying, whether it was because of his reputation on the basketball team or just the effortless way he carried himself.

And now, he was standing in front of you, waiting for an answer.

You blinked. “Oh, um—no, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, sliding into the chair across from you. He set down his coffee cup, then pulled out a notebook, flipping through the pages lazily. “You’re in my media studies class, right?”

You hadn’t expected him to recognize you, much less strike up a conversation.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I sit near the front.”

“Right, that’s why I never see you,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I usually get there late.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

For some reason, that seemed to amuse him. Heeseung leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his notebook. “So, what’s got you looking so serious? Studying for something?”

You glanced at your laptop screen. “Not exactly. Just… trying to finish an article for the campus paper.”

That caught his interest. “You write for the paper?”

“Kind of. It’s just an opinion column. Nothing major.”

Heeseung tilted his head, considering. “I’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe I’ll learn something.”

You rolled your eyes, but you could feel your face growing warm. Heeseung had this way of making everything sound lighthearted, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—like he actually meant it—that made your stomach flip.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment—him sitting across from you in a crowded cafe, lazily flipping through his notes while keeping light conversations, smiling at you like you were the only person worth paying attention to—that was the moment it started.

The quiet, unshakable feeling of a new beginning forming.

You blink rapidly, snapping back to reality, only to find Heeseung staring at you with a curious tilt of his head.

“You good?” He waves a hand in front of your face, and you realize you’ve been gripping the letter like it personally offended you.

“Yeah!” You blurt out, a little too quickly. “Fine. Super fine.”

Heeseung narrows his eyes, but instead of questioning your suspicious expressions, he leans against the wall next to you, arms crossed, the picture of casual confidence. “So? Any idea who my secret admirer is?”

Your stomach does a full gymnastics routine.

Yeah, actually, it’s me. Surprise!

Obviously, you can’t say that.

You force a laugh, shoving the letter back into his hands like it’s a ticking time bomb. “No clue! There are so many love letters I deal with around campus, you know? Could be anyone.”

Heeseung mockingly pouted. “Come on, Cupid. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

You freeze. Oh no.

Heeseung grins, nudging your arm playfully. “Please? be my lead detective I need to know who has this much of a crush on me.”

You stare at him, trying not to look as horrified as you feel. He’s practically pleading, eyes shining with excitement. He wants to know. He’s curious.

And you?

You want the earth to swallow you whole.

But instead, you swallow down your panic and give him your most confident, totally-not-dying-inside smile. “Yeah, sure! I’ll, uh… I’ll let you know if I figure it out.”

Great. Now you’re investigating your own love letter.

Romcoms make this look so much easier.

In your defense, the love letter was never supposed to see the light of day.

It had been one of those late-night, caffeine-fueled brain dumps—the kind where your emotions got the best of you, and instead of focusing on your essay due at midnight, you had decided, hey, why not write a dramatic love confession you’ll never actually send?

It started off as a joke. A harmless what if?

What if you had the guts to tell Heeseung how you felt?

What if you weren’t just the campus Cupid, but actually someone worth writing about?

What if, for once, you weren’t just the messenger in everyone else’s love stories?

So, you had poured your heart onto the page. You wrote about how frustrating it was, liking someone from a distance—watching him laugh in the campus café, seeing him glide effortlessly through every class, always just out of reach. You let yourself be honest, because no one was ever supposed to read it.

And then? You stuffed it into your notebook, forgot about it, and went about your life like it never happened.

Until now.

Now, it was in Heeseung’s hands just because you thought it was written by someone else, and now you were stuck in the worst romcom of all time—investigating your own love letter while trying desperately to keep your crush a secret.

Honestly?

You were so, so doomed.

“So, what do you think?”

You try to keep your face neutral as Heeseung waves the letter in front of you, looking more confused than anything.

“About… what?” You ask cautiously.

“This.” He gestures to the paper. “The letter. My so-called ‘secret admirer.’”

Your spoke before you could stop yourself. “So…you figure out who it is. What happens then?”

He thinks, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, i’ll turn them down, it’s really flattering but it’s also kind of a hassle.”

A hassle?

You force out a laugh, even as your stomach twists into knots. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. Someone clearly put a lot of thought into this.”

“That’s the problem.” Heeseung exhales sharply. “I wasn’t expecting this. Im interested in someone else, and now I have to figure out how to let this person down without making things awkward.”

Your face heats up. You want to disappear.

“So, you’re not interested in them…? You like someone already?” You ask hesitantly, barely able to get the words out.

Heeseung shakes his head. “I don’t even know who they are. But I hope they don’t take it the wrong way, Y’know?”

You stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears.

He has no idea.

And now? You definitely can’t confess.

Not when you already know his answer.

And if there was one thing worse than knowing Heeseung didn’t want a relationship, it was actively helping him investigate your own confession.

Every day, he’d bring up new theories about who could’ve written the letter, and every day, you’d have to nod along, pretending to be just as clueless.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Heeseung didn’t seem to be taking it too seriously, mostly brushing it off whenever it came up. But as the days passed, something shifted… just slightly.

“Okay, so hear me out,” Heeseung said, leaning against the bookshelf beside you. The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and muffled whispers. “What if it’s someone from one of my classes?”

You kept your eyes on your laptop screen, pretending to focus on your assignment. “You already went through that theory. Twice.”

“Yeah, but I was thinking—what if they’re too nervous to say anything in person? What if it’s, like… someone who sits far away from me?”

You bit your lip. “And yet, you’re still expecting me to figure it out?”

“Well, you’re good at reading people.” Heeseung grinned, nudging your arm. “You always seem to know what’s going on with everyone.”

Your heart stuttered. If only he knew just how right he was.

Heeseung sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t get it. They wrote all this deep, meaningful stuff, but they didn’t sign their name. What’s the point of confessing if you don’t want the person to know?”

You swallowed hard. “Maybe they were scared.”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, looking at you in that way that always made you feel like he could see through you. “Scared of what?”

You hesitated. “Of ruining what they already have.”

His expression shifted. “You think they know me?”

You forced a shrug. “Probably. Why else would they write all that?”

Something flickered in his gaze, something unreadable. He held your gaze for a second too long before clearing his throat. “Huh. I never really thought about it like that.”

You turned back to your screen, desperate to focus on anything else. But then Heeseung moved closer, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned in to look at your laptop.

“What are you even working on?” he asked, voice quieter now, like the space between you had shrunk to something more intimate.

You could barely think straight. “Just… an essay.”

“Hm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

His voice was too close. His scent—clean, with a hint of something warm—was too distracting. It was stupid, so stupid, how easily he got under your skin without even trying.

The next few days started to get a little weird.

Heeseung had always been playful, always teasing and leaning in too close, but now it felt… different.

It was in the way he started remembering the little things—how you liked your coffee, how you tapped your fingers when you were thinking, how you always fixed your hair when you were nervous.

It was in the way he kept looking at you, his gaze lingering a little too long before he caught himself.

It was in the way his teasing changed—less casual, more intentional. Like he wanted to see how you’d react.

And then, one night, things got dangerous.

You were in his dorm, flipping through the list of names you had pretended to compile for the investigation. Heeseung sat on the floor beside you, his laptop balanced on his knees, absentmindedly chewing on a pen cap as he read through the letter again.

“You know…” he said, tilting his head, “whoever wrote this is actually really good with words.”

Your blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s, like… weirdly personal.” He frowned slightly, scanning the page. “I feel how much they mean it.”

You held your breath.

He let out a soft laugh. “Honestly, it kinda sounds like your writing.”

Your heart stopped.

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “What?”

Heeseung blinked at you, startled. “I mean—you’re good at writing, right? I read your papers, You’ve always been good with words.”

He reads your papers?

You forced out a laugh, hoping he couldn’t hear the way your voice shook. “Right— Well, I didn’t write it, obviously.”

Heeseung studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your horror, he smirked.

“Why do you look so guilty?”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I’m literally just existing, Heeseung. Shut up.”

He laughed, but there was something behind his eyes that made your stomach flip—something like curiosity. “Stop freaking out im just kidding.”

The investigation had led you and Heeseung all over campus, following false leads, and ultimately getting nowhere. You had been walking back toward the dorms when the sky, clear just moments ago, suddenly turned gray.

And then—of course—it started to rain.

Hard.

“Are you serious?” you groaned, pulling your jacket over your head as you and Heeseung ran toward the nearest cover—a small wooden gazebo near the campus library.

You both skidded to a stop under the roof, breathless and drenched. Heeseung shook his head like a wet dog, flinging water everywhere.

“Really?” You scowled, wiping raindrops off your face.

He laughed, ruffling his already-messy hair. “My bad.”

The sound of rain drumming against the roof filled the space between you, the cool breeze making you shiver.

“Here,” Heeseung said, shrugging off his hoodie.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re cold, Cupid” he pointed out, holding the hoodie out to you. “Take it.”

“I’m fine,” you said, crossing your arms.

He scoffed. “Just take it before you get sick.”

You hesitated, but he rolled his eyes and stepped closer, draping the hoodie over your shoulders himself. The warmth of it, of him, surrounded you immediately, and your breath hitched.

You looked up at him, ready to protest, but he was already watching you—his expression unreadable, the usual teasing glint in his eyes nowhere to be found.

“Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me?” he murmured suddenly.

Your pulse spiked. “What?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, studying you in a way that made your stomach twist. “I don’t know. You just…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

You swallowed hard, clutching the hoodie tighter around you.

The rain kept falling around you, blurring the world outside the gazebo, making this moment feel like it existed outside of everything else—outside of reality, outside of whatever mess you had gotten yourself into.

For a split second, it felt like you weren’t just Heeseung’s reluctant investigation partner. Like you weren’t the person holding onto a secret that could ruin everything.

Like, maybe, he could actually like you back.

But then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should probably wait this out before heading back.”

Just like that, the moment passed and you were left standing there in his hoodie, drowning in warmth, drowning in him, pretending you weren’t completely, helplessly falling apart.

After the rain, the campus felt quieter, the usual chatter dampened by the lingering water in the air. You walked alongside Heeseung, both of you with your hoods up, trying to shield yourselves from the leftover drizzle. It was awkward but comfortable — the kind of silence where you weren’t sure if you were supposed to talk or if it was okay just to exist in the same space.

Heeseung was the first to break it. “You know, you really don’t have to walk me all the way back to my dorm. It should be the other way around—.”

You glanced at him, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. You were worried about your own feelings, and now, Heeseung had a way of making your heart flutter with the smallest of gestures.

“I don’t mind,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “I just figured I should, you know… make sure you’re okay.”

Heeseung chuckled, a low sound that made you feel warm despite the cool rain. “You’re acting kind of weird. Usually, you’re so naggy. I thought I’d never see you get flustered.”

You looked away, trying to hide your face. “I’m not flustered.”

There was a brief pause as Heeseung watched you. His eyes softened, the usual teasing light in them dimming a little. “You’re not fooling me, you know.”

You slowed your pace, nervous now, your heart pounding as you tried to look calm. “I’m not trying to fool anyone.”

“I think you are,” he replied, stepping a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours as the two of you continued walking side by side.

You swallowed hard. The proximity felt different now, more charged. Your voice faltered. “What do you mean?”

Heeseung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the ground, the rain creating ripples on the wet pavement. “It’s just… you’re always so careful with what you say. Always so in control. But sometimes… I wonder if you’re hiding something.”

Your stomach dropped at his words. You glanced over at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. The air between you felt heavier, and the tension seemed to stretch out longer than usual.

“I’m not hiding anything,” you murmured, even though part of you wished he could know the truth — or maybe, just maybe, that he could feel the same way.

Heeseung’s voice was quieter now, his tone almost teasing, but there was something else in it, something deeper. “Then why do you always look at me like that? Like you’re holding back?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

He finally met your eyes, his gaze intense. There was a flicker of something — was it vulnerability? — in his look. “Like you’re scared to let me in. What are you afraid of?”

Your breath hitched. For a split second, you were paralyzed, unsure of how to answer. Was it possible he was starting to see through your walls?

Heeseung’s gaze softened as he noticed the look on your face, sensing something unspoken. He took a step back, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Forget it.”

But you couldn’t forget it. Not now. You could feel the space between the two of you shifting, the weight of his words lingering. Something was different, something had shifted, and you weren’t sure if it was just your heart racing or something more.

For the rest of the walk, neither of you spoke much. But every time your eyes met, it felt like there was a new understanding between you two — a shared secret that neither of you was ready to fully admit, but both were beginning to feel.

It had been a long day, but when you stepped out of your last class, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. It wasn’t just the cold air or the approaching dusk; something was off, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. That was until you spotted Heeseung standing by the bench outside the library, his gaze fixed on you as if he’d been waiting for a while.

Your heart skipped a beat.

He looked at you for a moment before he spoke. “Cupid, we need to talk.”

A nervous flutter danced in your stomach, and you forced a smile. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

He took a deep breath, stepping toward you, and you noticed the letter in his hand — the same one you’d written to him, the one that had been slipped anonymously into his mailbox just a few days ago. Your heart pounded in your chest, the realization of what was happening dawning on you.

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a moment, just held the letter between his fingers, glancing down at it. “I know this is from you,” he said quietly, his voice gentle but filled with a soft surprise. “I figured it out after I read it again.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You had hoped, prayed, that he wouldn’t find out this way. But here it was, and you couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“How… How did you know?” you asked, trying to hide the nerves creeping up your voice.

He smiled slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “A few things gave it away. The way you worded everything… It just felt like it came from you.”

“Also I found some of your notebooks while we were at your dorm and I matched the handwriting…” He blurted out.

Your heart sank. You had spent so long hoping he wouldn’t realize it was you, but now it seemed impossible to hide the truth.

“I… I’m sorry,” you said, almost embarrassed. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I just… didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Heeseung’s expression softened. “Why would it be awkward?”

“Because I’ve liked you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it,” you admitted, looking down at your shoes. “So I thought if I wrote the letter, I could control it. But then I accidentally gave it to you and everything is just— I don’t know It was never meant to reach you.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, and something about the way he looked at you made your stomach flip. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I kind of wish you’d just told me sooner.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I wasn’t expecting it to be you but now that I know… It’s kind of a relief. I’ve been wondering why you’ve been acting so weird around me.”

You blinked, taken aback. “I’ve been acting weird?”

Heeseung laughed softly, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, you’ve been avoiding me like the plague. Always a little too nervous when we talk.”

You felt a wave of warmth rise to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to… I just…”

He took another step forward, the distance between the two of you shrinking. “You don’t need to explain. I get it.” He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an almost teasing glint in them. “Honestly, I’ve kind of had a feeling you liked me. You just never said it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Wait… you knew?”

He grinned. “Not for sure, but I wasn’t completely blind. I just didn’t want to make assumptions.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you felt your nerves ease a little. The tension that had been building between the two of you melted away, replaced by something lighter, something more familiar.

“So… this doesn’t make things weird?” you asked cautiously, unsure if you were reading him right. The last thing you wanted was to make things uncomfortable.

Heeseung shook his head, his smile softening. “No. Actually, I’m kind of glad. Now I don’t have to turn anyone down because I like someone else.”

Your heart raced as he closed the gap between the two of you, standing only a few inches away. He looked down at the letter in his hand, then back at you, his expression serious but warm. “I don’t think I ever really realized how much I liked you until now. I think I’ve been too caught up in my own head to notice, but hearing this from you? Yeah, I think I feel the same.”

For a moment, everything seemed to pause — the sound of people passing by, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, even the thumping of your own heartbeat — until Heeseung’s words sank in fully. The shock of it left you speechless, and the only thing you could manage was a soft, almost breathless, “Really?”

He chuckled, the sound light and comforting. “Really. I like you too, Cupid— I mean, Y/N.”

A smile spread across your face, and you couldn’t stop it. Your heart felt lighter than it had in days, as if a weight had been lifted off your chest. You had been so afraid of how things might turn out, but now, with Heeseung standing here in front of you, it felt like everything was falling into place.

Heeseung held the letter out to you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “You know, you could’ve just told me. But I guess this works too.”

You took the letter from him, glancing down at the words you’d written once more, a smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe it was a bit dramatic. But… I was too scared to just say it. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

He reached for your hand, gently taking it in his. “You didn’t mess anything up, Cupid. You just… made everything clearer.”

And just like that, all the tension and uncertainty you’d been feeling seemed to dissolve. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. You were standing here, with Heeseung, both of you finally understanding the feelings that had been simmering for so long.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice playful again, “How about we skip the letters next time and just go for a dinner date?”

You laughed, your heart full as you squeezed his hand. “That sounds perfect.”

Heeseung smiled, his gaze soft and filled with something genuine. “Good. Let’s not wait any longer, I really want some ramen.”

And with that, the two of you walked off together, the air between you light, and the promise of something more ahead.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Dating Heeseung felt like stepping into something familiar but entirely new at the same time. The comfort of your friendship was still there—the teasing, the ease, the way you could talk about anything and everything—but now there was something softer, sweeter, laced between every interaction.

Like right now.

It was late, the two of you curled up on your dorm room floor with a half-finished pizza between you, an old playlist humming softly from your phone. The world outside felt quiet, like this moment only belonged to the two of you. Heeseung was leaning against the bed, his legs stretched out, while you were sitting cross-legged beside him, picking at the crust of your pizza slice.

His hand, which had been resting casually near yours, suddenly slid closer, his fingers tracing the tips of yours absentmindedly. It was such a simple thing, but it sent a shiver up your spine nonetheless.

“So,” Heeseung started, voice slow and teasing. “How’s it feel? Finally dating the guy of your dreams?”

You rolled your eyes, already knowing where this was going. “You’re impossible.”

Heeseung grinned, leaning his head back against the bed. “No, but really. You had a crush on me for so long, and now look at us.” His fingers fully laced with yours now, his touch warm and effortless.

“I wouldn’t say I had a crush that long,” you mumbled, taking a sip of your drink to avoid looking at him.

“Are you kidding? You literally wrote me a love letter.”

Your face burned. “Okay, one letter—”

“One?” Heeseung gasped dramatically, sitting up and turning toward you. “So you’re telling me there aren’t, like, ten versions of that letter somewhere in your notes app?”

You choked. “There absolutely are not.”

“Oh my god.” He laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “There are. You rewrote it a bunch of times, didn’t you?”

You covered your face with your hands, groaning. “I am not having this conversation.”

Heeseung was grinning now, having way too much fun at your expense. He reached over, gently prying your hands from your face. “No, no, let’s talk about it. Tell me, how long did it take you to get the perfect wording? Did you, like, pace around your room dramatically?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “For your information, I wasn’t that dramatic.”

Heeseung smirked. “Mhm. So you didn’t dramatically sigh and go, ‘No, this isn’t right, I need to capture his essence’?”

You picked up a stray piece of crust and chucked it at him. He dodged it easily, laughing as he caught your wrist, pulling you toward him slightly.

“You’re the worst,” you mumbled, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Heeseung was still grinning, his fingers now playing with yours absentmindedly. “You love it.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I really don’t.”

“You do,” he countered, tugging you even closer until you were practically pressed against his side. His voice dropped, softer now, almost teasing in a different way. “Did you mean everything you said in that letter?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “What if I did?”

Heeseung tilted his head, his gaze locked onto yours, and suddenly, the playful atmosphere melted into something else—something quieter, more intense.

“Then,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles, “I’d tell you that I think about it a lot.”

You blinked. “You do?”

Heeseung nodded, his expression unusually serious now. “I mean, do you even realize how… nice it is to know someone felt that way about me? And not just anyone—you.” He exhaled, his lips curling into something softer, more affectionate. “I don’t think I ever told you, but when I first read it, before I even knew it was from you, I remember thinking… whoever wrote this really cares about me.”

Your heart was thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“And then,” he continued, “when I found out it was you? It just… it all made sense.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “It did?”

Heeseung hummed in response.

“You’ve always been there,” he said softly. “I just didn’t realize how much I wanted you to be closer.”

You felt your throat tighten, emotion bubbling up in your chest, but before you could even think of a response, Heeseung leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

His eyes flickered to your lips for just a moment before meeting your gaze again, as if silently asking permission.

You didn’t need to think twice.

Closing the small distance between you, you kissed him.

It was soft, slow—like both of you were still memorizing the feeling. Heeseung sighed against your lips, his hand sliding to your jaw, tilting your face toward him just slightly.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and heart pounding, Heeseung smiled, his forehead still pressed to yours.

“So,” he murmured, eyes twinkling, “if I ask you nicely, do I get to read those other drafts of the letter?”

You groaned, shoving him away playfully. “Absolutely not.”

Heeseung only laughed, pulling you back into his arms with ease. “Fine, fine. But at least let me know—was I always this irresistible in them?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Shut up, Heeseung.”

He grinned, pressing another soft kiss to your temple. “Love you too.”

Series Taglist — next

@saphiranishimurashan @m1kkso @taesanoreohair @elairah @baribaaari @letwiiparkjay @jellyluv4eva @mbsnow @moontyun @manuosorioh

- if you weren’t tagged you need to fix your visibility!

[quarterlifekitty]

Gaz who frequents your flower shop

I think he’s a big believer in getting ephemeral gifts. Things that are so so good that have a short window of time to enjoy. Fresh fruit, freshly baked breads, flower bouquets.

So he’s at your place for almost every occasion. Promotions at work, birthdays, holidays— even if it’s just a single rose, fresh flowers always brighten things up, don’t they? He thinks it’s a tradition that needs to make more of a comeback.

Anyways, one Valentine’s Day, one of your busiest days (full of rush orders from rude people whose romantic relationships apparently hang in the balance, and probably for good reason), you see Kyle coming in around closing. For anyone else, you’d say you’re afraid you’re closing up for the day, but for him? You can stay open a little while longer and do a quick arrangement.

Only he’s already got flowers in his hands. Beautiful ones. You recognize the work and the signature filler— it’s from an extremely nice shop. Not a competitor— because it must be at least a 3 hour drive from yours.

The bouquet is dwarfing the little teddy bear that’s got its arms wrapped around it, backdropped by the satin ribbon on what looks like a beautiful chocolate assortment. You smile, a little puzzled.

“I’d ask for your order, but it looks like you’re already kitted out for the holiday, hm?”

He almost looks a little nervous.

“Well, I— these are for you, love. I figure you spend the whole year making romance come alive for everyone else, I wondered if someone thought to get you a little something…. Then again, maybe you have a boyfriend and I look like a right prick right now,” he says with a little smirk, realizing he kind of just assumed you’d like the gesture. “Or maybe you’re a bit tired of flowers, hm?”

You take them gratefully from his arms into yours, the sound of the cellophane and tissue gently crinkling. “I… I don’t remember the last time someone got me flowers.” You look closer at the arrangement. Smell them. Bleeding hearts— an appropriate choice, but not very popular in the arrangement world. “Would you… would you want to come back to mine? Help me pick a vase to put these in. In my line of work, you tend to accumulate them, and it becomes so hard to choose. I can make coffee,” you offer hopefully. He sighs in what can only be described as elation and relief.

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

[celuere]

For our dear girl Mavuika.. Fucking pregnant!Fem!Reader, or with a breeding of kink? Story is up to you, you have great imagination, you'll do a perfect job, so I trust you :3

you have no idea what a soft spot i have for tender pregnant sex anon… and with mavuika wokeksnekwnewi I KNOW SHE‘D BE SO GENTLE WITH YOU, HOLDING AND CARESSING YOUR BABY BELLY AND ALL DAT OH IM SO SICK. also this turned out shorter than expected but i still hope you like it wkrbnwnrdnke

cw: pregnant sex, mavuika is SO soft for her wife ngh, mavuika has a dick here because anon and i said so!

„shhhh… relax…“, mavuika cooed as she slowly slid you drenched panties down your legs before putting them away besides her. as if she was carefully unwrapping a birthday present. a pillow placed underneath your waist to prevent you from lying flat on your back, when you happened to be six months into your pregnancy, some things have to be handled differently after all. but the tenderness she handled you with caused your heart to race nonetheless.

„is it really okay for you…?“

„of course it is… my wife has needs that have to be fulfilled… what kind of spouse were i if i just ignored these?“, she gently squeezed the plush of your thighs before pushing them apart and you didn‘t miss out on glimmer of lust blitzing up in her eyes which she quickly blinked away.

your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as your swollen belly hindered your view on her boner when she started shedding out of her clothes.

„y-you know you don‘t have to for my sake…“

„but i want to, darling. my pregnant wife wishes for some relief, then that‘s exactly what i‘m gonna do.“, her tone was firm, she wanted this just as much as you did. keeping your legs gently parted for as she leaned forward until you felt the tip of her pressing against your needy pussy and you more or less swallowed her first two inches up accident. pregnancy did some wonders to you. but maybe it was just the fact that you watched her working out for a good three hours in front of your shared house, pretending to be awfully invested in a pregnancy guide.

the sudden intrusion caused your hand to find its way into her neck, a soft whimper escaping your lips. goodness, you almost forgot what it felt like and for the first time in months mavuika felt like she was loosing control over herself. hand coming up to get a gentle hold of your baby bulge, „my star… y-you feel so unbelievably amazing… c-can i-“

„mhm- p-please…“, urging her to push deeper into you by trying to scoot closer to her. she almost melted at the sight of her pregnant wife begging for her. immediately making sure to add inch by inch and you were so incredibly welcoming to her, so wet and ready for her and yet you were clenching around her so tightly. she might as well got accepted into heaven itself.

„atta girl… i‘m not going anywhere…“, goodness you‘re gonna come alone from her sultry tone if she continued talking to you like this.

no words needed to be spoken, your wife knew exactly what needed to be done.

she started moving slowly at first, dragging her cock out before pushing her hips back forward. your moans were practically all over the place. she was soft, so incredibly tender with you as she watched you melt over her gentle pace.

„look at you, sweetie… does it feel good enough for you…? you seem to enjoy it a lot…“, your wife reached a hand over to gently cup your cheek, stroking with her thumb over your cheekbone as she stared down at her whole world.

she never knew that she‘d one day be granted with a family of her own. that the 500 years of waiting will be paying her back in the form of a… baby. but mavuika was never one to complain. ever.

„f-feels amazing…“, you grabbed onto her other hand resting on your belly almost instinctively, interlacing your fingers, giving her a tight squeeze as if she were to slip out of your touch at any given moment. you couldn‘t handle it. her dick gently pumping in and out of you, the love in her eyes, the feeling of your wedding ring against her own. the fact that she is the mother of your child.

your orgasm was soft, so incredibly intense but you didn’t start shaking when you creamed over her in a soft moan. eyes squeezing shut before she bottomed out in a low moan and then her cum painted your insides.

it felt different than before, not in a bad way. a bit more… heavy, if that makes any sense.

„o-oh archons…. y-you’re perfect… you are so perfect, sweetheart…“, praises over praises spilling over her lips as she made sure to let you both calm down first. bending down to pepper soft kithes over your face, a strong hand running over the lower side of your swollen belly, she couldn’t keep them to herself nowadays. her hands always find their way to your baby bump, no matter where or when.

„e-exaggerating as always… n-now let me get on top…“, you patted her toned shoulders in order to signal her to get off of you.

„darling… don‘t you think you are getting a bit ahead of yourself…? you shouldn’t overdo it-”

„mavuika, let me get on top.“

and you always had the last word.

[katsu28]

sent and delivered

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary: after your scheduled coffee date with bradley, your friendship progresses into something more over time. (7k)

part 2 to return to sender

warnings: swearing, some use of Y/N

a/n: hello again my tgm family!! went a little overboard with this, but thank you to my sweet @familyvideostevie, who came up with this beautiful friends to lovers plotline for a part 2 literal ages ago, and the lovely @starryeyedstories for putting me in my rooster feels again <3

You shouldn’t be so nervous for coffee with Bradley as you are right now. You’ve already changed your outfit at least twice, sifted through your pantry for a suitable accompaniment to coffee so many times you’ve lost count, and as the clock ticks its way to noon, genuinely debated on making an excuse to bail. 

A few careful deep breaths clears your mind a little, reminds you that no, you aren’t going to bail on Bradley. You’re going to see this thing through if it’s the last thing you ever do, fight or flight response be damned. 

You’re a jumble of nerves as you finally make your way over to his apartment, just like the first time you met him.

Only this time it isn’t because you were afraid he was an asshole (you know now that he was the in fact opposite), but because your crush on him has grown tenfold just overnight. 

See, you’d spent a good chunk of the time you were meant to be asleep last night on the phone chatting with him about anything and everything, never a lull in the conversation until the sun started to peek through the curtains and the birds began their daily morning song.

He’d sounded sad when you announced you had to grab a few hours of shut eye, but murmured a soft see you later that had your heart thudding a little faster in your chest. 

Maybe you even buried your face in a pillow and squealed a little the moment you hung up, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

You knock on his door firmly, shifting the package of Oreos from hand to hand nervously as you wait. 

The door swings open to reveal a smiling Bradley, and suddenly all your worries seem to fade away. 

He’s wearing jeans and a well-fitting Hawaiian shirt this time, which would’ve looked tacky as hell on anyone else, but Bradley found a way to pull it off. He still looks way too damn good for someone who’d been up the whole night. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, beckoning you inside with a smile. You mirror his smile, but before you can return his greeting, he brings you into a hug. He smells of fresh laundry and sea breeze and something heady that you can’t quite put your finger on but like nonetheless. “Long time no talk.” 

You let out a huff of amusement. “Right, because seven hours is just such a long time.” 

“Sure felt like forever,” He replies, reaching around you to shut the door. His arm grazes against the small of your back as he does, a fleeting touch that still manages to make you shiver. Maybe Bradley notices, because he lets his hand linger for another second, expression shifting into something softer as he eases the cookies out of your hands. “This for me?” 

“Uh, yeah! I hope you like Oreos, ‘cause it’s really all I had,” You say sheepishly, folding your arms around yourself in an awkward attempt to seem normal. 

“I love Oreos. Thank you.” He bobs his head quickly. “Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourself at home.”

Bradley’s apartment has the same layout as yours, but other than that it looks like a completely different place. 

While you’d decorated your space with all sorts of odds and ends, posters and paintings and a plethora of knick knacks adorning your shelves, Bradley’s is…kind of empty, save for a few sports posters and some workout gear scattered in the hallway leading to the bedroom. A piano sits over by the window that gives the place some character, but other than that it doesn’t really look like this is anyone’s home. 

It’s as if he feels you taking in your surroundings, because he chuckles awkwardly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s plain, I know. Definitely won’t be winning any awards for interior design.” 

“Oh, I dunno, the minimalistic look is really in these days,” You hum, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“You’re too nice to me. I’m not here a lot of the time, so I haven’t really done the whole ‘making it feel like home’ thing yet. I’ll get to it though.” He admits, kicking aside a lone pair of shorts. “Anyways, uh—forget this, why don’t we keep moving on into the kitchen?” 

The kitchen is much more interesting than the rest of the apartment, mainly the wall of postcards and photos next to the fridge that catch your eye immediately.

“Now, this is more like it!” You gasp, beelining for the wall to look at them. Postcards of sandy beaches, snowy mountains, and everything in between. Pictures of a younger and current Bradley with whom you assumed were his fellow Navy buddies, smiling wide for the camera like he’s having the time of his life. A few more older photos of a woman and a man who looks just like Bradley with a kid who you assumed was Bradley. 

You feel Bradley’s presence come up behind you, hear him inhale a sharp breath. “Those are my parents.” 

“You look just like your dad.” 

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says.” 

“And your mom is beautiful.”

“She was.” You know better than to pry any further than that. One day, maybe, but not any time soon. He sniffs once, then clears his throat. “You, um, you want some coffee?” 

You leave the wall to come settle on one of the barstools across the counter from him, propping your chin up in your hand as he pulls open a cabinet.  “Ah, the infamous coffee maker! Damn that thing is huge.”

“Don’t come for me, but I’ve still only figured out how to make one thing,” He warns, pointing at you with a mug. “Hope you like black coffee, ‘cuz that’s all you’re getting.”

“Black coffee is perfect.” 

“I have milk if you take yours with some. Only almond milk though. Supposed to be better for the bones, according to Hangman.” Bradley nods his head towards the fridge. “S’in there if you need it, help yourself.” 

“First the machine, now the milk—this Hangman must be a trustworthy guy if you take all your coffee tips from him.” 

Bradley laughs, a loud belly laugh that sends a tumbling feeling through your chest. “Dude’s a total knucklehead, but he means well. I think you’d like him.” 

“What’s that thing they say about a person’s friends being a reflection of themselves?” You muse teasingly, tilting your head. 

“I know you didn’t just call me a knucklehead!” 

“Your words, not mine.” You lift one shoulder, letting it drop with a look of feigned innocence. 

“Funny.” 

As always, conversation with Bradley is never dull. Even though you’d talked for hours on end the night before, there is no shortage of stories to be told, life stories shared over coffee and Oreos like you’ve known each other forever. 

Somehow you wind up here, talking about how you both ended up in the same apartment complex. You’d found this place on your own and were immediately sold on it. It was affordable, not too small but not too big, and quiet enough for you. Seemed like a perfect deal had fallen right into your lap. 

Bradley, on the other hand, had found it a completely different way. His friend Nat had been going out with a total douchebag of a guy who just so happened to be looking for a place at the same time Bradley had been, sharing his apartment hunt findings with her. 

She found out he’d been seeing another girl behind her back the whole time, kicked his ass to the curb, tipped Bradley off on the open spot in the complex, and Bradley swooped in to nab the place before the cheating son of a bitch could even blink. 

“You did not!” You gasp, covering your mouth with your palm in shock. 

“I did!” Bradley laughs, nodding enthusiastically. “Never liked the guy anyways. And what was he gonna do, confront me about it? Dude was a total coward, he wasn’t gonna come accuse me of jack shit!” 

“You’re smart, Bradshaw, I’ll give you that.” 

“Apparently not smart enough to know that my mail was being sent to the wrong apartment for months. Again, I’m really sorry about that.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal, I keep telling you that,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t mind, really.” 

“How come you didn’t tell me earlier?” 

“Honestly? I thought you were kinda scary,” You admit sheepishly, ducking your head in embarrassment. 

It feels silly even admitting it, knowing now who Bradley actually is doesn’t fit your perception of him by a long shot. But at the same time, admitting it feels somewhat freeing, like you’re letting go of someone you never knew to make way for someone you’d really love to get to know more. 

Bradley’s eyes widens, mouth falling open just the slightest bit in shock. “Scary? Me?” 

“Yes, you! I dunno if you’ve seen yourself from another person’s eyes, but you look intimidating! You’ve got that whole big tough guy look going on, and I’m not great with confrontation.” 

“And what do you think of me now?” He asks softly, settling his chin in the palm of his hand as he meets your gaze intently. There go your nerves again, swirling in the pit of your stomach like a whirlpool threatening to suck you in. 

You inhale a deep breath, letting it come back out as a sort of breathy chuckle. “I think you’re not at all what I thought you’d be.” 

“In a good way or a bad way?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Anything I could do to sway the odds in my favor?” 

Your mouth is suddenly drier than a desert despite all the liquid you’ve been downing, palms clammy against the ceramic of the mug clutched in your grasp. 

You aren’t ready to answer that question, even though you already have an inkling of the things he could do. So you do the only thing you could think of to get yourself out of this situation. You change the subject. 

“I…um—I really loved the chandelier when I took a walk through of the place,” You blurt, jerking your chin over at the sleek fixture above the dining area to draw Bradley’s attention to it. “Really brings the whole place together. Or, it would if mine would stop flickering all the damn time.”

His face falls just the tiniest bit at the sudden change of subject, but his features twist in curiosity within a split second. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, yours doesn’t?” 

“No, mine’s been fine since I moved in. Have you tried taking a look at it, see what’s wrong?” 

You offer him a sheepish smile, bashful now. “This is really embarrassing, but I’m—I’m kind of scared that it’s gonna fall on me if I mess with it. Y’know, revenge of the light fixtures and all that?” Bradley’s mouth lifts at the edges, and you could tell he’s fighting another smile. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a legitimate concern!” 

“Not laughing!” He clears his throat, giving his head a little shake to keep his composure. But even then, there’s no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. “Chandeliers are very scary.” 

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” You groan, hanging your head. Bradley’s soft chuckle brings a flaming warmth to your cheeks. 

“I could…take a look at it, if you want?” 

Your head whips up to stare at him. “Right now?” 

“Today, yeah. If you’re free after this, I mean.” He shrugs, giving the spoon in his cup a few stirs. 

“For real?” 

“I have tools. I’ll take a look, see if it’s an easy fix and if not, we can call maintenance.” 

“You’re walking a slippery slope, Bradley Bradshaw. If you can get the chandelier working again there’s no guarantee I won’t be calling you for every other household problem in the future.” 

“No complaints here.” 

After you’ve both finished your coffee, Bradley grabs his toolbox from under the stairs, and now you’re both standing in the entryway of your own apartment. You feel him taking in your space the same way you did his, your cheeks flaming hot at the clutter of things all around. 

“It’s usually a lot tidier than this, I swear. I’ve just had a lot of deadlines at work and I haven’t gotten the chance to put everything back in its place.” 

Bradley just smiles, giving a noncommittal shrug. “S’no big deal. I like it.” Everything he got from spending more time with you, he could see it reflected in your space. And as cliche as it sounded, he felt more at home here than he did in his own apartment. 

He sets his toolbox down, grabbing a set of pliers and hopping up on the table with ease to poke around the chandelier for a while before fiddling with something. 

He climbs back down, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans and tossing the tool back into the box, planting his hands on his hips. “Looks like one of the wires was just a little loose. The bad connection caused it to flicker, but I tightened it a bit so it should be fine now. Maybe try it and see?” 

You hurry over to the light switch, flicking it on hopefully. Normally it would start to flicker immediately, but when ten seconds go by and the light shines bright, you beam. “So you’re an electrician too, huh?” 

“Hardly. One of my buddies is though. Sometimes he needs an extra set of hands so I tag along with him, see what I can learn.”  

“Well either way, you’re a godsend!” 

“Just glad I could help.” 

“Let me cook you dinner! I have—” You exclaim, shuffling over to the fridge and pulling it open only to be met with nearly bare shelves, save for a few containers of old fruit and condiments. “—nothing. I have nothing, because I was supposed to go to the store yesterday. Well, this is embarrassing!” 

Bradley had followed you to the kitchen, sliding onto one of the barstools coolly. “No, this is all very reassuring, ‘cause I’ve been meaning to go shopping too but I keep putting it off. Glad to see I’m not the only one with poor weekly grocery trip skills.” 

“I’m sure that was meant to be reassuring, but it really just makes us both sound sad,” You groan, slumping over onto your own stool.

“Your words, not mine,” Bradley chuckles, echoing your earlier words with a cheery smile. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Okay, I can fix this!” You exclaim, holding up a finger as you open UberEats on your phone. “We could do Thai, burgers, pizza—” 

“You don’t have to buy me dinner, really, I’m just happy I could help.” 

“You can say no all you want, Bradley, it doesn’t really matter to me. You’re staying for dinner, and we can either compromise and get something we both want, or I’ll order something you hate,” You insist, trying to sound as firm as you could. 

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” 

You grin at him, eyes alight with mischief. “No, I don’t.” 

“I like that.” I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t. 

“What’ll it be then?” 

“I wouldn’t say no to some pizza. Got a six pack back in my fridge I could bring over too, if you want.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“Of beer, that is,” He adds. “No relation to my giant package.” 

“Oh, you asshole! You swore you’d never bring that up again!” You huff, leaning over to swat at him. Bradley dodges you easily, an easy smile playing at his lips. 

“Okay, okay! I won’t say anything else about it, I promise.” 

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah I’m totally lying.” 

-------

And so it began, a saga of texting Bradley to see if the things in his apartment were as defective as yours, him coming over to help fix various things, and you scrambling to show your utmost appreciation for his help.

A broken thermostat meant going downtown for dinner and drinks at some new restaurant “just to try it out”, a leaky sink resulted in him guilting you into a Mission: Impossible marathon (and a whole lot of insisting the main character looked exactly like one of his Navy higher ups). 

That soon turned into you and Bradley spending more and more time at each other’s places, doing fuck all but enjoying each other’s friendship. And over time, that friendship grew a bit more-than-friends-like—he’d always flirt with you, you’d flirt right back—but neither of you had the guts to do anything about it.

Lingering glances, brushing hands that lasted a little too long to be innocent, inside jokes only the two of you were privy to. You’re almost positive he feels the same way about you as you do him, but every time you want to act on it, you chicken out. You've never been one for putting yourself out there, and that hasn’t changed. 

You’re about to turn in for the night today, going to close the window in your bedroom only to realize that the lock on the frame isn’t sliding into place the way it usually did. 

After jiggling it a few times to see if it would prove a quick fix and finding that it most certainly doesn’t fix a thing, you reach for your phone, instinctively sending off a quick message to Bradley without even really having to think about it. 

y/n: quick question! what should i do if my window won’t lock? 

Not five minutes after you hit send, your phone buzzes, Bradley’s name flashing across the screen for a video call. 

It’s odd, because usually when you text about something in your apartment not working the way it's supposed to, he just shoots back a message saying he’ll be right over. It’s nighttime, so you were honestly kind of looking forward to seeing him in his grey sweats and bicep hugging black tee combo. 

You give yourself a quick once over in your phone camera, smoothing down any flyaway hairs before hitting the answer call button. There’s a few beats of nothing as the call connects, but he’s on your screen soon enough, somewhere you don’t recognize and half-shrouded in the dark like he’s under something. 

“Something’s wrong with your window?” He asks, brow creased in concern. 

“Hi to you too, Bradley.” 

“Sorry, hi. But your window, is the lock broken?” 

“I think so? Usually when I go to turn the plastic lock thingy it clicks into place, but I tried it like four times and it’s not clicking, so…” You trail off, pouting. “D’you—I mean, are you busy right now? Would you mind popping over to take a look?” 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m actually not home right now. Won’t be for another few weeks.” Bradley frowns, scratching at his cheek. “I’m overseas.” 

“Oh my god, Bradley! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!” 

“No, you’re good! If I was home, I’d be over in a heartbeat, but uh, unfortunately,” He sighs, gesturing vaguely at his surroundings. “Here, flip the camera. Lemme see if I can see what’s wrong from here.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask, gnawing on your lip. It seems wrong, still having Bradley be your on-call maintenance guy even when he’s somewhere probably a thousand miles away. But he nods enthusiastically so you oblige, flipping the camera so it’s facing the seemingly broken lock. 

You watch him blink a few times and squint at the fuzzy video screen for a little bit before sighing again. 

“Sorry, Y/N. I can’t see shit from here.” 

“Yeah no, it’s fine.” You shrug, flipping the camera back to face you. You prop your phone up on your windowsill, settling into a more comfortable position to chat with him. “Where overseas are you?” 

“Afraid that’s classified, ma’am.” He bows his head in apology, but there was a teasing smile on his face. “See, I could tell you. But then I’d have to kill you.” 

You let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, really?” 

“Unfortunately. And you’re too pretty to meet that end, so I’m gonna have to keep my whereabouts a secret to save us both the hassle.” 

Pretty. Bradley thinks you’re pretty. 

You have to fight the smile threatening to break your composure. “How gracious of you.” 

“Isn’t it? I surprise myself sometimes,” He sighs good-naturedly, looking all too pleased with himself. “But seriously, talk to the super about your window, have them get the maintenance guy to take a look. Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep til it gets fixed.” 

“Aw, you worried about me, Bradley?” You tease, pouting playfully at him. 

He rolls his eyes. “You know I am.” 

“I’ll call the super tomorrow.” 

“Not today?” 

“I’ll let you know if someone breaks in through my third floor window.” 

“Hey, you never know! People are stealthy,” Bradley protests, shifting to a sitting position and subsequently hitting his head on the bunk above him. He lets out a hiss of pain, rubbing the top of his head with a grimace. 

“Some people are, but you’re definitely not,” You snicker, to which Bradley gives you another eye roll. “Are you about to go to bed?” 

“I was gonna, but I’d much rather talk to you.” 

That nearly makes you swoon. God, Bradley is good with his words. Damn him. 

“Go to sleep, I’ll let you know when it’s fixed. Wouldn’t want you worrying your pretty little head about me all night.” 

“Pretty little head,” He echos, tilting said pretty little head to the side. 

“It’s, uh, it’s just a figure of speech,” You insist, feeling your cheeks grow embarrassingly warm. Funny how they always do that whenever you’re talking to him. Or thinking about him. Or thinking about talking to him. 

Bradley just smiles again. “Sure is.” 

“Goodnight, Bradley.” 

“Night, sweetheart. I’m expecting that text to be there when I wake up.” He hangs up before you can register the nickname, but you can’t stop the giddy grin breaking across your face when you do. 

First he calls you pretty, now he’s calling you sweetheart. He’s getting bolder. You aren’t sure if that means he feels the same way about you, or if it’s just his personality. Even after you’d known him for almost six months, you still can’t tell. 

-------

Bradley rouses from his sleep at five on the dot, throwing himself into his Navy enforced routine until lunchtime, when he could finally sit down and check his phone. Upon powering it back on and glancing at the homescreen, he sees that he has two notifications from you. One of them is a selfie of you beaming next to your newly fixed latched window, sending him a thumbs up. 

Shit, you’re so pretty. It makes his heart ache to be away from home this time, not able to help you when you need it. 

The other is a text to accompany the photo. 

y/n: window is fixed. hope you sleep well tonight knowing no stealthy people are gonna break in :)

He snorts softly, a smile overtaking his face as he taps out a reply. 

bradley: i won’t worry my pretty little head about it anymore. 

y/n: you better not be texting me from the jet!! 

bradley: and so what if i was? i’d call it multitasking. 

y/n: i’d call it damn stupid, lieutenant. can’t have my handyman ditching me, so come home in one piece, k? 

“Now who in the world could you be texting that’s got you cheesin’ like a big ol’ idiot right now?” Hangman’s voice drawls from across the table, drawing Bradley’s attention away from his phone and to the rest of the squad, who all look at him with the same expectant expressions. 

“Five bucks it’s his girl from back home,” Payback chimes in, smirking knowingly. 

“I’ll take that action, please and thank you,” Fanboy replies, smacking his hand into Payback’s for a shake to seal the deal. 

“She’s not my—have you guys been creeping on my texts?” 

“Well, not creeping per se,” Phoenix reasons, holding her hands up in defense. “I was only trying to send myself that picture of Bob sleeping with that marker mustache when she texted.” 

Bob makes an incredulous noise, head whipping towards his front seater. “You guys said there were no pictures!” 

“Nothing, nevermind,” She hums, waving him off. “Back to the subject at hand. Y/N. Rooster’s girl.” 

“How d’you know her—hold on, how the fuck did you get into my phone?” 

“Your password is your birthday, dumbass. You should really change it, by the way. Cybersecurity is no joke.”

“Whatever. She’s not my girl, by the way. If any of you cared to know. We’re just…friends.” 

“See that hesitation between just and friends? Bradshaw’s a liar!” Hangman whoops, drumming his fingers on the table. “He wants to be her boyfriend!” That last word comes out a teasing singsong, making Bradley roll his eyes. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t need everyone knowing that. 

“Real mature, Hangman. Real mature.” 

“Can’t argue with the truth, Rooster.” 

-------

You soon discover that life is pretty boring without Bradley around. There’s nobody to bother when you get bored, nobody to make dumb jokes while you watch a movie, nobody to force you to go out even though you don’t want to. Bradley was always the one to do all those things with you, and he isn’t here. Sure, you’re still able to text and talk, but it isn’t the same. You miss him. 

So when your doorbell rings and you aren’t expecting anyone, your mind immediately goes to Bradley. You quickly give yourself a once over in the mirror in the foyer, making sure you look at least halfway presentable before pulling open the door excitedly. 

Bradley’s already beaming when your eyes land on him, but his smile gets even wider as he takes you in. He looks the same as the last time you saw him, although definitely better than he did on a grainy video screen. He’s a little tanner than you remember, shoulders a smidge broader, but still the same Bradley you’d grown some big feelings for. 

“Remember me?” He jokes, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

You give him a once over with a tilted head, frowning. “Sorry, no. I think you might have the wrong apartment.” 

“Oh, she’s funny now!”

“Okay, ouch. I’ve always been funny, Bradshaw,” You huff, but the smile stretching your lips tells him you’re anything but annoyed. “Welcome home.” 

You aren’t sure if you should hug him but you do anyway, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in his achingly familiar cologne. Bradley settles into your embrace almost like he’s melting, letting his nose drop into the dip of your neck as he hugs you back a little too tightly. Not that you’re complaining about it. 

“Glad to be back. Missed you.” He straightens up as soon as those last two words leave his mouth, backing away almost jerkily with a hand flying to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I missed you too, Bradley.” 

The edges of his mouth quirk up into the beginnings of a smile. “So me and my buddies were gonna head to our usual spot for drinks tonight, kinda like a being back stateside, welcome home type thing. I’d really like it if you came with me.” 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” You shake your head profusely, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. Bradley’s head cocks in confusion. “It’s your time with your friends, I don’t want to impose.” 

“You won’t be. I want you there, I want you to meet them all,” He insists, looking entirely sincere. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. Come with me, please.” 

You gnaw a little on your lip in contemplation, only managing to hold out a few seconds under his intense gaze before giving a small defeated sigh. “Okay. I’ll join you.” 

“Great!” He beams, looking rather pleased. “Now tell me everything that happened while I was gone. And spare no detail either, I need to catch up on the complex gossip. Did that kid Andrew ever stop banging on his drums until three in the morning? Does that family across the parking lot still go on walks with their wailing baby or has that sucker settled down yet? I need to know.”

After bringing Bradley up to speed on everything, it’s time to meet his friends. 

Rowdy isn’t sufficient enough to describe the Hard Deck. A Navy joint through and through, the whole place is decked out floor to ceiling with model jets and patches and other various related memorabilia.

The group Bradley leads you towards seems to be the loudest of them all, scattered out around a pool table in the back corner chatting amongst each other and looking happy to be home. 

The first person to notice Bradley’s arrival is a dark haired woman with a pool cue in her hand, which she swings his way upon sight of him coming up next to her, nearly taking off his head had he not stepped back a little. “Bradshaw! Tell Bagman he’s insane if he thinks he can chug a beer in under five seconds, tell him that!” 

“No, you tell Phoenix that I can do whatever I—well, hello there,” The blond man—Bagman, you assume—stops mid sentence when he lays eyes on you, dropping the offended look and aiming a pearly white smile your way. “And who might you be?” 

“Not gonna happen, Hangman,” Bradley warns. He looks entirely serious about it too. 

“Oh, so you’re the Hangman this guy always talks about,” You lilt, ignoring the gentle shove Bradley gives you in return. 

“Aw, Roo, you talk about me?” Hangman drawls, grinning wildly. “Way to make a man blush!”  

“Yeah, yeah, don’t flatter yourself.” Bradley rolls his eyes playfully, giving his head a shake before introducing you to his friends. Each of them has a unique callsign that seems to fit them perfectly. Your favorite name is Coyote because of how cool it is, but you’d never let Bradley know that. 

The woman Hangman had been bickering with, Phoenix, inhales a sharp breath, her eyes bouncing between you and Bradley with barely contained glee. “Oh my god, you’re Rooster’s girl! He’s been—”

Bradley clamps a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder before she can continue, cutting her short. “Alright!” He blurts, giving her a quick few pats. He angles his head towards you, offering a guilty smile. “Sorry about her, she’s drunk. Doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

“Move the hand or you’ll lose it, Bradshaw,” She says slowly, pinning him to the spot with a death stare. Bradley retracts his hand instantly, looking intimidated as he does so and Phoenix aims a grin your way. “He’s well trained, I promise. I think maybe you’ve had something to do with that?” 

“I dunno about training, but I’ve taught him a few tricks.”

“What am I, a dog?” Bradley splutters, looking from your grin to Phoenix’s and huffing out a sigh when you both nod. “I feel attacked! This is so unfair.” 

“I like you. We need to get you a drink,” Phoenix says very as-a-matter-of-factly, holding up her empty glass towards you as proof. “Any preference?” 

“Surprise me?” 

“Copy that.” 

You watch her retreat over to the bar, casting a quick glance at your surroundings to make sure nobody is paying attention before leaning in towards Bradley, who mirrors your actions almost instantaneously. 

“Rooster’s girl?” You chuckle, raising an amused brow. You’d never admit it out loud, but you like the nickname. It meant that he told his friends about you. Maybe not in the way you’d wanted them to learn about your existence, because he’d probably told them you’re just friends, but nice nonetheless. 

Bradley goes positively pink in the face. “It’s, uh—s’nothing, my friends just like to mess around.” 

“Okay.” You shrug trying to play it cool while simultaneously fighting the urge to squeal like a damn schoolgirl on the inside. You ought to earn some sort of medal for your performance. 

You soon fall into easy conversation with Phoenix and her backseater Bob when she returns with drinks. It isn’t until Bradley finally leaves your side to go play a round of pool with some of the other guys that she props her chin up in her hand, smiling knowingly at you. 

“So…you and Rooster?” 

“What about us?” 

“Are you guys…y’know,” She gestures vaguely in the air, tilting her head over at Bradley. “A thing?” 

“Oh my god,” Bob mutters, so soft you barely even hear it. He looks mortified at his partner’s very not subtle insinuation. “Nat, you can’t just ask her that.” 

“Oh no, it’s okay! We, uh—Bradley and I are just friends.” 

Phoenix doesn’t look like she believes you one bit, but she just nods reassuringly. “Well, just friends or not, you’re good for him.” Then she moves onto a new topic like it’s nothing, but her words echoed in your mind. 

You cast a glance over at Bradley a little ways away, where he’s chatting idly with another one of his buddies. 

You’re good for him. 

If anything, Bradley is good for you. He pushes you out of your comfort zone, he helps you come out of your shell. He’s the reason you’ve grown into a new person, one that the old you would never have even dreamed of becoming. 

Maybe your attention lingers a little too long, because he tears his eyes away from his conversation partner to meet your gaze, lips curling up into a grin as he nods at you in acknowledgement. Even from across the bar, you can see the soft twinkle in his eyes, the fondness and warmth in his smile causing your heart to swell in your chest. 

By the time you and Bradley decide to call it a night and head home, you already have an indefinite invitation to any and every squad function in the future (whether or not Bradley was present, Phoenix had added with a wink). 

“So…what did you think of ‘em?” 

“I like your friends. They’re nice,” You say earnestly. You mean it.

“Good. I’m glad. They really like you too, Phoenix and Bob especially,” He says casually, flicking on his blinker to turn left. You let out a pleased chuckle at that. 

The two of you chat like normal the rest of the way home once you both settle back into your usual back and forth, exchanging more stories from your respective lives until Bradley pulls into his assigned parking space. 

“Before I forget, I brought you back something.” 

“Oh?” You raise a curious eyebrow. 

He reaches over to your side of the car, fumbling around in the glove compartment for a few seconds until he procures what he’s searching for—a small postcard with a photo of a very picturesque beach. The corners are a bit bent from being shoved in there, but Bradley straightens them out as best he can before holding it out to you.  

Turning it around in your hands, you spot a note in his familiar chicken scratch on the other side, much tinier than you remember but only because it details how much he hated sharing a tiny bunk with Hangman, who was an avid sleep talker when he wasn’t snoring as loud as humanly possible throughout the entire night. 

One thing stands out to you though, the last sentence before he’d signed his name with a rather crooked looking smiley face—I miss you. 

“This town was near where we were stationed. I was gonna mail the card, but I wanted this first one to be special.” 

“Special?” You echo, tilting your head. 

“Yeah. Thought maybe it’d be fun if I send you one of these every time I’m deployed and you could start your own wall. That way whenever I’m gone and you miss me, it’ll—I dunno…remind you I’m coming home?” He finishes awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

You try your hardest to fight the smile threatening to overtake your face as you study the card intently. It’s very sweet of him, you think, that he wants to share this tradition of his with you. 

“Thank you, Bradley,” You say softly. “I love it.”

"I was hoping you would. I'm glad you do."

When he walks you right up to your door, he looks nervous, which isn't like him. You're about to ask him if he's feeling okay, but then he speaks.

“Hey, look, I—um, I’ve had a really good time these past few months, being your friend."

You frown a little. “Uh oh. Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?” 

“No! I mean, yes, but also—shit, okay, lemme start over.” Bradley shakes his head as if to clear his mind, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve really enjoyed being your friend, but I don’t wanna be friends anymore.” 

Oh. 

Your heart may as well have fallen out of your ass at his words. Bradley didn’t want to be friends with you anymore? 

You must not have as good of a poker face as you mean to, because he quickly backtracks, eyes wide. 

“Fuck, no that’s not what I meant, I—jesus, I meant to say that I don’t want to be just friends anymore,” He blurts, letting his hands drop to his sides. “I really missed you while I was gone. More than I should’ve. And at first I just thought it was because we’re such good friends and because of how much time we’ve spent together lately and that’s why I felt like there was this chunk of me that was missing, but I realized it was more than that. I like you. A lot. So I don’t just want to be your friend anymore, I want to be…more.” 

Oh.

Bradley likes you. And you like him right back.

So, you do the only thing you can think of that will show him your feelings towards him. 

You lean forward, closing the gap between the two of you and kissing him right here and now. 

His palms smooth themselves down your back, fingers splayed across the expanse of it as he kisses you like his life depends on it. His mustache is scratchy, but you don’t mind one bit, not with the way he’s holding you against him, like you’re puzzle pieces slotting perfectly together at last. 

You pull away first with a hand against his chest, only slightly, just enough to look him in the eye when you tell him, “I like you a lot too, Bradley.” 

“Best news I’ve heard in a while,” Bradley sighs, tipping his head back with a sigh of relief. Then his brows furrow, eyes focusing above your heads. “Your light is out,” He says bluntly, squinting at the darkened bulb. “Did you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” You chuckle. “I would’ve changed it, but the damn thing is rusted over, and my handyman has been out of town for a bit.” 

Bradley snorts, rolling his eyes playfully. “Hilarious. You got a spare lightbulb? I could change it right now.” 

“You could.” Now you’re feeling bold and you run with it, walking your fingers up his chest until they link around the back of his neck. “Or…you could change it tomorrow, after breakfast?” 

His brows fly high at that, tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously. “Tomorrow. Like, as in, you want me to stay the night here, and stay for breakfast in the morning?” 

“Well, yes. We’ve got some more catching up to do, don’t you think?” You ask innocently, though your insinuation isn’t quite so. Bradley’s inhale hitches in his chest at the silent message and he nods quickly, antsy now as you go to unlock the door. 

He’s on you the moment you get the door open, lips glued to yours even as you stumble across the threshold and into the foyer. 

“Wait, wait—” Bradley pants, pulling away only slightly. He’s got a hand skimming over bare skin under the hem of your top, mouth shiny with your lipgloss, and he’s telling you to wait. You raise an impatient brow. “As much as I want to—y’know, and I do, can we just…have a quiet night? I wanna take things slow, make sure everything is perfect.” 

“Okay,” You say, straightening out the collar of his shirt. You can get behind taking things slow. It takes some of the pressure off you to adjust to this big change. “Wanna find a movie to watch?” 

He perks up at that, grinning widely. “Hell yeah! There was some action comedy I wanted to see before I got deployed and I’m pretty sure it’s out on streaming now. Mind if we watch it?” 

You won’t tell him just yet since things between you are the newest they’ll ever be, but you’d gladly watch anything with him. Instead, you just nod. “Go for it. Mind if I go change into some comfier clothes really quick?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be here.” 

Bradley’s queued up the movie on the TV already by the time you return, setting his phone aside when he hears you come back in. 

You’re not quite sure where you should sit, but then he extends a hand out towards you, beckoning you into the cozy space under his arm, and all your questions are answered. It feels like you fit right in when you nestle against him, head falling against his shoulder like its second nature to do so. 

“All good?” He asks, giving you a little squeeze and a fond smile. 

“Never better.” 

There’s no mistaking the happy gleam in his eyes, and you’re sure you have something of the same too. 

You think the whole mail mix up situation from a few months ago had been the best mistake to ever happen to you, because it led you to Bradley, who—and you might be a little forward with this thought—might just become one of the best things in your life. 

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[practicalgauntlet]

τότε μείνε μαζί μου

"Then stay with me."

Spencer's POV

Synopsis- They say there are 5 stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Well, I'd like to add one more- Revenge.

Category- Heavy angst, retribution

Warnings- feral Spencer, angry Spencer, grieving Spencer, beating someone half to death, blood and gore, thoughts of violence, actual violence, Spencer goes ape shit the way Hotch beat Foyet. Vivid details of someone's nose breaking, blood, lots and lots of blood, OOC, I paint a very graphic image of Spencer's snap.

Notes- I love writing angst, I don't know why I just hope you enjoy it. And I'll make good on my promise for something tooth-rottingly sweet, so don't get too angry with me <3 This goes out to @slipk-holy for helping me edit, you're the best!!!

Wordcount- 3,123

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Spencer sits in the middle of his apartment, his last words to your lifeless body still echoing throughout his otherwise empty mind.

"I'll wait for you my darling, you better be waiting for me on the other side."

Spencer was not a religious man. But when it came to you, he believed in miracles. He believed that someone out there plucked you from your divine path and placed you in his life. Spencer prayed to whoever had put you in his life to return you. He pleaded to hold you in his arms once more, but there was no answer.

He never believed in the afterlife. He thought of it as nothingness, a lack of consciousness where one ceases to exist on any plane. The idea of holding you, of seeing you once more clung to the fibers of his mind. It kept him from breaking entirely.

So maybe Spencer was a man of religion if only it meant you awaited him with open arms.

He hadn't moved in such a long time, his back aching from the upright and cross-legged position on his hardwood floors. Spencer lacked the motivation to crawl onto the couch or drag his body into the shower. He hadn't had the motivation to do anything really, other than replay the memories he held so dear to his heart.

But as he looked around his apartment, still teeming with the life you lived there, disdain rose up his throat like bile; burning a path through his body until he was boiling over with it.

Your most recent book was still open on the coffee table, the collection you brought with you still mixed with his on the massive bookshelf. Your slippers were still haphazardly strewn across the floor where you left them that morning, the echo of your halfhearted attempt to convince him to call in sick was still so fresh.

He felt something hot and putrid clawing its way out of him, singing every piece of skin and bone it touched on its way out. It was nasty, and vile, leaving a trail of change in its wake. Spencer could feel the mutation in his soul. He could feel the emptiness devour him whole, chewing on his bones for every last morsel he had to offer.

All that was left was a devastating rage. A fury that threatened the world around him. An indignation that promised singed handprints wherever he touched. A wrath so powerful he was no longer the man he was proud of. He was a stranger, an offensive mockery of what once was.

And the best part?

Spencer didn't care.

Spencer didn't care as he stood up and kicked the coffee table into the wall sending glass shattering all over the floor. He plucked the book out of the pile of carnage, not giving a shit about the splinters of glass embedded into his fingertips.

Spencer didn't care as he ripped the pages out of the book, hurling the empty hardback through the window. He watched with a sick satisfaction as the destruction sparkled around him.

Next was his bookshelf, the stories and words he'd share with you when the two of you couldn't sleep now flung across the room. The bookshelf was toppled, and not a care in the world was given as it crashed to the floor.

Spencer was a whirlwind of devastation, a tornado of obliteration so fierce there wasn't a corner nor cabinet that was untouched by rage.

Wherever you lingered, he destroyed. The chair you'd always sit at was slammed into the wall. The mug you favored was shattered against the floor. Every instance of your memory, of your ghost, was annihilated by his hand.

When he got to the bedroom, his chest heaving with firey vengeance, he paused.

Your side of the bed was still crinkled, the indention of your head imprinted on the pillow. Your Kindle was still charging on your nightstand. Your knickknacks and decorations still hung in every corner and on every shelf.

It was like you were just at the store and he should start dinner so it would be hot for when you got home. Like you were in the shower or on call. Anything but dead.

He couldn't tear apart the last remaining proof that you lived, that you had grasped his heart with your bare hands and allowed him the same privilege.

No, he couldn't bring himself to taint the preserved capsule of the life he shared with you with anger. Or sadness. Or the grief that left him raw and vulnerable. He couldn't even step one foot past the doorway.

He closed the door.

There was no use in even trying.

Before he could move on to the bathroom, the itch in his fist for more destruction too tempting for someone so usually non-violent, his phone rang somewhere in the apartment.

Spencer didn't feel like answering it or talking to someone about his wife and the chokehold her death has on him. He was perfectly content in watching his world crumble around him alone.

But it rang. And it rang. And it rang.

In a sudden burst of energy, Spencer marched right up to the source of the maddening noise. His mobile phone was neatly tucked into his satchel pocket, at fifty percent, just the way he left it after unceremoniously tossing the stupid fucking bag to the floor.

Spencer grabbed the phone in one hand and his heaviest lamp in the other. There was something so twisted about the relief that flooded him every time he brought the base of the lamp down on the phone.

His teammates would call it overkill if the phone was a person and the lamp was a knife. They would profile him as someone who was devolving, someone so close to snapping almost entirely that they had to act swiftly. In a way, he was. In a way, he was exactly like the monsters they hunted for the bloodlust that raged through him was for one thing only.

No amount of superficial destruction could keep his need for violence a bay. No, Spencer needed something organic to put his fists through. But for now, the insistent ringing of his phone has stopped, and he felt just a tad bit better.

Until his landline rang.

There was no breaking this phone, the technology old but surprisingly durable. So he only had one choice left if he were to save the last remaining shred of sanity he was clinging to.

"What the fuck is so important that you have to call me every six seconds?!"

He seethes, face hot with ire.

"Woah," J.J, breathes into the phone. "Calm down, Spence. I'm just calling to check up on you."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry, Spen-. I'm sorry. I just needed to know you were okay."

Spencer was beyond annoyed, beyond aggravated. He could feel himself splitting at the seems with hatred and violence.

And Spencer didn't care if he was taking it out on his friend. Spencer stopped caring a long time ago.

"Oh, I'm fucking fantastic J.J. Just beaming with joy! It's not like my wife died not even twenty four hours ago. No, everything's happy unicorns and God damn rainbows."

J.J. just sighed.

"Spencer, I'm just trying to be there for you."

He could hear the desperation in her voice. But instead of comforting him like it should have, like it had done in the past, it irritated him even more.

"Sure, thanks."

Spencer was ready to hang up, ready to unplug the phone and toss it out of the broken window. But he heard something in the background, and his attention was once again drawn away from his agony.

It sounded as if someone were speaking to J.J., their tone urgent and dead serious. Spencer couldn't make out the words, but he could make out the importance of them.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. We're just having some problems with an unsub."

He knew exactly who she was talking about, knew why she was purposefully vague with him. And the second it all clicked, the second a plan swiftly formed in his head, he was dead set on a path.

"Okay... just- stop calling me for a while."

He played into the grieving husband shtick, not letting a drop of indignation seep through his voice. Arousing suspicion would nip his brilliant plan in the bud, and Spencer just couldn't have that.

J.J. was hesitant to agree, with her being an amazing friend and all, but ultimately relented. Spencer just needed space is all, at least that's what she told herself.

Spencer gently sat the receiver down, an eerie calm settling over him. It was a rage he'd never felt before, one that guaranteed an end. A retribution.

Revenge.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It was easy for Spencer to just walk into headquarters.

Too easy.

Maybe it was because of the pallor of his skin, or the dark bags that had become so much darker. Maybe it was even the shabby robe he still wore; his pajamas reeking of depression.

Either way, Spencer didn't linger for long. The faster he was in and out, the less suspicion he'd raise. The less suspicion he arose, the longer he'd have with his ultimate agenda.

It was calculated perfectly, executed just so. Swiftly enter the building, sadly waving to the guards all the while mumbling about friends, and help, and shoulders to cry on. Sympathy was so easy to wrangle, so easy to manipulate.

They let him in, their eyes downcast to avoid the miserable expression on his face. He should be upset at how easy it was to get in. There really should be more security. But then again, he didn't really care, did he?

He breezed passed the main office, passed the badge check, and into the elevator. Now would probably be the point where reality would hit. Was he really planning on interfering with an ongoing investigation, just to get answers he could deduce himself?

But none of that even registered as he watched the numbers slowly click up.

The lobby leading into the bullpen was empty, void of his friends or the others he knew only in passing. He was alone. The perfect environment to enable his downward spiral.

That collected calmness puppeteered him like a marionette, its hooked claws pulling the strings of his limbs towards the hallway that led to the interrogation rooms.

This is where he heard the commotion of the BAU in action. Hushed demands, muffled yelling, the occasional sigh of frustration. They hadn't noticed him yet, his socked feet concealing his footsteps.

He popped his head around the corner, watching as Hotch, Morgan, and Emily whisper to each other in front of the viewing window. J.J. and Rossi were sitting inside the room, their backs towards the window and their undivided attention upon Dimitri Cain.

Just the sight of the man had his blood boiling, his fingers twitching, and his throat closing around a violent burst of every emotion possible.

Anger- because his wife was dead and he was the man responsible.

Sadness- because he was reminded that he could never look upon the love of his life ever again.

Jealousy- because he wasn't the one in the room, demanding answers and getting them.

Joy- because he was closer to scratching that itch than he thought possible.

J.J. and Rossi exit the room, their faces grim and arms crossed with frustration. The five of them move away from the interrogation room.

"We need to form another plan,"

He heard Hotch say, his voice tight and stern.

The team agreed and left the door in the hands of a guard whilst they plotted. Now was the perfect time. He couldn't believe the luck he was having.

Maybe there was such a thing as the divine.

"You're not supposed to be here, Dr. Reid."

The guard said as Spencer approached.

"I was called in to help, you can ask Hotch but I doubt he'd enjoy being second-guessed."

"I just don't think-"

"Please..."

Spencer pleaded, and the tone he used was genuine this time. There was no manipulation nor tactic to persuade, only unadulterated desperation.

"I need something to do."

The words unsaid seemed to be as loud as those spoken, the guard's face falling with sympathy as he hesitated.

I need something to distract me.

Only a brief second did Spencer play with the idea of attacking the guard. He knew of all the pressure points to swiftly and quietly take him down; it wouldn't be hard to get what he needed.

But the guard stepped aside.

"Thank you."

The heavy door was opened.

Spencer stepped through, his body tingling with a blazing fire.

The door clicked shut.

He was alone with the object of his undoing. The breaker of his world. And there was nothing more dangerous than a desperate man with nothing to lose.

Spencer sat across from Dimirti, the man in question eyeing him with a speculating gaze.

"You're gettin' nothin' outta me."

Dimitri leaned back and blatantly challenged Spencer.

"I just have a few questions."

"Are you even a fuckin' fed? You look like shit."

Spencer unconsciously mimicked Dimirti's stance, staring the man down with an unbreaking mask of tranquil fury. He let his silence answer for him, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in the chair.

"Alright, I see how it is."

"And how is it, Dimitri?"

"It's that reverse psychology shit, not gonna work on me."

Spencer just shook his head.

"Just ask me the stupid fuckin' questions already so I can get this shit over with."

Spencer hummed, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward on his elbows.

"Why did you take her?"

"Again with this bitch-"

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Eyes wide, Dimitri stilled. Then, realization glided across his face. A slow smile spread, tainting Spencer with its wickedness.

"You're the husband."

It wasn't a question but a mere statement.

You got what you want, I have a husband-

Please! I don't want to die!

Spencer pounced like a lion, toppling the table with Dimitri still cuffed to it. He was lost in the rage, mind, and body willingly subject to the agonizing fury that was slowly becoming a shield.

He couldn't hear anything, not a thought registered. Only the broken screams of his wife as she pleaded to live.

Spencer straddled Dimitri, completly in control as the man beneath him writhed.

Something sick and twisted bloomed inside him with the first punch. With the second, that evil forged a bond with his soul. Once pure and golden, Spencer Reid was now as dark as the blood that seeped from Dimitri's nose.

On the third punch, Spencer could feel the cartilage break. The splintering of his knuckles was nothing but an afterthought to the satisfaction and relief that plagued him.

Dimitri wiggled under him, trying with all his might to kick him off or slide his hands out of the cuffs. But Spencer kept going.

He brought his fist down again, Dimitri's face already swollen beyond recognition. The deep burgundy of Dimitri's blood sprayed across Spencer's face, across his chest, and outward into the air.

Unbeknownst to Spencer, he was giddy. His face stretched in a feral grin, every tooth shining with glee as he continued to pummel Dimitri into the stained marble floor.

Someone was screaming, the ragged and unfamiliar sound muffled like it was underwater. His ears were ringing, adrenaline and undiluted grief pushing everything Spencer ever was deep into an iron box and tossing it down the hole you left in his heart.

It wasn't until he was ripped from Dimirti, that he realized he was the one screaming.

"You killed her!"

Spencer thrashed against the strong body behind him, the grip under his arms unmoving despite his best efforts.

"You killed my wife!"

Feebly, Spencer tried to continue the beating, swinging his long legs towards the motionless body lying on the floor. Something wet hit his face, the sensation shocking his senses back into the present.

Derek was behind him, growling his name like Spencer was a rogue unsub who refused to listen.

He was dragged out of the room, his limbs now hanging numbly at his sides. Cold metal was wrapped around his wrists before anyone even tried talking to him.

Spencer welcomed the bite, savoring the only thing he could feel.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Hotch was in his face, his eyes wide with frustration. The team was behind him, but Spencer didn't even spare them a glance. He just looked past Hotch, unseeing and unfeeling.

"Spencer!"

Finally, he dragged his emotionless gaze towards his boss who was frothing at the mouth with anger.

"I don't know."

"I don't know, I don't know? What do you mean, 'I don't know'? I should fire you!"

"Then do it."

What did he have to live for anyways?

A team that would only look at him with pity? A family that would treat him like he were made of glass, cracked and begging to be shattered.

Hotch huffed a sigh, hands on his hips.

"Listen, kid. I know exactly what you're going through. Vengeance isn't the answer."

"Says the man who did the same exact thing I just did. The only difference between you and me is that you got your retribution immediately."

Spencer hated the look of understanding that creased Hotch's brows, the empathy that threatened to undo all the apathy that was holding him together.

"This anger isn't going to bring her back..."

Spencer knew this. He knew nothing could bring you back. No amount of praying, religious devotion, and possible rituals would bring you back to him.

The simple truth was that he was lost without you.

He didn't know how to live without you by his side.

Something dripped onto his hands clasped in his lap. When he looked up and could see nothing but his swimming vision, he realized he was crying.

An unstoppable sob wracked his body, forcing his shoulders to cave in and his chest to implode. The damn was bursting, his walls cracking with each broken cry.

When he took a deep breath, a feeble attempt to control the crumbling mess that was his mental state, it all crashed around him.

His throat burned with the intensity of his scream. All his grief, all his anger, and sadness, and desolation were unleashed. He curled in on himself, hugging his sides as if he were able to replicate the feeling of your embrace.

The team surrounded him, hushed assurances, and murmured comfort as they all wrapped their arms around him. It still wasn't enough.

It still wasn't you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N- This was supposed to cure my writer's block, but it still has its claws in me. I keep comparing my writing and my stories to those I see on my feed and I only get discouraged. But comparison is the thief of joy, so please let me know if you enjoy this. Feedback is very much welcome in any form but I need to know if I'm doing something right.

[superpowereddonut]

Spencer's Star (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

Hi! I was just re-watching Criminal Minds and had to write this short little drabble! Also, this is my first time experimenting with the use of 2nd person (ie. using 'you'), but I still didn't use Y/N. Please let me know what you think!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader / Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Episode: 5x13 'Risky Business' (end scene on the jet)

Warnings: Slight (canon) Spencer-targeted bullying by the team (but not from reader!)

Word count: 907

*****

It had been a good case. Well… good by BAU standards. 

Since the team had arrived in the small rural county in Wyoming, there had been no further deaths and within only 48-hours they had caught the unsub - an EMT who goaded teenages into choking themselves to death through an online ‘game’. Still, despite the quick solve, the whole case had been disturbing. You wondered whether anyone else was still dwelling on the twisted man who had repeatedly choked his own son. Or if anyone but Hotch had noticed JJ’s seemingly personal stake in this case. Move on, you reminded yourself, tomorrow there will be another case, and then another, and another. You can’t afford to dwell on each one. 

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to focus on the present, just as Emily took out a wooden shape and placed it on the table between you. “What is that?” Spencer asked from the seat to your left.

"It’s called a star puzzle.” Emily replied, “It’s basically impossible to figure out.” 

You watched with interest as she began to take it apart, and noted Spencer’s quick eyes tracking each of her movements. “You have to put all of the pieces back together to form a perfect star,” she explained, “but the origin of it is kind of a romantic tale.” 

Emily began recounting the story, her voice soft and lilting. “There was this young prince who wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land. So, he climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom and he caught a falling star for her.” 

The whole plane seemed to be listening to Emily now - Rossi was watching from where he leant against the plane window next to her, and Penelope was hanging off her words as she carefully knitted what looked like a bright blue tea cosy. Even Derek, lounging on the seats behind you and Spencer, had taken off his headphones to hear better. But - as it so often did - your attention had moved to Spencer, who now had a slight crease in his brows. 

“Unfortunately he was so excited that he dropped it and it smashed into all of these pieces…” Spencer reached out to pick up the now-separated pieces of the puzzle, his arm gently brushing yours as he moved. “...so, he frantically put it back together again to prove his undying love for her,” Emily was saying, “and he succeeded, and they lived happily ever after.” You caught Penelope’s soft sigh from the back of the plane before Spencer spoke up, “That doesn’t make any sense.” He said, and you had to hide your smile at his adorably confused tone. “What do you mean?” Emily replied, now frowning as well.

“You can’t catch a falling star. It would burn up in the atmosphere.” It was becoming difficult to hide your fond amusement, and you almost had to physically sit on your hands to keep from reaching out to smooth his furrowed brow.

“Yeah but it’s not literal, Reid, it’s a fable.” 

Spencer didn’t seem satisfied, “But there’s no moral. Fables have morals.”

“Okay, so it’s just a romantic little story,” Emily rebutted, growing exasperated, “The point is, it’s basically impossible to do because you have to take all of those pieces and fit them together exactly…” 

You watched, transfixed, as Spencer’s long, nimble fingers worked quickly, slotting each piece together with precision before he gently set it down in front of you, once again in its complete shape.

“There’s a lot to hate about you Dr. Reid.” Emily said, sarcasm softening her harsh words. You heard Derek chuckle from behind you.

“Play poker with him sometime.” Rossi said with a quiet smile.

“Try playin chess with him.” Derek chimed in.

“Or Go” came Penelope’s voice from the back.

You rolled your eyes at the familiar teasing jabs, but your smile fell when you saw Spencer’s face. You knew that look. He was feeling insecure, running back over the entire interaction to see where he had missed a social cue, or messed up in his contribution to the conversation. He didn’t seem to have picked up on Emily’s sarcasm, instead taking her comment to heart.

“Don’t be fooled,” you spoke up, “he watched you take apart the star and memorised the movements. He just had to repeat the pattern in reverse.” 

Emily’s eyebrows shot up before she turned to Spencer. “Did you really?” She asked, and her tone now held unmistakable awe. He just shrugged, though you noticed the set of his shoulders relax slightly and his cheeks flush pink at her admiration.

The rest of the team gradually turned their attention elsewhere, and you were about to go fishing in your bag for a book when Spencer’s arm brushed yours again. You looked up to see his dark eyes fixed on yours. Oh, those eyes. They had always reminded you of old, cosy libraries and soft caramels that melt on your tongue. It was an effort not to lean into his warmth.

“How did you know I memorised the pattern?” He asked, his voice a soft whisper as though not to draw the attention of the others.

You allowed yourself a small smirk. “I know you too well Doctor Reid,” you said, equally quiet, “you’re going to have to try harder than that to impress me.”

His answering grin made your heart skip a beat. 

“Challenge accepted.”

[heeaara]

BiKER BOYFRiEND @ psh ✿── ( 남자친구 성훈 ) 𓈒𓈒

biker bf ━ park sunghoon && 𝑓.reader ⟡ 1.5k wc , cw ... relationship, skinship, petnames, headcanons. overall fluff ♡

ARA's NOTE : idk if it's written good i basically just blabbered wtv, bare w me tanks. im jkjk its good trust.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who saw you at one of his night races for the first time, thinking you were the most beautiful and alluring woman he had ever laid his eyes on, with an adorable smile that enhanced your features to the greatest extent. It was definitely love at first sight, he had thought to himself.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had been thinking about you nonstop since the day he saw you at his race. Your face, your outfit, your smile, and not to mention, your captivating aura that had him attracted towards you immensely, in ways he could not explain. He was down bad, and he knew it.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who kept a boutique of flowers everyday at your doorsteps, in different kinds and different colors with cute short love notes saying "━ with all my heart" or "you entice me and enchant me". It had always left you flabbergasted and amused, and when it had been two weeks since this was going on, you knew you had to find the one who had been leaving you these flowers and these small love notes. You had to find your secret admirer. 

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who looked down due to embarrassment. Your hands crossed over your chest, your eyes piercing right through his soul. You had finally caught him, you had finally caught your secret admirer and when you found out it was the one and only park sunghoon ━ the handsome biker you saw long ago when you had went to see one of the races, you felt amazed.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who felt as if his heart was about to explode and jump out of his chest. You had invited him to your house. When you had caught him, you obviously needed an explanation. He knew he was doomed and he knew he was embarrassed as hell. He could feel his cheeks on fire when you had made eye contact with him, your eyes silently looking for answers. "care to explain?" you had asked him as you kept a tray of snacks and two glasses of juice on the table.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had gathered all the courage to tell you how he really felt. He knew he couldn't lie and you weren't that stupid enough to believe his made up excuses. He had fallen in love with you, he told you. He wasn't able to keep his mind off you since the day he had seen you at the races. He had confessed he really wanted you, infact, he needed you. With him, in his life.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had been trying immensely since the day you had heard his confession and you had allowed him to sugar coat you. You had thought to yourself, why not give it a chance ? and not to mention, you too had found him attractive. He was handsome yet kind of reckless and you liked that. But, you weren't sure about your own feelings, you weren't sure if you wanted to have a relationship with him yet. Moreover, you had never known him well. You still had a lot to figure out.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would take you out on dates like going to the beach or exploring the city or on some luxurious dates. He would send you small texts throughout the day and not to mention, he still left boutique of flowers every single day, along with small texts and chocolates or candies with the side. At the point you felt that your house was about to become a whole store of flowers. You enjoyed your time with him.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who was actually about to cry when you had confessed your feelings to him. After a whole of two months of him sugarcoating you, he knew his hard work had paid off. He knew he had finally completed his mission. He was finally able to win your heart and he had felt like as if the luckiest man alive. 

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who knew he had to propose you properly and he thought the best place to do that was of course, at one of his races. He had invited you to his night time races. He had been qualified to the finals and he knew he had to win it. Not for him, but for you. He was indeed nervous as hell since he had to make his plan work out one way or another.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had won the race and the very first person who came to his mind was you. 

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had kneeled on one feet as he took out the ring with a, red boutique of flowers. This wasn't a wedding proposal though, but he didn't care, he had to make his proposal an unforgettable memory which you and him would narrate to your kids in the future, if you both ever marry.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who softly made you wear the ring and not to mention, you were actually sobbing. You had absolutely and utterly loved his surprise. It was unexpected but it had made you shake to your core. You knew you loved this man more than yourself and you were meant to be his.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who kissed you softly in front of the crowd. Your lips perfectly molding in his, as if they were made for each other. It was the kind of kiss, a kind of sign, that was filled with love and unsaid promises. Moreover, it was a gesture of full claim, to let everyone know you belonged to him and him only.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had brought you and him couple necklaces with a pendant that had your initials on it. The necklace serving as a reminder for the both of you. Even if you both were far away from each other, the necklace gave out as a sign of both of you being each others, even if the both you were planets away. 

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would call you "princess" as if it were his favorite word. The word just came naturally on his lips, it was a term that was for you only. An indication of total endearment, also, it was his word for calling you elegant and beautiful. You were like a goddess in his eyes, he loved you immensly.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would take you on late night bike rides up to the hill for stargazing considering how much you loved the stars, moon, astronomy in general. The stars always reminded him of you. You were a star as well, you were his star, always shining bright without even trying, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he'd think to himself.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would sneak into your house right in the middle of the night through your window, just to see you sleep in his arms, softly wrapped around you. You'd always feel flabbergasted every time he did that. You still remember the very first night he had sneaked into your house, you thought you were dreaming. It was funny the way you had opened your eyes, saw him, yelled and had pushed him off your bed. He was crazy and you loved it.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would let you do his hair. He was so cute, you thought to yourself. This man had you at the palm of his hand. You knew you were two times crazier for him than he was for you.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would suddenly kiss your cheek without even a warning. He loved when you yapped about things and he loved the way he would catch you off guard whenever he'd kiss your cheek in the middle of your yap session.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would teach you how to ride his bike. 

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would beat the shit out of every single man who'd talk to you or talk shit about you.. He wasn't toxic but he was a very jealous man. He was possessive about you. You belonged to him, you were his. He hated every single guy who'd check you out, considering how kind of a pure soul you were. He absolutely loathed it. In fact, he would totally commit arson if anyone tried to hurt you or bad mouth you. Whether it be a male, or a female. He did not care, he'd protect you and keep you happy no matter what.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would give up heaven if he had to, just for you <3

TAGLiST : @sugarikiz @vmpivory @manaah02 @liwinly

[myjjongie]

☾ BETWEEN SCARS AND KISSES ── p. jongseong

IN WHICH: the vampire you found one night always crashes at your place when he feels like it. only this time he's severely hurt.

PAIRING: vampire!jay x human!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, slight angst (not sure if its slightly or a lot LOL), minor fluff, skinship, mentions of blood/wounds. scars WORD COUNT: 2.2k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: i intended for this to be cuter but then remembered its vampire jay and i needed to make you all miserable :3 i love being evil. also sorry for making this late, really wanted to post this one right away.

the soft clicking of your keyboard echoed within your quiet bedroom. you paused for a moment as you began to think about something or perhaps someone.

it had been months since you last saw jay. your brows furrowed as worry settled in. you couldn’t help but count as the number of days turned into weeks then months. negative thoughts began to plague your mind as you continued to think about him. the worst part? you had no way of reaching him. he always turned up on his own terms and you could do nothing but wait.

waiting for jay to show up on his own was always frustrating. but what made it more difficult, what made jay different. was the fact he was a vampire.

your thoughts drifted to the first night you met jay. the memory so vivid as if it all happened yesterday. you were exhausted, tired legs dragging you home. the only thing on your mind being the comfort of your bed. but when taking that shortcut to your apartment did you see him.

at the time jay looked like a regular human who got beat up. left there all alone in the alleyway you couldn’t help but worry. feeling bad for him your meek body dragged his heavier set body back to your apartment. once there you treated all his wounds, which at the time were only surface level.

once satisfied with your not so perfect patchwork. you sat on the floor beside your bed. exhaustion soon taking over you. unbeknownst to you the mysterious man would wake up a couple hours later.

your body awoke at the ominous feeling of someone hovering over you. once your eyelashes fluttered open did you meet unfamiliar burgundy red eyes. your body was now shocked awake. before you could say anything was when you realized the band-aids that scatter his face were gone. it was as if he never had any wounds to begin with. there was no way that was possible, you remembered the red bruising so vividly.

before any words could be exchanged between yourself and him he left. you sat there for months trying to figure out if what happened was real or a dream. that was until one night he came knocking on your balcony window. you finally found out then what his name was and who he was.

blinking back to reality you stared at the bright screen. pushing away from your desk you lightly stretched before getting up from your chair. after doing so a loud sound was heard from outside your balcony window. the sound made your body jump causing your heart to race in your chest. slowly making your way over to the window your shaking hands peeled back the curtain.

relief washed over you as your eyes recognized the figure outside. sliding the glass door open you let out a shaky laugh.

“you know the whole disappearing act then showing up whenever you please, isn’t good for my heart. you scared me half to death.” you waited for his signature smirk, a teasing remark, anything. but jay stood there silent.

“jay?” you weakly called out to him. there was still no reply from him. that’s when you saw it. the blood. his body swayed slightly, almost as if he was barely holding himself together.

before jay could collapse your smaller frame caught him into your arms. you stumbled back a bit, your back pressed against the glass. panic surged through you, adrenaline dulling the strain of your struggle as you carried jay’s limp body to the bathroom.

you caught your breath after leaning him against the bathtub. once you were done did you notice his eyes flutter open. jay took note of your worried face. his own face twisted in pain as he tried to stand up, in the end jay was still seated on the floor.

“yn. i’m fine. it’s not that big of a deal.” his voice was hoarse and weak as he urged you to stop.

“what do you mean not that big of a deal! you’re at my window bleeding how can you say that!” tears started to burn into your eyes. you would be lying if you denied feeling at least something for jay. to see him this hurt and wounded in front of you made you feel anxious.

“yn..” his hand found its way to yours that was desperately clutched to his leather jacket. he could feel the way your body trembled.

jay knew it wasn’t out of fear but with concern. huffing out a weakened sigh he sat himself up a bit to undress himself from the jacket and shirt. letting him take his time you got up to find your first aid kit. once coming back to him, you finally saw his bare body for the first time. you weren’t prepared to see how many scars adorned his chest.

your eyes immediately noticed the gash on his abdomen. due to jay’s healing factor the deep cut was closing. even though it was healing it was at a slow rate. the piercing red blood that drenched his body slowly faded into a deep red.

settling down in-between his legs on the floor, you immediately got to work. you wrapped bandages across his body to stop the flow of the blood oozing out from the wound.

the tears in your eyes trickled as you continued on with your work. so worried about helping jay you didn’t notice his hand come up to tuck away the hair that was in your face. the moment you realized his gentle comfort was the moment he wiped away a stray tear.

you looked up at him your watery eyes studying his face. his eyebrows were knitted into a frown as he continued to stare at you.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you sniffled out still busy with the task at hand.

“i don’t like it when you cry.” jay softly said as his finger gently caressed your cheek.

“who’s fault is that hmm?”

jay hummed back in response as his hand still lingered on your face. you couldn’t help but notice the way jay softly rubbed his thumb on your lower cheek. not saying anything about it you finished up bandaging him. before saying something, jay cut you off.

“i didn’t realize you had a beauty mark here.” his words were soft as he continuously stared.

at the mention of the beauty mark on your face your eyes couldn’t help but look at the birth mark on his neck. it was quite fascinating how the mark was faintly shaped like a heart. next to his birth mark displayed fang marks, you always knew those marks were from a vampire but never dwelled much on it to ask him. you could tell he never truly wanted to speak on it. shaking your head from your thoughts your focus went back to the kit.

“you’d be surprised i have a lot all over honestly.” you let out a gentle laugh as you began to pack everything away.

once the first aid kit was closed was when you finally took the moment to examine jay’s chest. you never noticed how many scars truly littered his body. there were faint ones that were barely recognizable to the eye. accompanied with those were a couple big ones that looked as if it took many months to heal. without realizing it your fingers were gently running across the scar that occupied the middle of his chest. jay let out a ragged breath at your gentle touch.

it looked as if he took a slash from a sword or something even sharper and bigger than that. you took note of how the skin stretched together to fix itself. as your fingers traced along the healed wound you felt the way it was slightly raised yet rough.

“did this one hurt?” you asked softly, fingers tracing the distinctive mark. the silence in the bathroom made your voice sound small.

“in the moment it did. but once my body let it heal it wasn’t so bad after.”

“i see.” your voice trailed off as you noticed a scar that looked as if he got pierced by something.

the jagged edges resembled that of a spiderweb. the placement of this scar was on the upper left of his chest. all you could think about was how close the wound was to his heart. this one would have, no it could have killed him. your eyes began to water again at the thought of jay facing death on multiple occasions. the tears that brimmed at the edge of your eyes fell onto his chest. jay looked down at you studying the way your body trembled as you cried.

“why are you crying again?” his voice was a soothing coo as he began to wipe your tears away for a second time.

“thinking about how much you suffered makes me sad. i’m sorry.” your voice cracked as more tears left your eyes.

“don’t be sorry. i’m okay now yn isn’t that all that should matter?”

“yes but.” a sigh left your lips at the loss of words you had. it was true jay was here now so why were you crying about things that happened in his past. you couldn’t deny that the wounds you saw before you made you feel sorrow.

once your tears dried up a second time jay spoke.

“you were right yn. i am surprised at how many beauty marks you have.”

“where did that come from?” you let out a soft laugh. your body softly trembled at the cold touch of jay’s fingers trail along your neck.

his fingers gently tapped across any mark he noticed. the feeling sending a shiver down your back.

“you know. i heard a saying. every beauty mark or mole someone has was where their lover kissed them in their past life.” jay’s voice came out in a low tone as he eyed the dots that were scattered along your chest and face.

“then i guess my lover loved me deeply in my past life.” you smiled at the concept of what beauty marks and moles could represent. your smile immediately faltered as you felt the warmth of something press against your skin.

looking down you saw jay’s face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder. he laid butterfly kisses along the nape of your neck. the feeling was ticklish yet it felt right. a light whimper left your lips as you felt his sharp teeth nibble into your skin.

“jay…” your voice was a gentle hush. your fingers tangled into his hair for support.

despite knowing jay for a year, not once did he ever try to take your blood. if he was gonna do it now you were prepared for the impending pain. your eyes closed shut as you waited for his fangs to pierce into you. yet his fangs never broke into your skin. you hesitantly blinked open your eyes to see that familiar color of burgundy. as well as the faint mole under his left eye you’ve adored the moment you noticed it.

jay’s eyes held a hunger you recognized all too well. a desire he never truly allowed himself to indulge on. a desire to sink his fangs into you and taste your blood. you could always see it whenever he lingered close to you.

yet feeling this way he never gave in to it. he knew deep down if he did he might hurt you or worse lose you. his firm hands gripped your shoulder as he pushed your body away from his. he quickly stood up from the ground as he gathered up his shirt and jacket. he walked past you leaving the bathroom.

matching his pace you hurried yourself up from the floor following behind him.

“where are you going you’re still hurt?!” you couldn’t help but scream out to him watching as he made his way to the balcony.

his movements stopped, back faced to you unwilling to turn around. your eyes took in the scars that cascaded along his back. it dawned on you that everywhere on his body were full of wounds. wounds that he would never truly open up about. not now, not any time soon.

“i’ll see you later yn. okay?” as jay stood there he quickly put on the shirt covered in his blood. one hand opening the window ready to leave as the other tightly held his leather jacket.

“jay please…” your voice wavered reaching out to him. but he wouldn’t turn around to meet you. watching him walk away from you, you could feel your heart break apart. you should be mad at him. but all you could think about was whether jay would be okay. his body still battered with wounds.

your fingers twitched at your side. aching to reach for his hand hoping to stop him. but before you could even think of moving jay’s voice stopped you.

“i’m sorry yn. i’ll be back…” jay faintly turned his body to take one more quick glance at you. satisfied at seeing your face one last time, he vanished into the night.

you rushed to the balcony in hopes of getting one last glimpse of him, but he was already gone. only the faint glow of the street lamps illuminating the dark street remained.

perm taglist ( open! send a ask to be added ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek

©myjjongie 2025

[softtdaisy]

injury prompt 16 and 22 for reid perhaps... :D Love your writing btw <3

make my heart beat again / spencer reid

summary. spencer was sad. spencer was miserable. he thought he could handle it until he couldn't anymore. he thought he could deal with it alone until he couldn't.

words count. 2 249

prompt. “Why won’t you let me help you?” “…because I don’t deserve it.” / “You deserve to be helped, I—who told you this?” from here

what to expect. very angsty, spencer is so sad i want to hug him, i chose the mentally injured more than physically, mention of murder very quickly

a/n. ok first thank you so much for requesting it sweetie!! and i'm sorry, i wish i posted it sooner but i started it again to make it shorter and...it's not shorter, but it's here and i hope you will love it (and now i can work on your other request) 🫶

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

You weren’t quite sure how everything started again with Spencer.

One day he was a memory of the past, one of your biggest regrets. The next time he was back in your place, like he always belonged there.

You went on a couple of dates a few years ago, and it would be a lie to say your heart didn’t fall for that boy. Sweet, gentle, the nicest man you’ve ever met. And so beautiful with his always so messy hair, his gorgeous brown eyes that always seemed to look at you like you were one of the seven wonders of the world, and that perfectly shaped mouth that you loved to kiss.

You were sure things could have worked out with Spencer if a) his work didn’t take him that much time—and more. b) You didn’t have other issues in your life you had to deal with before thinking about love.

So you ended your relationship, or whatever it was at that time, before it could be more serious. And you spent way too many nights missing Spencer Reid. 

The way he would start every date with a fact that could either last a minute or ten and how you could notice the change in his eyes when he noticed you were truly interested in what he was saying. How he was blushing at any physical contact you were initiating, even in bed after he made love to you. Or even how you never said you loved each other, yet the way his lips would stay longer on your shoulder when you were falling asleep was speaking for your feelings.

You never thought Spencer would miss you just as much.

But he spent months contemplating the idea of seeing you again and trying to convince you this could be good. That he could be good for you. But months turned into a year. And when he celebrated his whole single year on the other side of the country, Spencer read into it that maybe he had glorified love. In all its aspects.

And this conclusion haunted him for years.

To the point Spencer stopped meeting new people and was barely trying to stay in touch with those in his life. He wasn’t seeing his mom much; his colleagues noticed the distance he was building between them, and Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he saw his “friends.”

Because at some point, the fear of losing people turned into a feeling of not being good enough to people’s lives and made him a loner. A sad loner.

That was something you immediately noticed the first time you saw Spencer in years.

Your life has barely changed from your last date. Still the same job, but at a higher place. Still the same apartment, but with a different setting. Still the same person, but more mature.

It wasn’t hard for Spencer to find you. And if he spent a whole year contemplating going back to your place before putting that thought away, the day he truly needed it, it took him a minute to decide it was time.

You didn’t question his presence here when you opened the door. Maybe he should have. But when Spencer grabbed your face after you simply said his name with confusion, nothing seemed to matter. 

Not his hair longer than before, not him looking more shaped yet more fragile, not the circle under his eyes being way darker than the last time you saw him. Not that he was eagerly kissing you, something he never did.

You remember Spencer being gentle, taking his time to appreciate every second with you.

No, he was hungry, like each second could be the last with you. For him.

“What are you doing here, Spence?” you finally asked him. You were both lying on the rug in your living room. His eyes were locked on the roof, like he was disconnecting from reality. His arm around your back, holding you against him, was brushing your skin slowly, but he seemed to do that mindlessly. 

And Spencer didn’t turn his head to look at you when you, you couldn’t stop looking at him. “I needed that.” Not you. You put away the pain hearing that and tried to see the good in this, that you were the one he went to. 

But still, something was different with Spencer.

It would take you a few nights to realize he wasn’t blushing anymore when you touched him. Or that he didn’t seem to have a lot to talk about.

Actually, Spencer wasn’t talking much anymore. 

For weeks, Spencer would come to your place at night. Either after a day at the office or when he came back from a case. Usually, when it was the latter, he would even stay the following day to fully decompress from what happened.

You tried to question him once or twice. But Spencer always had the same answer: going down on you to keep you quiet with your question.

It was a win-win situation. 

He was giving you pleasure and making you think about something else.

He was concentrating on something else, and your moans were filling his head with other thoughts.

Until one night, the sex wasn’t enough to put his problem away.

You didn’t expect Spencer to come. Two days ago, he told you he had to leave for a case and it would probably last a week. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it gave you the time to think about him and where this was going.

Yet, your bell rang at 10 p.m. Let’s say that dating an FBI agent taught you to not open your door to anybody. You almost played dead and ignored it. But your gut told you to look at who it might be. 

You didn’t expect to see Spencer through your spyhole.

You certainly didn’t expect to see him cry on the other side of your door.

“Spencer, what’s going on?” you said, opening your door and immediately bringing him inside. The saddest part was that he let you do it. He didn’t stop you when you took him in your arms. Neither when you brought him to the sofa and sat him on it while you kneeled in front of him.

He was shaking; his face looked red from the tears and the scratching he did with his fingers, trying to take the pain away. But it didn’t work. And hurt him even more.

You grabbed one of his hands to take it away from his face. You tried to ease his joints with a soft caress. You even tried to make eye contact, but it was a lost cause with the way he was closing his eyes hardly, probably hurting himself like that. “Talk to me, Spence,” you whispered, putting your chin on his knee. “Open to me.”

You hated how he pinched his lips together before talking, like he was trying so hard to not break down. “I can’t,” he sobbed. He repeated that multiple times, sounding more angry with himself each time.

But the fact he wasn’t letting go of your hand made you believe that maybe a part of him, maybe just a very little one, wanted to have you. He still came to you tonight, right?

“Why won’t you let me help you?” 

This was a genuine question. One that grew over the last weeks. Sometimes, you would wake up in the middle of the night wondering which signs you might have missed when he was here. What did he try to hide from you with kisses and attention that you weren’t asking for? And if maybe you weren’t an accomplice of his troubles by accepting all his treats, knowing it was an excuse to keep everything from himself.

And during these moments, you imagined what Spencer might have answered. That he didn’t want his burden to impact your relationship, that he didn’t want to talk to you specifically. 

But you never considered what was coming as an answer.

“…because I don’t deserve it.” 

The world went silent. 

Except for your heart that just fell on the floor and broke into a million pieces.

Except for Spencer’s sorrow being louder than ever in your small living room.

It was obvious that Spencer wasn’t doing ok. But you couldn’t imagine how broken he really was.

You couldn’t force him to look at you and make him see he wasn’t alone at all. So you put your forehead against his, his sweaty hair sticking against your skin. Your arms wrapped against Spencer so you could hold him against him. You couldn’t believe that this grown-up man, in his thirty, could be a broken kid inside. You tried to hold back the tears.

You stayed like that for minutes; you don’t even know how long. This could last an hour or two if he needed to. You probably could have stayed all night if it meant calming Spencer down.

Little by little, you felt his shaking stop and even one of his hands land on your arm. The pressure of his fingers on your skin wasn’t harder, almost like he didn’t have any strength anymore. It was more like a delicate touch. One that reminded you of the old days, when Spencer was too shy to touch you.

Once you felt he was ready to hear this, maybe not listen yet but at least be able to understand what you were saying, you stopped hugging him so you could grab his face in your hands. “You deserve to be helped. I—who told you this?”

You met the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen at this moment. Couple with his sad smile. Oh, how you wished you could just kiss the pain away for once.

“I just…” he started, with a grazed, hoarse voice. “Every person in my life ends up sad or hurt or dead. I’m a problem. I’m a burden. I don’t deserve someone to take the time to help me, be there for me. I can’t risk someone, you, taking the time to make me feel better if it means losing you at some point. I can’t, I can’t do that again.” You heard the sob in his voice at the end. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but Spencer gave you the look, one he strangely never gave to you but that you understood immediately, meaning that he still had a lot to say. And deep down, you were happy to shut it if it meant he was finally opening up.

“I was taking care of a kid these days. We knew he might be in danger, so I was supposed to make sure he would be fine while working the case.” Spencer took a moment to continue, but you could only focus on the tear running down his cheek. “He got killed. Because I couldn’t protect him. Everyone around me has something bad happening to them. Even in my job. How can I be such a bad person?” 

You started brushing away the tears with your thumb, but Spencer cuddled against your hand. There was something even sadder with this man feeling like he didn’t deserve to have someone yet still craving every attention he could get.

“You’re not a burden, Spencer,” you whispered, and he closed his eyes again. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to go through all these moments by yourself. I can’t imagine how hurt you must be from living such difficult times over and over again. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have someone by your side.”

He didn’t answer. You weren’t sure this was the best decision, but you sat on his knees, trying to be closer to him so you could make him feel less alone. 

You thought that if he didn’t want that, he would push you away. But the way Spencer's hands ended up on your back so quickly made you think that maybe he needed that too.

“I can’t and won’t force myself into your life, Spencer, never,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. “But if you’re ready to try, I can be by your side and help you consider that you deserve to be a supporter. Not only by me but by all the people that love you.”

Again, your words working on him, Spencer opened his eyes slowly. This time, even if the sorrow was still present, there was the smallest and almost slightest light in them. “Because people love you, Spencer Reid.”

As an answer, the only one he could give you, Spencer brought you against him and hugged you as hard as he could. It wasn’t the tightest hug he ever gave, but it was the best he could do. And it was enough. Enough to know that you opened a door in his mind. 

You offered your bed to Spencer that night, but he insisted on you staying by your side. He refused to let you know it was due to the fear of the nightmares he had for months now. Nightmares that always had different stories but ended the same way: with him losing someone and being alone.

All he needed was you, and you were willing to give yourself entirely to help him get better.

You didn’t know if you imagined it, but you were sure that when he was falling asleep, holding you against him like an antistress comforter, Spencer thanked you.

[confusedbeannn]

I read a merlin prompt that was like what if merlin worked more actively towards bringing magic back and now its stuck in my head.

Like imagine merlin is still Arthur's servant still protects him and all but the committing treason bit is more focused. He still cares for Arthur ofc he does because its Arthur and Merlin but those are his people being killed being harmed in Camelot, his people being burnt on the pyre and so starts him actively trying to bring magic back and some things that go directly against the good of the Camelot. (especially especially against Uther) Something something along the lines of the system not needing fixing rather needing to be completely shattered and merlin working on doing just that. caring about Arthur but not the monarchy not the pendragon rule

Merlin still cares for Arthur still loves him but his people deserve to be free but it's Arthur but it's a whole community of magic users and magic creatures there was never really a choice.

Both of them are head over heels for each other and the reveal gets much more angsty for Arthur because the betrayal is deeper this time the treason isn't merlin doing magic to protect him but the treason is merlin actively trying to bring Uther's (and Camelot's) downfall

Basically it goes like

"I trusted you with my life and you went behind my back"

"They are MY people Arthur. My kin my family that your family has been burning on the pyre."

And Arthur gets real quite and goes "I would have helped merlin all you had to do was ask"

Like merlin choosing his people over Arthur and it breaking both their hearts

if there is a fic like this pls pls i need it and if someone decides to write pls

[hookhausenschips]

Giddy Up Cowgirl {jh86}

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WC: 11k

Warnings: 18+ | semi public sex | fingering | light choking | light!dom Jack | finger sucking | oral (m receiving) | dirty talk | cream pie (wrap it up people!) | sexual tension |

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

It was a crisp late evening in Nashville, the city still buzzing from the excitement of the game earlier that night. The Devils had just wrapped up a dominant victory, their first win on this road trip, and the team was in high spirits. The locker room hummed with laughter and chatter, the sound of lockers slamming shut and equipment bags being zipped up filling the air. Players clapped each other on the back, their smiles wide as they basked in the thrill of victory.

As the players trickled out of the locker room, some headed straight for the team bus, eager to return to the hotel for some much-needed rest. Others, like Jack Hughes, were a bit more eager to prolong the high of the win. He stretched his arms above his head and turned to his teammates with a mischievous grin.

"Who’s up for a little fun?" Jack asked, his voice loud enough to catch the attention of a few of the guys who were lingering near the exit.

"Fun?" Dougie Hamilton raised an eyebrow, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "We just won a game, Jack. What’s left to do except get some sleep?"

Jack’s grin only widened, his eyes glinting with excitement. "Nah, I’m thinking something a little more... Nashville."

The word hung in the air like a challenge, and a few of the players exchanged curious looks. Everyone knew Nashville had a reputation for its lively nightlife, its honky-tonk bars, and its wild, free-spirited vibe. But there was one place in particular that had captured the attention of the team during their short time in the city: the PBR Bar, known for its country music, cold beers, and—most famously—its mechanical bull.

A couple of players—Jesper Bratt and Miles Wood—snapped their heads toward Jack, both grinning. 

“I’m in,” Miles said quickly, tossing his bag into the corner and pulling his hoodie over his head.

Jesper nodded enthusiastically, his blonde hair still a bit tousled from the game. “It’s been forever since I’ve ridden a bull. Let’s go make some memories.”

With the decision made, the team’s energy shifted from the adrenaline of the game to the anticipation of a night out. As the players made their way to the hotel’s parking lot, the night was alive with the sounds of city traffic and the distant hum of music drifting out from the many bars that lined the streets. The air was cold, but the excitement in the players’ hearts kept them warm.

They piled into a few cars, with Jack at the wheel of one, his eyes glancing back toward his teammates with a grin. "Trust me, this place is legendary," he said, the headlights illuminating his face as he made a sharp turn.

“What’s so legendary about it, huh?” Dougie called from the backseat, clearly skeptical. “Is it the bull or the beer?”

“Both,” Luke answered, a confident laugh escaping his lips. “The place is known for its... competitive bull-riding scene. You get on, you try to stay on as long as you can. You don’t want to be the guy who gets thrown off in front of the whole bar. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

Miles chuckled. “Perfect. I love a good challenge.”

As the car cruised through downtown, the team’s mood shifted to something more playful and carefree. For these young men, the game was in the past, and the present was all about having fun. They were a close-knit group, a family on and off the ice, and nights like these—full of laughter and lighthearted competition—were what they lived for.

When they finally arrived at the PBR Bar, the lights outside blinked brightly, and the sound of live music mixed with the cheers of people inside. The smell of smoky barbeque and fried food wafted through the air as the team piled out of the cars and headed for the entrance.

"Welcome to Nashville," Jack said, throwing open the door and leading the way inside.

The atmosphere was electric. Music blared from speakers, and the scent of food and drinks filled the air. At the center of the room was the mechanical bull, its bright red body gleaming under the lights, waiting for the brave souls who dared to ride. The sight of it sparked an immediate sense of excitement in the group.

"Alright, let’s see who’s the real cowboy here," Jesper said, eyeing the bull as he slapped Jack on the back.

"You sure about that?" Luke grinned. "I’ve got some moves on that bull. Might take you down."

A round of laughter erupted as the team gathered around, ready to enjoy the night. For a moment, it felt as though everything outside of the rink had faded away. No pressures, no expectations—just a group of guys unwinding, excited to let loose after a big win.

It was the perfect way to celebrate.

The moment the Devils walked through the doors of the PBR Bar, the shift from the cool Nashville evening air to the electric energy inside was palpable. The lights hit them first—neon blues and reds casting vibrant hues across the room, reflecting off the polished wood and the metallic fixtures. The air was thick with excitement, the unmistakable sounds of laughter, chatter, and music filling every corner of the expansive bar.

The team moved through the crowd, their eyes scanning the space. In the center of it all, under a massive sign that read "PBR" in glowing red letters, was the mechanical bull. It was perched on a raised platform, its sleek, red-painted frame illuminated by spotlights. The crowd gathered around it, watching as some brave souls tried—and failed—to stay atop its bucking surface. Cheers erupted each time someone was thrown off, adding to the electric atmosphere.

The space itself was an interesting mix of the rustic and the contemporary. Wood-paneled walls, cowhide accents, and vintage Western décor created the atmosphere of an old-time saloon, but the music gave it a modern twist. Top 40 hits bounced off the walls, punctuated by classic rock and a bit of country here and there, creating an unexpected but exhilarating blend. The energy was high, the music a perfect backdrop for the revelers’ animated conversations and shouts of encouragement.

Their eyes immediately landed on the action. A group of girls were dancing on the bar, their movements fluid and synchronized with the rhythm of the music. They wore red cross-tied crop tops paired with matching red bottom shorts and stirrups that gave off a playful, daring vibe. The girls moved with confidence, their smiles wide, creating a captivating spectacle as they effortlessly slid across the polished surface of the bar.

It was hard not to notice them—especially for Jack. He couldn’t help but be drawn to the energy in the room, but one dancer in particular caught his attention. She was a Black woman, her beautiful sepia-toned skin glowing under the neon lights. There was something magnetic about the way she moved—an effortless blend of confidence, grace, and fun that drew Jack in almost immediately. Her every move seemed to flow with the beat, her body moving in perfect sync to the rhythm, like she had been born to dance. The way she held herself, so completely at ease in the spotlight, made her stand out from the others, and Jack found himself momentarily entranced by her.

Her smile was wide and infectious as she laughed with the other dancers, her energy lighting up the room. Jack noticed the way she moved with a playful intensity, her body expressing the music like it was a language she had mastered. Her confidence was undeniable, but it wasn’t cocky—it was something else, something that made her stand out in a way that was captivating, yet not overbearing.

He could feel the pull of her presence, something about the way she carried herself drawing him in, though he quickly tried to shake off the thought. He had just walked into the bar, and this was supposed to be a night for the team to let loose. But there was no denying the intrigue he felt as he watched her—a curiosity that he couldn’t quite push away.

Jack’s teammates had started to disperse, heading for the bar and scanning the crowd for a place to settle in. But Jack remained rooted to the spot, his gaze lingering on the dancer for just a moment longer than he had intended. He wasn’t sure why she had caught his eye, but there was no denying that something about her was magnetic.

Miles Wood, ever the instigator, caught Jack's distracted look. "Dude, what are you looking at?" he teased, nudging Jack in the side.

Jack blinked and quickly shook his head, trying to snap out of it. "Nothing, just… checking out the scene," he replied, giving his friend a half-hearted shrug. He was grateful for the distraction, but a part of him couldn’t help but steal another glance at the girl, her laughter filling the space around him, as if calling him in.

"Yeah, the scene’s got a lot going on," Dougie said, smirking as he grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him toward the bar. "But I’m pretty sure you’ve seen enough. Time for some drinks."

Jack allowed himself to be pulled along by his teammate, but his attention wavered once more as the girl on the bar flashed a smile in his direction. It was playful, but there was something behind it that made Jack’s heart beat a little faster. 

He couldn’t quite place it, but for some reason, he was fascinated. It was like she had a secret, a sense of mystery that pulled him in, though he couldn't even begin to figure out why. 

As the team found their spot at the bar, Jack’s mind was still a little distracted, the sound of the girl’s laugh and the sway of her movements lingering in his thoughts. There was something about her that felt like a challenge—like a puzzle that needed to be solved. And Jack Hughes was never one to back down from a challenge.

The music pulsed through the room like the heartbeat of the night, each beat sending ripples of energy across the crowd. The PBR Bar was alive, a whirlwind of laughter, clinking glasses, and people lost in the rhythm of the music. Among the crowd, the dancers on the bar had become the center of attention, their synchronized movements adding to the chaos of color and sound. But one dancer stood out from the rest, her presence undeniable.

She was the one who caught Jack’s eye the moment he walked in. She was the girl who made the chaotic energy of the bar seem like a carefully orchestrated show, her body moving with effortless grace, each movement filled with confidence and rhythm. Jack couldn’t look away, captivated by the way she owned the space around her, as if the world was hers to command.

Her skin, a radiant sepia-toned glow under the neon lights, seemed to draw all the light in the room toward her. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, moving with her body as she spun, twirled, and leaned into the music. There was a boldness in her movements, a confidence that made her seem untouchable yet completely approachable all at once. She didn’t just dance—she became the music, weaving in and out of the crowd with the kind of effortless charm that made her seem like she belonged to the very air she breathed.

Jack’s gaze lingered a little longer than he’d intended, but he couldn’t help it. There was something magnetic about her, something that made it impossible for him to look away. His heart skipped a beat as she moved—fluidly, playfully, with a grace that felt almost too natural for the setting. She smiled, flashing her teeth as she playfully interacted with the crowd, and Jack found himself frozen for just a moment, caught in the orbit of her energy.

That’s when their eyes met.

Her gaze was sharp and knowing, and in the instant their eyes locked, Jack felt a small jolt, like an electric charge passing through him. The corners of her lips lifted into a smile—playful, confident, like she knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t shy, wasn’t pretending to be anything she wasn’t. She was completely comfortable in her own skin, and there was a certain confidence in that which drew Jack even further into her orbit.

As she continued her routine, Jack couldn’t help but be aware of the others around him, but she remained the focal point of his attention. She danced effortlessly, working the bar like it was a second home, smiling at people, laughing, engaging them without ever missing a beat. She moved like she was born to do this, her energy contagious and impossible to ignore. Every time she spun or tossed her hair back, Jack’s gaze followed her, unable to look away.

When she finally finished her routine, she gracefully stepped down from the bar, the crowd giving her a round of applause as she smoothly walked off the platform. Her confidence didn’t falter for a second as she navigated through the crowd, heading straight toward the bar where the Devils were now settled, drinks in hand, talking amongst themselves. Jack watched as she made her way toward them, a smile still playing on her lips.

She approached the group, her eyes scanning the crowd before landing on Luke Hughes, Jack’s younger brother, who had his own mischievous smile plastered across his face. He had been watching her just as intently as Jack had, and now that she was near, he didn’t waste any time.

"Hey," Luke said with a grin, leaning across the bar toward her. "You were amazing up there. Think you could teach me some of those moves?"

The girl—Y/N, Jack finally caught her name from the bartender—laughed, the sound like music itself. There was no hesitation in her response, just a playful, teasing look.

"If you’re really that interested," she said, her voice light and flirtatious, "I’d say you should join me on the dance floor. But fair warning—you’re gonna have to work for it."

Luke’s grin widened. “I’m up for the challenge.”

Jack, overhearing the exchange, felt a small laugh bubble up in his throat, though he quickly tried to suppress it. He was still processing the whirlwind of his thoughts, his attention split between his brother’s banter and the undeniable pull of Y/N’s energy. There was something about her—something both confident and inviting—that made Jack want to know more. It was hard to ignore the playful chemistry that radiated between them.

Y/N flashed another smile, one that was a little less playful and a bit more knowing. "Alright, then," she said with a wink, before turning toward the dance floor. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

As she walked away, Jack couldn’t help but watch her go. There was a swagger in her step, a confidence in the way she moved that made it clear she was used to being the center of attention. But unlike most people who might be arrogant or self-centered with that kind of energy, there was something about her that felt genuine. She wasn’t playing a part—she was just herself. 

And that was what made her so captivating.

Luke, meanwhile, was already getting up, eagerly following her toward the dance floor. "You coming, Jack?" he called over his shoulder, clearly ready to show off some of his own moves.

Jack hesitated for just a moment before he shook his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll catch up later.”

His eyes followed Y/N as she weaved her way through the crowd, and he found himself wondering if this night—this random, chaotic, and spontaneous night in Nashville—was about to lead to something far more interesting than he had ever expected.

The Devils were finally settled in at the bar, each player nursing a cold drink in hand as the evening unfolded around them. The high-energy atmosphere of the PBR Bar continued to buzz with excitement, but now, it was more laid-back—a mix of good conversation and an easy camaraderie that came from having a few wins under their belts and a night off to unwind. The table was full of laughter, some playful teasing, and the sound of ice clinking in glasses.

Y/N, ever the professional, was moving around the bar with the same confidence that had drawn Jack’s attention earlier. She was back with a fresh round of drinks, balancing them effortlessly as she approached their table. Her presence was magnetic, and Jack couldn’t help but watch her as she set the drinks down in front of them. She flashed a smile at the group, her eyes glinting with that same playful spark that had caught Jack off guard earlier.

"Here you go," she said with a smile. "One round for the Devils." Her eyes met Jack’s for a brief moment, and he felt that familiar jolt of attraction. But it was Nico Hischier who broke his reverie, leaning forward with curiosity.

"So, I gotta ask," Nico said, lifting his drink. "What's the deal with the mechanical bull? You guys get a lot of brave souls trying it out?"

Y/N grinned, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. "Oh, you know," she said, her voice dripping with playful challenge. "There's always someone trying to show off. But if you're asking about me…" She winked, leaning in just a little. "I’m always happy to give the bull a spin. Might just show you all a thing or two."

Nico chuckled, shaking his head. "I’ll pass. I prefer not to embarrass myself." He raised his drink as if in salute.

Y/N’s lips curled into a playful pout as she straightened up. "Shame," she teased, her tone light but playful. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me." With that, she turned to look at the rest of the Devils players. "Anyone else want to try it? Or are we all too shy tonight?"

But before anyone could answer, the DJ’s voice boomed over the mic, interrupting the group’s conversation.

"Alright, alright, folks, we’ve got a real treat tonight!" The DJ’s voice was energetic, grabbing the attention of everyone in the bar. "This girl here is the best bullrider this side of the Mississippi! She’s our very own homegrown girl, and if you’ve never seen her work, well, you’re in for a show. Give it up for Y/N!"

The crowd cheered, and the energy in the room shifted, becoming even more charged as Y/N grinned and gave the crowd a little wave. Without missing a beat, she winked at the Devils as she stepped away from the bar as "Gotta Get Me Some' by Nickelback began playing.

"Excuse me, boys," she said with a playful glance at Jack. "Duty calls." And just like that, she was off, moving toward the mechanical bull at the center of the room.

Jack watched her go, his eyes following every step as she made her way to the bull. The inflatable pit surrounding it was filled with eager patrons, but Y/N was the one everyone had come to see. She made her way to the mechanical bull with a confidence that sent a ripple of anticipation through the crowd. The DJ introduced her one last time, and a cheer went up from the people around her as she climbed onto the bull like she’d done it a thousand times before.

In that moment, everything seemed to slow down for Jack. He could feel the electric energy in the room focus entirely on Y/N, as if the crowd was holding its collective breath, waiting to see what she’d do next.

With a fluid motion, Y/N slipped into position on the bull, her posture perfect, her legs wrapping around the inflatable beast. She flashed a smile to the crowd, her eyes gleaming with excitement. And then, without a second thought, she kicked the bull into motion.

The machine lurched beneath her, but Y/N didn’t falter. Instead, she leaned into the rhythm, moving with the bucking bull as though she had an intimate understanding of its every move. She adjusted her body, anticipating each jolt, her feet planted firmly as she worked the mechanical bull with a fluidity that stunned the room.

Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she controlled the bull with such grace, the way she shifted her weight effortlessly—it was as if she were born to do this. Her body moved with confidence and precision, her hips swaying with the movement of the bull, and there was an undeniable chemistry between her and the mechanical animal. She looked like she could take on anything, and she was doing it all with that playful grin that had first captivated Jack when he saw her on the bar.

The crowd cheered as she pulled off a series of daring moves—one moment leaning back as the bull twisted beneath her, the next bouncing with the motion in perfect sync. Jack’s jaw was practically on the floor, unable to look away from her.

She spun around once, her body moving in tandem with the machine, then threw a teasing wink toward the crowd. As the bull jerked again, she adjusted her stance, gliding effortlessly with its motions, her hands gripping the ropes, but never losing that carefree energy. She had the whole bar watching her, and she knew it—her confidence was contagious.

Jack was completely star-struck, unable to believe what he was witnessing. She wasn’t just a good rider; she was extraordinary. Every twist and turn, every movement felt intentional, like she was showing off the kind of skill only a true professional could possess. And Jack… well, he was mesmerized. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she continued to wow the crowd with her daring moves.

His teammates had noticed too, but Jack didn’t care. The only thing he could focus on was Y/N, her laughter and the infectious energy she brought with every movement. She wasn’t just playing to the crowd—she was the heart of it.

When she finally dismounted, landing lightly on her feet in the inflatable pit below, the crowd erupted in applause, and Y/N took a graceful bow, her smile wide and full of satisfaction. She glanced over at the Devils table and gave them a knowing, playful smile before heading back to the bar, where Jack’s gaze remained fixed on her.

As Y/N disappeared back into the crowd, the noise of the PBR Bar returned to full volume, but the Devils were far from distracted. Jack’s attention remained locked on her, his eyes following her every move as she returned to the bar. It didn’t take long before his teammates caught on—after all, Jack wasn’t exactly being subtle.

"Well, well, well," Nico’s voice rang out, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over their table. "Looks like someone’s a little smitten." Nico gave Jack a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between Jack and the bar, where Y/N had just settled behind the counter, exchanging banter with the bartender.

Jack blinked, finally pulling his gaze away from her and trying his best to look casual, though the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. "What? No, I—" he stammered, then tried to recover, "I’m not—what are you even talking about?"

Dougie Hamilton leaned in with a sly smile, his voice low but teasing. "Uh-huh. Right, Jack," he drawled. "You were staring at her like you’d never seen a woman before. Don't even try to play it cool now." He nudged Jack's shoulder with a mischievous grin.

Jack rolled his eyes, trying to mask his embarrassment. “I wasn’t staring. I was just—watching her ride the bull. That was impressive, alright?”

“Oh, we saw it. We all saw it,” Miles Wood chimed in, his grin wide and his voice full of teasing amusement. “You were practically drooling, man. I thought you were gonna jump on that bull yourself.”

Jack groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shut up, guys. She’s just... she’s really good at it. That’s all. You know, like any pro athlete is good at their thing.”

Luke, who had been listening in quietly, suddenly piped up with a devilish grin. “Sure, sure. You weren’t staring at her... just the bull, right? Because you definitely didn’t look like you were about to ask her for a private lesson.”

The rest of the guys burst out laughing, and Jack’s face turned a deeper shade of red. He took a long sip of his drink, hoping the conversation would just die down. But Nico, ever the instigator, wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.

“C’mon, Jack,” Nico said, leaning in with a grin. “You can’t fool us. You’re looking at her like she just stepped out of your favorite dream. You should go talk to her. She definitely noticed you watching.”

Jack shot Nico a glare, but deep down, he knew they were right. He had been caught. He was staring at Y/N—no denying that. And something about her confidence, her effortless charm—it was hard to ignore. The way she owned the room when she was on that bull had just fascinated him. But talking to her? That felt like a whole other level of nerve he wasn’t sure he was ready to tackle.

“Yeah, you should,” Dougie added, nudging him again. “Go up to the bar, strike up a conversation. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Jack shook his head, half-amused and half-exasperated. "I’m not some rookie, guys," he said with a half-smile, trying to play it cool. "I’m just... enjoying the night."

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh, just ‘enjoying the night.’ Sure. So why’s your face all red? I don’t think it’s from the drinks.”

“Yeah, tell us about that,” Miles teased, leaning back in his chair, clearly getting comfortable with the teasing. “You’re usually way better at hiding it when you’ve got a thing for someone. But this time? Buddy, it’s written all over your face.”

Jack groaned, and the guys continued to chuckle at his expense. His teammates didn’t miss a beat, continuing their teasing while Jack pretended to ignore them. But deep down, his mind was racing. They were right. He had noticed Y/N. He had been watching her, and for some reason, the whole thing—her confidence, her energy, her way of moving—had left him utterly captivated.

But of course, the team wasn’t going to let him forget it. They kept it up for a while longer, throwing in playful comments and nudges, until Jack was so red in the face he considered ducking out of the bar entirely. But he didn’t.

After a few minutes, Miles gave him a playful wink. "Alright, Jack," he said. "Go on and get it over with. Take the bull by the horns—or, uh, Y/N by the reins."

Jack looked at Miles, then around the table at all his teammates, each one grinning like they knew exactly what he was thinking. He sighed, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Fine. You guys win. But if I do this, it’s on my terms. No more teasing, got it?”

The guys cheered, the teasing dying down as they gave Jack an encouraging look, but there was a mischievous glint in their eyes. They weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

“Good luck, Jack,” Nico said with a wink. “We’ll be right here to watch it unfold. Don't forget to get a selfie with her!”

Jack rolled his eyes again, but with a smirk, he finally stood up, ready to face whatever conversation might come his way. As he made his way toward the bar, he could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, still teasing but oddly supportive in their own way. But none of that mattered as much as the fact that, for some strange reason, he had the feeling that this night was about to get a lot more interesting than he’d expected.

As Jack made his way toward the bar, his heart beat a little faster than he expected. He could hear the muffled chatter and music of the bar growing louder with each step, but in the back of his mind, all he could focus on was the reason he was heading in that direction in the first place.

Y/N.

When he reached the bar, he was momentarily distracted by the sea of people, all milling around, but there she was, standing behind the counter with a drink in hand, casually chatting with a customer. Her smile lit up the space, and for a second, Jack just stood there, watching her effortlessly move between the crowd, her energy magnetic.

Then, as if she sensed his presence, Y/N glanced over, her eyes locking onto Jack’s with a mischievous glint. She flashed a smile, and in a few steps, she was right there in front of him, leaning against the bar casually as if she’d been waiting for him.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice teasing but soft. “Look who finally decided to show up. You ready to ride the bull, or are you just another tourist passing through?” Her eyes sparkled with playfulness as she gave him a knowing look, her lips curving into a smile that made Jack’s stomach flip.

Jack felt his cheeks heat up at the mention of the bull, and suddenly, the confident, laid-back persona he’d had just moments ago felt miles away. His mind went blank for a second, and he found himself stammering, trying to find the right words.

“Uh, w-what?” He cleared his throat. “I mean… I—I wasn’t planning on riding it, but—uh… I guess it’d be… fun to watch.” He couldn’t help but notice how her gaze held his, her eyes locking onto his as if she was daring him to say something else, something more daring.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “Oh really?” she teased. “I thought you were the kind of guy who liked a challenge. I mean, you’ve seen me show you all how it’s done, right?” She leaned a little closer, her voice lowering just enough to make him feel like the room was suddenly smaller. “You sure you’re just here for the drinks?”

Jack blinked a few times, his throat dry. The way she spoke—so confident, so direct—was enough to send him spinning. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to talk to women, but something about her presence made his usual easygoing confidence evaporate in an instant.

“Uh… I, uh…” Jack stammered again, completely flustered by the attention she was giving him. “I mean, I’ve seen you ride the bull, and, uh, it’s... pretty impressive. But, uh, not sure if I’m quite ready to, uh, try it out just yet.”

Y/N’s smirk deepened, her eyes dancing with amusement. She was clearly enjoying the effect she was having on him, and Jack was too far gone to even try to hide it. He could feel his palms start to sweat slightly, the alcohol in his system doing nothing to help his nerves.

“Not ready for the bull, huh?” she teased, her voice almost a whisper now, like she was sharing a secret. “Tell me, Jack—are you always this cautious, or is it just when it comes to me?”

The words hit him like a wave, and Jack could barely keep himself from stumbling over his response. “I—uh—no, I mean—I'm not cautious!” he said quickly, his words tripping over each other. “I just... I mean, I just... didn’t want to make a fool of myself, that's all.”

Y/N’s laughter rang out, light and full of teasing, but there was no malice in it—just fun. "Oh, Jack, you're far from making a fool of yourself," she said, her voice playful. "But, hey, if you're too shy, I totally get it. Not everyone’s cut out for the bull. But hey, you might just surprise yourself." 

Jack felt his pulse quicken at the way she looked at him—her gaze softened just a little, and he realized she wasn’t just teasing him. She was flirting, and maybe, just maybe, she wanted him to take the challenge. To prove something. To her.

He didn’t know what came over him, but suddenly, the idea of being cautious felt ridiculous. He’d come this far—he wasn’t going to back down now.

“Alright, alright,” Jack said, his voice now a little steadier than before, though the lingering nerves were still there. “I’ll give it a shot. But only because you made it sound like fun.”

Y/N’s grin widened, clearly pleased with his decision. “That’s what I like to hear,” she said, her voice still low and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep up with me on that bull, Jack.”

Before he could respond, she gave him a playful wink, and then, without another word, she turned back to the rest of the bar, ready to prep another round of drinks for some eager patrons. Jack, still trying to collect himself, stood there for a moment, his mind racing. Was he really about to ride the mechanical bull? With her watching?

His teammates, watching from their table nearby, couldn’t help but notice the slight color in his cheeks and the distracted look on his face as Y/N walked away. 

“Oh man,” Nico chuckled, nudging Dougie with his elbow. “Looks like Jack’s about to face his biggest challenge of the night.”

Dougie grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Told you, Jack. No backing out now.”

Jack shot them both an exasperated look but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He was in it now. There was no turning back.

With a deep breath, he straightened up and made his way toward the inflatable pit, ready to take on the bull—and whatever else the night might bring.

Jack climbed onto the mechanical bull with as much confidence as he could muster, but the truth was, his legs were already starting to feel like jelly beneath him. He tugged at the straps on the bull, positioning himself as best as he could. His hands gripped the handles in front of him with white knuckles, his palms clammy against the synthetic leather. He could feel the vibrations from the bull beneath him, the mechanical beast waiting to spring into action.

He glanced around, trying to act cool, but there was no denying the fact that he was a little nervous. The cheers from the crowd were loud, almost deafening, as they eagerly awaited the ride. The rest of his team was gathered near the sidelines, teasing and shouting playful encouragements, but Jack’s focus was entirely on the bull and, more specifically, on the girl who had just told him he should give it a shot.

As the bull began to move, swaying beneath him in slow, deliberate motions, Jack’s heart rate increased. He hadn’t expected to be quite this nervous. He tried to settle into a rhythm, trying not to grip the handles too tightly, but the bull jerked suddenly, and he almost lost his balance. 

"Whoa—whoa!" Jack muttered under his breath, holding on even tighter, feeling like he was on the verge of being thrown off at any second. He couldn’t help but laugh nervously at his own awkwardness.

Just as he was beginning to doubt his decision, the crowd cheered again, but this time it wasn’t just for him. To his surprise, a familiar face appeared beside him—Y/N. Without missing a beat, she hopped onto the bull behind him, moving with a fluidity that made Jack feel like he was a complete amateur in comparison. 

The crowd erupted into even more applause, but Jack’s focus was completely stolen by the way she effortlessly adjusted herself behind him, settling into position with the kind of confidence Jack could only dream of having. 

Y/N’s body pressed against his back, her presence warm and undeniable, and she flashed him a grin. “Hold on tight,” she teased, her voice warm and playful, almost as if she was giving him a secret, inside tip. “I don’t bite… unless you want me to.”

Jack’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to laugh or just lose himself in the absurdity of the situation. He was already nervous about riding the bull, and now Y/N was practically pressed against him, her steady, fluid movements making him feel clumsy by comparison.

“Okay,” Jack muttered, trying to gather himself. “I got this.”

Y/N’s laughter vibrated through him, light and infectious. “You’re holding on like your life depends on it,” she teased, her voice close to his ear. “Relax, Jack. You’re not gonna fall. Trust me, I’ve got you.”

The way she said it—so confidently, with such easy familiarity—brought a wave of relief, though Jack still couldn’t shake his nervousness. He shifted slightly, trying to focus on staying balanced, but the more he tried to focus on the bull, the more aware he became of her proximity. She wasn’t just sitting behind him; she was with him, like they were a team, moving together in sync with the motions of the bull.

As the ride started to pick up speed, the mechanical bull bucked, throwing Jack off rhythm. His grip tightened again, but this time, Y/N leaned in a little closer, her body moving with the flow of the ride in perfect harmony. Her hands rested lightly on his waist, not pressing him into the seat but instead offering an unspoken support.

“Relax,” she whispered again, her breath hot against his ear. “You’re doing fine, but you might want to loosen up a little. I’ll keep you steady.”

Jack tried to focus on her words. He forced himself to relax his grip on the bull’s handle, feeling more at ease with each passing second. His nervous energy slowly started to drain away, replaced by a growing sense of exhilaration. The more he adjusted to the rhythm of the bull, the more he could feel his awkwardness melting away, replaced by a genuine confidence he hadn’t expected. 

The bull swerved to the left, then to the right, and Jack found himself following the motion without thinking. His body was no longer stiff and rigid—it was almost as if he was moving with the bull and with Y/N behind him, sharing the ride in perfect sync. He could feel her fingers brushing against the side of his waist as she shifted her position, her breath matching the movement of the bull. It was a strange kind of chemistry, born not just from the thrill of the ride but from their proximity to one another.

Suddenly, the bull made a sharp turn, and for a moment, Jack thought he was going to lose it. But before he could react, Y/N’s hands slid from his waist to his shoulders, steadying him, keeping him from falling.

“You’ve got this, Jack!” she called over the music, her voice full of encouragement. “Just a little more.”

He felt his heart race—not from fear of falling, but from the intensity of the moment, the fact that they were working together as a team, even if it was just on a mechanical bull. Her presence behind him was more than just physical—it was reassuring, playful, and a little daring all at once. It made him feel like he could actually do this.

With a final hard buck, the bull tossed them both to the side, and Jack, unable to hold on any longer, was thrown off and landed in the inflatable pit with a soft bounce. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath, before finally sitting up, grinning despite himself.

From where he lay, Jack watched Y/N, who had managed to stay on much longer. She didn’t even look winded. In fact, she was moving with such ease, Jack couldn’t help but admire her control. She shifted, adjusting her position on the bull, and the crowd erupted into cheers as she performed a smooth roll off the bull, flipping backward in a move that was so graceful, it almost looked like she was part of a dance.

As she landed in the inflatable pit with a playful flourish, Jack couldn’t help but laugh, clapping along with the rest of the crowd. Y/N grinned widely, breathless from the ride but still full of that infectious energy.

The crowd roared with applause, and Jack couldn’t help but laugh, his nerves now completely gone, replaced by a rush of adrenaline.

He turned slightly to face Y/N, who was grinning from ear to ear. “See?” she said, her voice light and teasing. “Told you you could do it.”

Jack laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, I guess you were right,” he admitted, still trying to catch his breath. “You really do know how to ride this thing.”

Y/N’s grin softened into something a little more sincere as she slid off the bull and helped Jack down. “I’ve had a little practice,” she said with a wink, her eyes twinkling. “But you did pretty damn good for a first-timer.”

Jack couldn’t stop smiling, his heart still racing from the ride. As he slid off the bull, he realized that for once, he didn’t feel out of place—he was right where he needed to be. And for some strange reason, he had Y/N to thank for that. 

As the applause died down, the energy of the room shifted, but Jack didn’t mind. He was too busy trying to steady his pulse from the ride—and the effect she’d had on him.

Jack laughed, still catching his breath. “Yeah, well, I guess I had a pretty good instructor.” He looked over at her, the smile never leaving his face. "You were amazing. I don’t know how you make it look so easy.”

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes glinting with the same playful mischief. “It’s all about confidence,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “You’ve got to trust the bull and trust yourself. And, well,” she added with a wink, “trust your partner.”

The night was in full swing now. The PBR Bar had transformed into an electric dance party, with the lights flashing in time to the music and the floor packed with people moving to the beat. The Devils’ players were a part of it all, but none more so than Jack, who had managed to find his rhythm after a few drinks and a mechanical bull ride. His teammates—Luke and Nico especially—had captured his entire bull-riding ordeal on their phones, giggling and mocking him as they relived the moment. Jack wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or amused, but one thing was clear: tonight, the team was in the mood to let loose.

As the beat pulsed through the air, the guys found themselves drawn to the dance floor. Some of the PBR girls were already moving, their energy infectious as they led the crowd through a series of fun, teasing moves. The bar was buzzing with excitement, and the atmosphere had an almost magnetic quality to it.

Jack, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time, was talking with his brother Luke and Nico, his usual nerves replaced by a certain boldness. He even found himself tapping along to the rhythm of the song, though he wasn’t quite ready to go all-in like some of the others. His attention was split between the conversation and the lively scene around him, but every so often, his gaze flickered toward the bar, where he noticed a familiar face.

Y/N was back at her post, filling out orders, chatting with patrons, but Jack noticed something—she was scanning the crowd. His heart skipped when he realized she was looking for him. 

Just as he turned back to talk to Nico, the music shifted, and an early 2000s hit blared from the speakers—“Up Down (Do This All Day)” by T-Pain. Jack barely had time to adjust to the change before he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned, surprised to see Y/N standing in front of him, her smile playful and bright, as though she’d been waiting for this moment. 

“Need a dancing partner?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischievous energy, her tone inviting but full of that daring confidence Jack had come to admire.

Jack blinked, momentarily speechless, before he recovered, a grin spreading across his face. “Uh, sure. Why not?” He looked around at his brother and Nico, who were both giving him knowing looks. Nico smirked, while Luke whooped in the background, cheering for his older brother like he was rooting for a game-winning goal.

Before Jack could even second-guess himself, Y/N had already extended her hand, her fingers outstretched toward him in the middle of the crowded dance floor.

Without hesitating, Jack reached for her hand, the touch sending a rush of excitement through him. He allowed her to pull him into the sea of bodies, the beats of the song vibrating through the floor as the crowd around them moved with rhythm and energy. The space was packed, and the bodies were close, but in that moment, Jack didn’t mind. 

Y/N led him into the crowd with ease, her confidence setting the pace as she began moving fluidly to the beat, teasing the crowd with her effortless sway. Jack stumbled at first, trying to find his footing, but Y/N’s gaze never wavered from him. She was watching him intently, with a glint in her eyes that made him feel like they were the only two people on the floor.

Relax, Jack," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "Follow my lead."

Jack took a deep breath as he allowed her to move against him. There was no space between them, not anymore. His eyes fell to her lips, watching them move in time with the music. The music pulsed through him, the rhythm heavy and primal. She rocked back and forth, her hips moving seductively against his.

“Mmm,” he said, his voice low and husky. His hands settled on the small of her back as she ground against him, moving her hips in time with the beat. She felt warm under his touch, soft and inviting.

"Let the music do the work," she said, her mouth finding his ear again, her tongue brushing against his skin and sending shivers down his spine.

Jack couldn’t help the low growl that escaped him at the feel of her tongue on him. His grip on her hips tightened and she laughed, her breath warm against him as she turned her head to meet his eyes. Jack held her gaze, mesmerized by the bright glint of mischief that lit up the dark depths.

Y/N pulled back slowly, her hands finding their way back to his shoulders. The song’s chorus hit, loud and pulsing through the packed dance floor. They turned, swaying in time, her body pressed against his. Jack could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest, could feel her hips moving against his. His eyes were locked on hers as she raised her arms above her head and turned, swaying back into him.

“Up down do this all day,” she breathed, turning again with the rhythm. Jack watched the way her hair moved, watched the way her hips rolled seductively, back and forth. His hands found her hips again, moving in time with her as she rolled against him.

She was the only one he saw. The only one he felt. Jack didn’t know what had come over him, but he couldn’t deny it. This girl had lit something in him.

The song shifted, the beat deepening and slowing. Y/N’s hands found their way to his shoulders again, and Jack pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together as they swayed in time. He felt her hand slide up his neck to tangle in his hair, her touch sending shivers down his skin. Her fingers slid along his nape, teasing the sensitive skin there, and he heard her low moan as she turned again and pressed herself against him.

Jack’s mouth found her neck, his lips ghosting over her skin. She tilted her head back and he took the opportunity to drag his lips up her throat and along the smooth line of her jaw. Her breath hitched as he nipped at the soft curve of her ear.

“You’ve got the rhythm now,” she whispered. “All day.” Jack smirked against her neck. He liked this girl. She made him feel good. She made him want.

“Want to find out?” Jack asked, his breath hot against her skin. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “What else I can do?” Y/N blinked up at him, her eyes dark and full of promise.

Y/N smiles and wraps her arms around Jack's neck, pulling him closer, her hips grinding against his as they sway to the music. Jack moans softly, feeling her warm skin against his, his body responding to her movements.

"Baby, I'm your best bet," she whispers in his ear, her tongue flicking along the curve of his earlobe.

Jack groans tossing his head back knowing how much trouble he is in. Y/N pulls away once the song ends and winks at him before returning towards the bar where it was her turn to be the bar dancer. Her moves hit with each beat of the next song. 

Jack was screwed and he knew it. He adjusted himself in his pants before going to find his brother and teammates. Y/N was trouble. And he was ready to get in. The night was still young, and so was Jack. He was ready to have the night of his life.

The Devils’ boys were the life of the party now. With their confidence boosted after their game, their usual antics returned to full effect. Jack settled in with his brother, Nico, and a few others for a round of shots. The bar had shifted gears and gone into full dance mode, the girls dancing on the bars now, and Jack found himself more than once looking toward the bar for the girl in red.

Y/N came back to their table to serve them all once again, Jack's gaze burning into her. He had to have her one way or another. Nico asks Y/N to stay and join them which she playfully pouts and says that she can't but secretly slides a paper into Jack's hand. Jack looks down and back at her and she winks, he reads it and tells the boys he's going to the dancefloor which they all nod.

Jack ends up walking to the bathroom where he finds Y/N perched on one of the vanities. His blood began to heat seeing her. Her back was arched, her breasts pushed out, her hair spread out in front of her as if waiting for him. His dick grew hard at the sight and he knew this was where the trouble started. He closed the door behind them and locked it knowing they would be here for a minute or two. His gaze never left hers. 

"You're so fucking gorgeous." Jack whispered as he moved towards her, his hands settling on her hips. She smirked and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down into a kiss. Jack moaned at the taste of her, she tasted like heaven. She had her hand on the side of his face as she kissed him, their tongues tangling together as Jack ran his hands up her thighs to settle on her ass, giving it a squeeze before he slid his hands under her ass and pulled her up off the counter.

He walked to the wall and pinned her against it, her legs wrapping around his waist as they kissed. Jack pulled away for a second and looked into her eyes.

"You're incredible," he whispered as he pulled her close. 

Y/N laughs softly, her hands moving to cup his face. "You're not bad yourself." She leans in to kiss him again before pulling away with a smirk. "We shouldn't be doing this here."

"Yeah? What's stopping you?" Jack asks, his lips finding hers again. She moans softly before pulling away again.

Y/N gazes into his blue eyes. She wasn't the type of girl to hook up with a guy she just met at her job but something about Jack made her core burn with want.  She wanted him. He felt like fun, and tonight she was in the mood for fun. Jack's eyes never left hers, his blue burning into her, full of heat.

"Fuck it." She muttered before she grabbed Jack by the collar of his shirt and pulling him to her, their lips crashing together in a kiss. Jack moans, his hips thrusting against her as he kisses her back.

She gasps as his hips hit her core and she pulls away from him, both of them breathing heavy.

"Giddy up cowgirl," Jack said as he ran his hands under her thighs and turned them. He pushed her up against the wall, her back to the glass wall. She nodded with a gasp as his lips met hers. Jack pushed her legs up to wrap around him again.

His hips thrust against her and she whimpered softly. She wanted him already. Jack chuckled against her lips and his hand trailed it's way down her body to her red bottoms and stirrups. Y/N pulled away and began kissing down Jack's jaw to his neck. He struggled to undo the clasps holding the stirrups to her hips. 

"Why do these have to be complicated." He groaned as Y/N giggled at his desperation. She replaces her hands with his and undos the clasps. The stirrups falling to the ground as Jack grabs Y/N's hips and pulls her off the vanity, spins her so her back is to his chest. He grinds into her and his hand finds it's way to her neck wrapping his hands around it slightly squeezing, "You feel what you do to me baby?"  He asks, his mouth finding her ear again. Y/N nods, moaning softly, the wetness between her legs growing. 

"Tell me you want it." Jack growled as he nips her earlobe, his hand on her thigh sliding up under the hem of her short shorts. Y/N gasped softly at the feel of his fingers on her sensitive skin.

Y/N moans and nods vigorously watching herself fall apart on the hockey player’s fingers. "I want to hear you say it." Jack groaned as he pressed his fingers against her, feeling how wet she was for him. He pressed his fingers into her, feeling her tighten around him. Y/N moaned and writhed on his fingers.

"Please, I want it." She moaned softly, his hand tightening on her neck as she writhed and moved against his hand.

Jack pushed his fingers into her harder and faster, hearing her moans in his ear, and that’s when he realized the wall opposite them was mirrored. He could see them. He could see himself playing with her pussy. Jack grins in the reflection, it was hot. He saw her writhing on his fingers, her head tilting back to rest on his shoulder and her breasts heaving with the quick breaths she was taking. Jack felt himself hardening more.

"Look at you," He said, his voice huskier. "Look what we're doing baby." Jack's lips found her ear again, his breath tickling his breath tickling her skin and she shivered. Y/N looked back at the reflection and she gasped softly. Jack's arms wrapped around her stomach and his free hand moved up to cup her breasts. They were heavy in his hand, full and hot as she moaned.

Jack found her nipple with his thumb and forefinger and he pinched it, his fingers moving in and out of her. Y/N gasps as she moans again. Jack smirked to himself. She looked incredible like that, writhing on his hand and fingers as he played her body. 

"Tell me I can take you," Jack muttered into her ear. Y/N gasped as he pinched her nipple again, she nodded as he slid another finger into her pussy.

"Fuck, I'm close." Jack could feel her pussy tightening on his fingers and he smirked into the reflection. He liked the sight of his hand playing with her pussy, he loved the look of her tits in his hands. Y/N whimpered. "Yeah?" he smugly asks, grinning down at her. "That's a good girl." He muttered as he picked up the speed. She gasps and nods again. Jack could see her watching the reflection, her eyes were wide and her cheeks flushed.

"Come for me, Y/N." Jack demands and she moans as his fingers press into her g-spot, she comes apart on his hand, her orgasm hitting her hard and fast. Jack watched the reflection as her pussy clenched around his fingers before he pulled them out and brought them to her mouth. "Clean them like a good girl."  He muttered to her and she nods, her mouth falling open as his wet fingers slide into her mouth. She moaned as she tasted herself. She sucked them clean, licking them with precision, and Jack groaned at the sight. He pulled his fingers from her mouth and turned her to face him, he was about to kiss her when Y/N automatically dropped to her knees undoing the button to Jack's pants and pulling down his zipper. 

She couldn't contain herself. She needed to taste him and have him on her tongue. His pants fell to the floor with a soft thump as Y/N began mouthing at Jack's cock through his boxers. His soft groans fill the bathroom of the club. "Don't tease me babe." he mutters. Y/N hums as she pulls his boxers down and his cock slaps his stomach. Y/N moans, she knew he was big but goddamn. She felt herself grow even wetter just knowing he's going to stretch her out perfectly. He curved slightly to the right. His pink tip turning red and leaking precum. Jack moans and she begins placing open mouthed kisses along the base and licking the vein to the tip. She looked up at Jack to find him staring down at her, his eyes burning with lust. She proceeds to kitten lick his tip. She hums at the salty taste.  

Y/N felt Jack's hands find themselves in her hair. He was holding a fistful of her hair but not pulling yet. She took him into her mouth, sucking him in and swirling her tongue around him as she bobbed on his cock. Jack was breathing harder now. His breathing comes in sharp inhales and exhales. His hand tightens on her hair and she moans softly around his cock as he holds her head still and pumps into her mouth. The sounds of him fucking her mouth filled the bathroom. His hips thrusting in and out of her mouth, his breaths growing harsher. 

"Y/N," he muttered and she moans around him, loving how deep he was going into her mouth and down her throat. He was hitting her gag reflex, but she didn't care. She wanted this. She wanted him. Jack groaned, his hand cupping her chin and tilting her head up so she had to look at him as he fucked her mouth.

"I'm gonna come in your mouth if you don't stop." He muttered, his eyes meeting hers as she sucked him into her mouth. Y/N takes him down her throat once more and holds him there swallowing around him as he lets out a loud moan. He yanks her off and pulls her up before wrapping his hand around her throat and kissing her. The kiss was nasty.

"Only way I'm cumming is in this sweet pussy of yours." Jack muttered between kisses as he turned Y/N making her face the mirror. Her hands finding the granite surface.  

Jack's hand trailing down her back and settling on her ass, he gave it a squeeze and then slapped it hard enough to get her attention. Y/N moans at the slap as Jack trails kisses down her neck to her shoulder. Y/N's back arched slightly as Jack's tongue trails down her spine. "Oh god," She gasps, he kisses the base of her spine and moves down to kiss the top of her ass. She hears Jack spit and the squelch of him stroking himself fills the room before his hand slides up her inner thigh. She moans as she hears him rub the tip of his cock along her pussy lips. Jack growls softly and slowly pushes in making Y/N feel every thick inch. Y/N gasps softly, she was so full. He bottomed out in her with a groan as he settled there.

"You feel so fucking good," Jack muttered, he trails kisses up her spine. Y/N pushes back into him, silently asking to move. Jack obliged, his cock pulling out with a squelch before pushing back in. "Your cock feels so good," She muttered as Jack picked up the pace and he began thrusting into her harder. His hips slapping against her ass and thighs as his balls slapped her pussy with each thrust. 

They were both moaning and Jack's grip on her hips tightened. Y/N reached down and began rubbing her clit, the sensation building again and Jack watched her in the reflection. His blue eyes burning as he watched her. His eyes locked on hers in the reflection as he began thrusting harder into her. Their breathing became more labored.

"God, look how good you look taking my cock." Jack said as he grabbed a handful of Y/N's hair making her look at her reflection. She moaned at what she saw, she was pure filth and she loved it. Her face was flushed, her hair a mess as he fucked her, her legs shaking as she rubbed her clit. Her eyes were wide and blown, her cheeks burning. Jack let go of her hair as her moans picked up. 

Y/N felt like she could feel him her stomach, just rearranging her guts from how deep he was. Jack lifted her leg onto the vanity and Y/N damn near screamed. He was reaching spots in her she didn't know she had, but fuck did she love it. 

He wrapped an arm around her stomach as his other hand cupped her breast and he pinched her clit with his fingers and began rubbing it hard as he continued to fuck into her at a brutal pace. Jack leaned in close to her ear. "You like that baby?" He grunted into her ear before he bit it and Y/N came hard and loud on his cock, her pussy squeezing him in a vice as she came. Jack groaned softly as he kept fucking her until she was done, then he began fucking into her harder, chasing his own orgasm. Jack's hand tightened on her hip, his breaths growing more erratic. Y/N watched him in the mirror as he chased his orgasm.

"Fuck I'm gonna come, I need to come." He growled out. Y/N nodded. "Do it Jack. Fill me up so good." Jack let out a shaky breath, he moaned softly and pushed in one last time bottoming out in her as his cock pulsed and filled her with his cum. Jack gasped softly, leaning forward and pulling her against his chest, they watched the reflection of themselves as Jack fucked in and out of her slowly emptying his cum in her. Finally Jack pulled out and they both watched as his cum dripped down her thigh. Y/N felt full. Jack could swear he could get hard again at the sight. He shook himself out of his trance as he reached over for some paper towels and helped Y/N clean herself up before he did the same himself.  

They both redressed and Y/N tried to fix her appearance despite her curls being a bit frizy from Jack's grip. Her makeup was smudged. After fixing herself up she helped Jack fix his hair and Jack helped her put her stirrups back on.

His hands lingered on her hips as he looked at her. "What is my lipstick still smudged?" Y/N asks. He smiles and shakes his head. "I don't think this can be a one time thing." he said. She lifted an eyebrow, "Oh you get slutted out and now you're addicted?" Y/n teases . Jack growls as he pulls her close and kisses her. "Shut the fuck up before I decide to turn you around and fuck you again." She gasps at the kiss as Jack pulls away, his eyes dark and lustful. They stood there in silence for a moment.

"Well pull it out." Y/N spoke. Jack raised his eyebrows in shock, god she was insatiable. She smirked, "Your phone horndog. Give me your phone." she said. He reaches into his jeans and unlocks it before passing it to her. Y/N puts in her number and takes a selfie then hands it back. "Now whenever you're back in Nashville, call me and we can do this again." she said before pulling him down for another kiss and went to leave the bathroom. Jack stood there looking at her contact, he knew it was a great idea to come out tonight.

[wellofdean]

I still remember what Jensen said years ago, I think he would disagree with Rob and Rich https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GjTN6m5WUAAxsWG?format=jpg&name=small

Here's the content of that link. Many apologies for reposting, but:

So, my first answer to this is, as I've said before, I am infinitely more interested in the text itself than I am in what any of them say about it, and the text is what it is (GAY). What's nice about these episodes of Rich & Rob's podcast is that they are actually responding to the thing we all saw in our TV box, and saying "Dial it down to 11 guys, geez," which: Yes. Good to know y'all can see a church by daylight.

But also, in the Q&A format at a con, there are loads of different reasons Jensen might say this or that. What's the context here? Who is he onstage with? What's the crowd like? What exactly was the question? Also, this answer rightly acknowledges that the "whole Dean and Cas thing" was poppin' off in season 8. Well spotted. Perhaps he is thinking that the show needed to separate them for awhile so they wouldn't have to just fucking make out already? In fact, perhaps that was exactly the thinking, because honestly, season 9 goes off on the star-crossed Destiel, complete with parallel cross-species romances to interrogate proof of concept and some serious Romeo and Juliet-ass shit:

Dean praying to Cas and saying "I need you here" while he agonises about what to do about Sam; the whole painful kicking Cas out of the bunker storyline with the yearning date prep and the fanfic gap (plus LOADS of other shit in that episode); Cas gets killed by April and Dean tenderly cradles his face and then is jealous about the sex; they have a big vulnerable heart-to-heart about the Sam situation and why Dean kept Cas away and Cas forgives him immediately and helps Dean; Dean takes the mark of Cain and the Crowley/Dean/Cas love triangle start revving up; Collette is invented for the sole purpose of paralleling Cas; the Garth is a werewolf episode is here about finding love in unexpected places! love Is love, yo!; the fitness centre episode with its many implications that Dean is into dudes; Metatron's speech about what gives a story meaning; Gabriel calls Cas Dean's boytoy; Metatron tells Cas "I left you human because I hoped you would live happily ever after" because HE KNOWS; the whole Romeo and Juliet thing in episode 20 with the werewolf/shapeshifter romance that pointedly mirrors Dean and Cas; Dean drops everything to go help Cas, leading to Cas giving up his army for one man; Hannah is invented to throw another triangle into the works; Metatron says Cas is in love..............with humanity; Dean dies (Juliet much?) and comes back a demon.

Like, I am leaving LOADS out.

Firstly? They were 💯 writing it like that. They leaned the fuck in every chance they got. And secondly, y'all get that Jensen pointedly does not talk about subtext, or things that the story is doing on the DL, or about things that haven't happened yet, and he doesn't talk about any of Dean's feelings that Dean would not openly talk about himself? Jensen is actually admirably disciplined and principled about it? And, you know that he could also just be disingenuous on purpose to avoid doing so, and to allow unspoken things to remain unspoken? If he just tells us, where's our joy in figuring it out going to come from? Y'all should THANK HIM for not stealing our joy.

I personally think? Jensen is clever. He is very intentional and I think he knows what he's doing. If you consider that Jensen talks AS DEAN in cons and never goes beyond something Dean would say, well...then it makes sense he would say that in light of the fact that anyone who understands narrative can see that the text itself is WALL TO WALL star-crossed Destiel, because that's what happens when you separate them and then write them as you have been all along. I'm glad he enjoyed it! Me too!

Like, either you think Jensen is a full idiot, or you have to admit that there might be layers to the things he says.

[thedarkestrivernymph]

A Heart Of Gold pt.2

Y! Noble Child Nicholas x Mother! Maid! Reader x Y! Maid Maria x Y! Baron Charles

word count: roughly 10k

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of abuse (both physical and verbal), mentions of death, murder, violence, gore, blood, yandere tendencies/behaviour, weird relationship dynamics, anger issues, morally gray reader, child loss, mentions of alcohol addiction, domestic violence, breakdowns, morally grey yanderes, creepy behaviour, generational trauma, religious themes, reader in this is christian, cursing, not accurate depictions of history!

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Author's note: Phew, this turned out a very different than the initial idea I had. haha Still, hope you enjoy it!

“God, let me repent in your name. Allow me to witness the beauty and grace of nature, to cry and scream and know of my faults and erase them in your name. Let me love my neighbours, like you loved me. I will do only good, I promise, just grant me my new golden heart. Please, I beg you, free me.”

The seasons shifted again.

They morphed into the other, faster than you could blink, quicker than you could run after them and plead to stay, swift and merciless.

Death was the same.

Breathing in ice particles for air, snow crunching under the weight of your boots, you made your way down-hill. The sun hadn't come out yet, not that she really planned to anyways in the middle of winter—but the villagers were hopeful, at least tried to be. But you weren't. You knew frost had crusted the earth and left only destruction in its wake. The others were simply to optimistic. A bunch of idiots really, thinking this winter could be different, that the nobles would care about you, at least somewhat more, after the new baron had taken over the lands.

A new head only meant one thing; trouble and higher pay. The already scarce crops which were salvaged would only serve to fill his pockets. If you commoners were mindless worker ants, then the nobility sure enough were bloodsucking mosquitos draining you all until nothing but dust remained of your crumpling bones.

Perhaps you wouldn't have had to worry about any of this—not about your frozen solid fingertips from the worn-down knitted gloves nor about the burning in the bottom of your stomach from the lack of anything edible, if you just had not married him.

At first he had seemed promising, a nice clean face, good salary, stern tone—he had been a baker for god's sake, what could go wrong!

Oh how naive you had been.

Before you knew, heavily pregnant with your second, his bakery was in ruins, all the customers avoiding his bakery specifically like the plague. At first you were confused—he was a good baker and kept everything neat. Then he came drunk the first time. Reeking of cheep booze, he completely blacked out on your shared martial bed—which at that time at least had possessed a bedframe. You were furious with him, after all you were an only child and your parents had carefully picked him out, because of his financial status and now here he was wasting his money on alcohol while his baby was growing in your womb.

You couldn't break free from him, even after the birth of his second child, even after the tradegy of your first. Your wings were clipped—you were married, you had duties, responsibilities, children. Running away would only bring pain and shame upon you and your whole family. You didn't even want to imagine what the villagers would do to you if they found you after fleeing. All the blame would be placed on you—you the cruel mother, the miserable daughter, the horrible wife. Much rather, you would pluck your own hair than experience any of such shaming.

But death was a constant threat. And one that terrified you at that. After having closed down his bakery, you had been forced into work, anything you could find, really, anything that paid. Yet even that seemed to have not been enough for the monster your husband unraveled to be—because soon enough his explosive episodes started. He would roar and cry, stagger from wall to wall in your shared home, pant like a beast as he hunted after you, just to reach for your hair, clutching it as if he wanted to rip it out for you, before—

You hissed, digging your blunt nails into your scarf, this was in the past, he no longer could terrify you so. Keeping your gaze on the road on the pearly white snow reaching up to your knees you remembered to breathe, to calm down. You needed a crystal clear head for the interview.

No matter how much you wanted to melt away like the snow under the sun’s rays—which never seemed to grace you—you couldn't. Your life meant something to others, if you weren't there anymore, if you would actually choose to travel with the wind and disappear, then you would allow that man victory. But you just could not after having managed to slip through his grasp and land an opportunity at a new life.

So you walked, pushed through, even as you grimaced from the odd sensation of needles pricking your toes—your shoes not suitable for the weather, because nothing would stop you from at least trying for a better life. A life without him.

The estate was huge.

And admittedly, you were frazzled on how you managed to even land this job in the first place. If it weren't for Aunt Jane, you probably would've never even laid eyes on something so majestic, dressed in soft brown, winged windows and with elaborate woodwork and sculptures; it was a mix of everything you could only ever hear tales about.

Not that you minded, you did resent the nobility and the royals with all their spendings as if they didn't bleed you and the others dry on a daily to finance their overindulgence that was slowly leading the empire to ruin. Or at least you imagined it to be so.

Nevertheless grandmother surely would've scolded you for being so cynical. The only other person besides your aunt that you had known to be humane and she was six feet under your childhood home’s apple tree.

You sighed, shaking your head. This wasn't the time to be sentimental. She was dead, for years now. And you had moved on, like everyone did. So brushing over your skirt for the last time, you stepped even closer to the gate. God, even the gate was twirly and whimsical; something one could only achieve through the hands of a master with years of experience—or so you imagined, you had no clue actually.

“You—you the new maid?” you flinched, eyes darting to meet the eyes of a gruff man, armor covering him.

You nodded, eyes fixed on his face—really the only feature bare to the sight of others, which did make you wonder if he wasn’t cold with nothing protecting his nose or throat. Bennet, your little boy, if he had stood here instead of him, he surely would’ve caught a cold by now.

“Come. I ain’t got all day woman.” the stranger’s voice was as harsh as sandpaper, which did make you wonder if they provided him with meals or water at all. Odd. Weren’t soldiers—also guards usually the most well-taken care of? But also what did you know, really.

So scurrying, with a soft sigh and enlarged eyes you stepped past him and immediately you felt so out of place.

Carrying scars of a past similar to that of a lot of commoner’s yet pushing through a gate meant only for the elite—it felt wrong, illegal even, as if you were committing a crime. You looked over your shoulder hastily, suddenly overcome with trepidation, with the image of being tackled and shackled by the very guard who let you in. What if he had mistaken you, accused you of trespassing, what if your aunt had messed things up and your children would be left motherless and—

“Just follow the cobblestones, then turn left.” he grumbled, and you calmed again. Seems he got lazy with you, sensing you were not a threat—see, you didn’t need to worry. You weren’t a criminal, like some others commoners vying for the riches the wealthy withheld, you were just here for a job you desperately needed, no one had ever been thrown into prison for this, right? At least you hoped so.

The freshly fallen snow crunched under your shoes again, the same ones you always wore—with a big hole under the left heel. If you had more of what others had, such as the lord (even if you still resented the aristocracy) you hopefully would be working for, then you wouldn’t have to worry about this, in fact then you wouldn’t need any of this—no begging, no pleading, no kneeling. You would be independent, no need to rely on your fool for a husband, you could just cut him out of your life, or cut him off. Shivering at the thought you pulled your scarf much tighter, clenching your hands around eachother.

Little did you know that all of this was the starting point for a life of sin your soul had sworn to repent from.

The interview had went well—as well as it could for your circumstances that is. They wanted you to live here, in the servant's quarters, and nothing you did could change the old woman's mind. That meant leaving your child in the hands of your Aunt Jane.

You loved your Aunt, she was truly a saint—albeit overly strict at times and very ignorant, but she was old, too old for your liking and could never emate the same warmth your grandmother had. Sometimes, in rare cases such as these, you did wish your own grandmother would crawl out of her grave and fix everything for you—like how she used to when you were a child, brewing you tea from pines during the cold winter months while telling you tales of all kinds. You wished that she now would stand in front of you, promising you that everything you were doing would benefit your darling and that he could truly flourish and live a life he deserved.

Because your sole reason in life was your child—your little pearl with his red runny nose, sniffling with each spoon-fed of his soup. You just craved to abandon all the shadows of the past.

Yet life wasn’t gentle with you neither then nor now—God seemed to really not favour you as one of its pawns, because why else would you be assigned to take care of the most bratty child you had ever met?

“Water.” the new heir, to pratically everything, snapped, voice smoother and deeper, not betraying his juvenile features and his childish antics you had learned and grown accustomed to in the few weeks you had been working here.

Swiftly, you poured him a cup of water, handing it to him with a somewhat strained smile. It was a warmer day than usual, which was why the window of his study was left wide open—and your teeth made to chatter the whole time you tried to serve and appease him.

Only, it seemed, that nothing could appease the brown-haired young man this morning, because in the blink of an eyes a glass shattered next to your head, making you jump up in surprise. Suddenly your pulse was pounding in your ears and for a moment you were back in that small hut again next to the river, with the face of your husband red from anger and the shattered bottle laying at your feet like the pieces of your broken heart, as your baby was crying. Why was he crying? Unconsolable and—

“Are you trying to poison me?” you snapped out of it as he spat out the words. Swallowing you tried to come up with an excuse, something to calm the storm in him.

“Master Nicholas of course I wasn’t—”

“Then serve me water instead of lukewarm piss!”

Silence.

Your face fell—you weren’t sure if it was due to exhaustion or just having to endure his childishness or it was the possibility that if he continued to complain about every single thing you did, you would lose your job. And you couldn’t have that, no matter how much you resented him for being as explosive as the man who's name you refused to utter, he was an aristocrat and not him.

So sighing, collecting the remains of yourself, you did what you always had done when your own mother used to have meltdowns due to delirium in her old age—gift her with love she didn't deserve but this time it was directed to a (man)child who you at least assumed to deserve it—because a mother's love was something sacred.

You hugged him.

It wasn't really a conscious decision per se, you had just wanted to show him some love; but to pull him into your embrace—you hadn't thought that you actually would dare to; not just out of courage but be able to stomach touching one of the upper class, who most definitely thought commoners and even servants were on the same level as pigs; stupid and dirty, probably carrying some time of diseases.

That's why you had dreadfully expected him to push you away, to scream to cry out in revulsion, perhaps even raise his hand against you; he was allowed to after all—yet nothing.

He froze instead.

“Maid—” he didn't even know your name, didn’t need to. You were just a fly; someone he could swat away with the back of his hand and no one would bat an eye. And you had the audacity to hug him, you, how dare you, you vile, little, tiny ant. His hands raised, clenching into fists, teeth grinding together in absoloute annoyance and yet he couldn't find it in himself to push you away.

Your arms, your beating heart; something about you was human. Oddly human. Much more human than he ever could be. And then your scent engulfed him. Moss and wet—like the open fields. Warm and motherly—like her.

He failed to take notice of you pulling away. His gaze was glossy, something was pinching his chest and he was disturbed. It hurt. Your touch itself and also the absence of your touch was agonizing.

“I apologize, I overstepped.” anxiety rung in your tone, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew that look, the fear of losing something precious—the fear of having ruined another banquet because he had smashed a teacup to the ground. And the fear he felt now, as you slipped back to being a remote figure; a background character, you wanted to fade away from between his fingers like sand, disappear in the billions of your kind when he had finally sighted something of his liking.

“I—” he cleared his throat, scowl moving back into place—the noble façade returning after the too often happening slip-ups. “I will excuse you this once.”

Yet no matter how much he tried to hide it, you took notice of the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, but you didn’t give it much thought, much more relived to be allowed to continue working here.

If only you had suspected something— if only you had known what you had awakened in Nicholas on that fateful day.

You met the lord of the house some time after.

It was an accident really, you hadn't even meant to be on the staircase at such a dubious hour—it all had been just for Nicholas; he requested you to bring him warm soup and bread after refusing to eat dinner with his aunt, for reasons that made your chest ache and tighten in guilt.

Still you froze, clutching the tray in your sweaty palms, hoping and praying that he wouldn't demand of you to know who you were rushing the tray to—you were beyond exhausted, just having returned from the village; travelling by foot took up time and patience and it only broke your heart every single time to leave your baby behind in the hands of someone else; especially in the hands of a woman as old as Aunt Jane was. You were guilty of being a bad mom, you knew as much, but Bennett was so easily frightened and you weren’t allowed to take him in and—

“Are you new?”

You froze.

Just having passed by him, in hopes he wouldn't take notice of you, you truly had believed he would just let you slip by. At least you had wished he would. You didn't want to converse with another soul, especially not a man with a voice similary deep to that of your deadbeat husband's.

Still you had to say something. You couldn't just flitter away.

So you opened up your mouth.

“Yes, your lordship.” you recited the title you had been taught.

“Who hired you? I have never seen you before.” his tone was demanding, clipped and stern, but there was a soft edge to it, that made you take a peek back over your shoulder, only to startle at the sight. He was standing a few stairs below you, stoic as a statue and with a face hidden by the shadows of the night, the castle only dim-light by the tea-lamp in his grasp held too far away from his features to make anything out—except the penetrating stare you could feel slicing through you; judging and scrutinizing you.

Calm down, you're not a criminal. You're just doing your job.

You turned around, bowing your head and glancing away—somehow showcasing submission felt the right thing to do.

“The head maid, your lordship.”

“Ah.” you could hear some tension slip. “Good.” he probably nodded and you assumed he was finished with his questions until you heard him clear his throat, stepping closer.

“Do you work in the kitchen?” he took another step up, until you both stood on the same step.

“No, your lordship, I serve the young lord.” you answered while feeling his breath blow at your forehead—was it just you or was he standing too close?

“I see.” again with the stern yet awkward answer, as if he himself wasn't sure what more to ask—as it already was obvious that you weren't a robber nor a thief, just a servant working dutifully as he expected of them.

Yet there was something about you, a certain something emanating from you that just made him—

Time seemed to stand still and he with it after he leaned forward, nose so close to your crown it nearly bumped into it.

Sniff.

Was he—was he sniffing you?

You face immediately morphed into abject horror, worried that you stunk, you had been travelling all day and that mostly by foot. You gritted your teeth, cheeks flush with colour, ashamed; not having considered the possibility of sweat sticking to you like a foul-smelling perfume.

“Unbelievable.” he murmured, mumbling more to himself than you really. You could see his right hand, the one without the lamp, twitch as if he was tempted to reach out to you.

“You smell exactly like—” he cut himself off, and his features morphed into something unreadable as you stole a few glances at his face.

And before anything else could unfold he was gone, having sprinted down the stairs to god-knows where, having left you puzzled and confused by his reaction. Finally continuing to climb up the stairs you started to conclude that the entire nobility had to be weird people that were oddly obsessed with smell.

Life slowly but surely took some shape—as some sort of routine settled.

Even with how often you were stuck between work as a maid and being a mother, pendling between the manor and the village as often as you were allowed to, you still somehow felt more put together than before. As if each piece of you was slowly glued back together; as if God slowly saw you too and each of your prayers, one by one, would slowly be answered by him. And all came with the arrival of Spring; endless hope bloomed in your chest for a better world—for a less burdened life.

Yet your momentary happiness was ripped away again, replaced by somberness because what the fuck, god?

What was, she doing here?

Your childhood nemesis, as childish as it sounded—the girl who was always smarter, prettier, better than you, so much so that your mom couldn't shut up about it; Maria.

“(Y/n)!” she chirped, voice like nails against a chalkboard.

She repeated your name again—chanted it like a prayer that would be whispered under one's breath in sermons on sunday mornings. Only hers sounded like she was trying to summon something evil that would split the word apart—or at least your head, because it was buzzing in pain from her nagging tone.

“For God's sake Maria! What is it?” you clutched the edge of the kitchen table, huffing in exasperation, having just spent the last five minutes listening to her call your name while you were busy preparing the Master's dinner. A vein was surely about to pop out of your forehead, because this woman just giggled in response and painfully stupid at that.

“What’s with the sour face?” she chuckled, resting her cheek on her palm, black streaks of hair falling over her shoulders because she—like everyone else besides you and the lord's son—was already ready for bed.

“I am trying to haste! And you're chatting my ear off again—.” you quiped, gaze narrowing at her like you usually did when you were disapproving of something—hoping you managed to look as intimidating as your grandma did back then when she had caught you with your entire fist in the jar of strawberry jam. “Besides, why are you still up? You should be off to bed, shift starts early as always.” hopefully she would take the hint and leave.

Instead, she laughed.

Of course she would. Like she laughed when she stole your favourite red ribbon when you both were eight.

“You’re still up and I don't see anyone scolding you for it. So why is it wrong when I do it?” she snickered, truly the bane of your existence, especially because she slipped off of the chair, in her nightgown—shamelessly; she was not worrying about one of the others, let alone the lord, seeing her like this. Actually, scratch that, she probably wanted him to see her like this.

“Come on, you're so tired all the time, I thought I would offer you some of my company.” she drew closer, until her breath rung loudly in your ear, and her piercing blues for eyes slithered over you like a serpent’s tail.

“Laughing keeps young. You should laugh more.” she observed and it almost felt like a threat— she wanted you to react, to show visibly whatever it is that she managed to evoke in you.

You recoiled from the proximity, almost spooked by the sudden closeness. If it weren't for the wooden crucifix dangling from your neck, you almost would've feared that she was a demoness with those piercing eyes of hers. But even if she wasn't, her eyes still betrayed evil buried so deep in her core that you could only shudder and the snappy words you usually would retort with died on your tongue. She always had been weird, but it somehow was only more unsettling seeing her act the same way as a grown woman.

“I—I really should haste.” you were quick to pick up the tray you had finished preparing and even quicker to leave, without looking back at her even once.

Well, perhaps it had been for the better, because if you had looked back you would have seen the wet muscle of her mouth flicking out of its enclosure to lick over where you just touched on the counter.

You, the girl who's ribbons she had stolen, who's knitted scarf she would inhale when you weren't looking—just another kid from the neighbourhood but you were so much more than that, so much more to her. You the woman who clung so pathetically to religion, hiding behind it, when you both knew about the kiss at nine. Only you seemed to have forgotten—but she hadn’t.

Often times dealing with the young lord was bone-scraping work. Hard, exhausting, as if you were plucking weeds from the crops instead of following him like a shadow.

Somehow at some point, you had migrated from being just a maid to being only his personal maid, aiding him with everything. Truly puzzling, yet somehow endearing—because maybe you were too prideful and cocky, but you liked to imagine your own little Bennett growing into such a fine young man as Master Nicholas (only appearance-wise). He was lean, tall with a fair face and soft brown curls that were reminiscent of your own child’s wild locks (even if it was the one feature his father had passed down, you still found it endearing).

But truth be told, maybe that's why you were so inclined to serve Master Nicholas with more softness than you usually would—not just out of fear and respect of the wealthy, not because the thought of losing this job would send you spiraling into a meltdown.

“Maid” his voice was startling, as usual. Maybe it was because it did not match his youthful face or maybe he would bark at you like a dog to command you around.

“Yes, Master Nicholas.” you addressed him, staying put on your spot next to the window overlooking the estate—the snow had melted by now. You wondered if Aunt Jane would allow him to play in the snow before it completely faded. Bennett would surely be upset if he had to wait a whole year to feel the ‘potato milk’ he had called it as a two-year old. The term still made you crack a smile even now.

“What are you looking at?” he startled you again; you hadn't notice him getting up to his feet and dragging himself closer to you—steps heavy against the creaking floorboard of his study. “You seem so—” he continued only to quiet down and come to stand an arm length away from you.

You glanced at him, waiting patiently for him to finish—even when all you craved to do was think about your little baby. But even as you gave him all the time he needed, the end of his sentence never came, instead he huffed and leaned against the wall joining you in on your habit of looking out the window with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

His eyes darted over the landscape—noticing the returning of the splendor of birds in the garden.

“Ugly birds.” he spat, “they're thieves.” he was glaring down at the magpie’s dancing around in the garden, flying from branch to branch and picking at the grass.

Your eyes flicked to him, then they averted back down. “At least they're free.” your muttered and your finger instinctively touched your ring finger—it was a simple band of metal, something cheap but something so binding it felt suffocating, as if you dared to pull it off of your finger you would be cursed, even if you hated the burden marriage laid on your shoulders.

“Free?” he looked over at you—really looked at you, scanning you from head to toe, then scoffed. “So you aren't free, maid?” he still hadn't bothered to learn your name, perhaps never would, but his eyes belied real softness underneath his constructed politeness.

“I thought father was more lenient with you servants.” he furrowed his brows, green eyes a shade darker—growing upset at the lord.

“No, Master Nicholas!” you quickly cut in, not wanting to cause dispute between father and son, startled that he was even able to make our your senseless mumbling.

“His lordship is a fair in his handling with us servants. You needn’t to worry.” you claimed surprising even yourself—but to some extent it was true. You never thought you would side with a noble, but here you were defending the lord’s honour; because truth be told he geninuely didn’t seem like a bad man, but he seemed like a strange man.

“Are you certain?” he blurted, insisting oddly enough. How atypical of him when he was usually apathic to everything not concerning him.

“Yes, Master Nicholas.” you nodded, a strained smile on your face, when you only could smile at Bennett earnestly with a clear conscious—and without betraying god. Still some things had to be done. It gets the job done. You could recall your grandmother saying each time before she whipped out the same old rag to clean the floors, that was barely on; only throughdreams and prayers alone. So yes, it wasn’t truthful, but it got the job done.

So stillness took over you both again and you truly believed he wouldn’t initate a conversation with you again.

“Call me Nicholas.” it seems you were wrong.

“Master Nicholas I can't—” your eyes had grown wide.

“Call me by my name.” he demanded again, his narrowed.

You swallowed thickly. This was definitely crossing some sort of boundaries—nobility and commoner's shouldn't mix, shouldn't be too familiar you both knew that, yet he still asked of you the impossible, insisting even. But seeing his softened gaze—the longing and craving for affection, the same way Bennett would look at you whenever you had to part from him—begging you to stay with him, you couldn’t let a word of protest slip from your tight throat. Your heart felt scorching hot in your chest and your tongue heavy as lead. God, please don’t let me lose this job.

“Nicholas.” you let his name slip—it felt odd, it was bare without the title.

He didn't say anything anymore after. And you would've assumed it was because of indifference if it wasn't for the cocky smile that spread across his lips.

Oh, if you just had known that he didn't just feel satisfied at the little trick that he played on you—that actually his heart beat a drum faster when you called him that. That he felt little shocks of electricity zap at his skin and run down his spine.

You just had confirmed it,

—that you were like her, his deceased mother, but so much better. You were like the mother he had always wanted, the one that was quiet, loving and nurturing, who was there for him, showed emotion, behaved like a human rather than someone with a stick up their ass. You may have smelled like her, like the open fields and woods she so loved more than anything else, including him, but you weren’t her and for that he was forever grateful, because—

you were beneath him.

You would have to do whatever he wanted. Whether it was accompanying him, bringing him dinner, calming him down from one of his meltdowns or sleeping together with him in his bed like he always wanted his mother to do.

He could keep you here with him.

For him you were just another dog on a leash anyways.

A week had passed by now, and you had grown accustomed to calling him by his first name, albeit only in private, for obvious reasons that is.

Only it seemed that his father still caught wind of it, because why else would the lord of the house specifically request you into his study, a frown on his face, his scrutinizing dark brown gaze travelling over your form.

“So,” he cleared his throat and you were screaming internally—you couldn't lose this position, you needed it, desperately so, your child need it. You couldn't start from zero again, being a servant for a noble paid better than most other jobs and even provided you with the meals and the housing—the Baron couldn’t just throw you out because of the request his child had made! At least you hoped he wouldn’t.

“—I heard my son favours you.” he blurted out, his words felt like a good lashing with a belt that made you want to recoil.

“I wouldn't know, your lordship.” you were quick to answer, hot in the face, blunt nails digging into your palms, hoping, praying, pleading with God that he wouldn't throw you out. That he was as nice as you thought he was; that he would continue to prove you wrong about the secret evil of the wealthy.

He paused, looked at you and the longer the silence between you stretched on the more you felt stifled by the threat looming over you like a shadow you couldn't shake off.

You couldn’t stand it anymore, so you spoke up.

“Please I—”

“Your presence is doing him good.” his voice cut yours down and you lowered your head, heart beating against your ribcage rapidly, he was going to— Wait.

What?

“Your lordship? Pardon?” you blinked. It seems that the years spend on this earth hadn’t made you much wiser because you were baffled by his comment.

He sighed, ascending from his seat to step in front of his desk. Clad in his usual sade suit crossed his arms over his chest and let his eyes were stray from your figure.

“I want you to continue as you are. You know, his mother passed away when he was young and it has,” he paused, “affected him since.” he finished putting emphasis on the last words while leaving out that affected meant Nicholas’ emotions being all over the place; so much so that one moment he could be calm and the next he would trash his entire study. But you didn't blame the lord for not elaborating, admitting such a thing was probably ashaming.

“I understand, your lordship.” you replied, heart heavy now for another reason as the fear faded—every child deserved a mother. Your own hadn't been the one for you, emotionally neglecting you, yet your grandmother had. So you sympathised with him; perhaps nannies had tried to fill the void, but they never quiet could've, not like a mother could at least. Maybe that’s why a part of you had been searching for something more—maybe that’s why a piece of you had been missing until Bennett was born.

“I will be there for him.” you replied. No matter how insufferable you had assumed the upper class to be— and truth be told they were — there were still human, as you, nothing but your worth differentiated you from them. They were just born better; richer, with more possibilities at hand, but Nicholas' life of hardship proved to you that even born with a golden spoon in one’s mouth, one’s soul could harbour hunger.

And somehow this made you feel closer to him. Initially you had feared him because he had reminded you of your dreaded husband you had fled from, but slowly you realized that he was like you in a sense; of your childhood self. His gaze would often mimic Bennett’s disappointment everytime you had to leave. In a way, you felt relieved at the lord’s encouragment, seen and acknowledged but to also supported to offer a fraction of your love to Nicholas too.

A smile stretched across your lips—not a fake one this time.

“That’s—”he exhaled, slumping sideways ever so slighty, with gentle curls slicked back, “that’s good to hear, (Y/n).”

You let your smile widen and eyes soften. His visible relief felt rewarding and his words bordering on praise were flustering. Everything about the lord was stern but gentle, a walking contradiction some might say, but somehow it just made sense for him to be this way—a baron, a lord to his people and servants reigning over his land with a firm hand yet a loving father, tender in the way he would speak about his heir’s battered soul. He would’ve been a man grandmother would’ve liked.

As the words died down on the both of your tongues, you awaited him to dimiss you. However he didn’t, in fact he didn’t even move—still as a statue. So you took it upon yourself to inquire whether you should leave him alone in the privacy of his study.

“If that was all, shall I take my leave now, your—”

“Do you—”he paused, “do you wear perfume?”

Your brows scrunched up.

Oh God no, not again. Did you perhaps stink again like that night. Hopefully not, because if you did, you would start to scrub every layer of your attire—from chemise to the outer layer of your skirt.

“No, your lordship.” you answered thickly. God, you hoped you didn’t smell of sweat.

“I see.” he answered ambigously, not comfirming nor denying your worries. Besides, he should know that you as a servant could hardly afford such a luxury—so was he actually mocking you, telling you to wear perfume? You hoped that it was just an odd fixation that all nobles beheld and not the latter.

“You’re dismissed.” he finally exclaimed and you felt relief. Quietly you stood up, nodding politely, before turning on your heel and exiting his study.

Oh, only if you knew how enticing you actually smelled to him. Like Juliane, but with something motherly and tenderly sticking to you, a better version of his deceased wife. A commoner, so ignorant to the life of nobility, that wasn’t even aware of how her features tugged into different directions every second, so unsued to using titles that he could tell you sometimes were about to slip-up and not address him properly.

You were remisicent of his first love; love that was fiery and strong, but you were like the spring, a budding rose with dull thorns. He felt the aching pang of love in his chest whenever your startled gaze met his and that scared Charles. To think his heart would start beating again after a decade—and that for nothing but a maid. He knew he had to be sensible, love was fictious in the life of the upper class and to experience such a gift for the second time was laughable.

But if that love was you — someone so sweet, even his own son started to soften around the edges— then maybe he could induldge himself a tad; enjoy life a little with you by his side.

Yeah, Charles would like to enjoy this life together with you, after forced to experience this perputel loneliness for nearly a decade. Maybe you two could even gift Nicholas a little sibling in the future, only after having slipped a ring of your finger that is.

Yeah, he would like to indluge. After all, one was only born once, right?

Life was sweeter now—not as sweet as the cherries you would pick in secret from the neighbour’s tree at seven or the first taste of sugar you ever had at twelve, but it was worthwhile.

Especially with your little toddler sticking to you like glue; Aunt Jane had brought him here to visit you, after having whined the entire last week because of you failing to visit him again. So your clever little boy had suggested that he just visited you.

“Mommy, you live here?” you chuckled softly at the awe in his voice.

“I work here, Ben’.” you replied, smiling at the familiar face of the guard, nodding at you.

“So that's the little lad.” the man you had learned was Jonathan and surprisingly younger than you by a few years—which his broad shoulders and gruff voice would never hint at.

You nodded looking down at your child as he babbled a greeting to the guard. Now you were standing a tad straighter, eyes softening as your grandmother’s always used to and as your mother’s never had for you.

You were transfixed with your own little one; standing there next to you, finally close to you with a heart you knew hadn’t felt agony the same way yours had. So your mind wandered off and you questioned if he ever would experience what you had, but you knew he wouldn’t, because you simply wouldn’t allow fate to be this cruel to him as it had been to you. God was still listening to your prayers afterall. And suddenly you couldn't help but imagine Bennett grown up, flourished into a strong man as Jonathan with broad shoulders and biceps that could make anyone shudder in fear or perhaps like the lord himself, with a clipped tone yet a soft gaze and presence that was overwhelming.

“Good day to you too lad.” he nodded at your little extension, watching how proud you were of him—and he had to admit he liked it. The smile on your face was sweeter than the scent of flowers hanging in the air and your little buddy was shyly adorable. He offered you another one of his own smiles that inevitably ended up looking grim, while you both passed by him to disappear into the manor and leave him to sigh to himself again.

“Mommy—Mommy look that looks like a person!” was the first thing that left Bennett’s mouth, brown curls bouncing up and down with his jumps, big-eyed fascination clear across his face as he stared at the oil painting of the lord and his son hung up on the staircase. Even though you were feeling bleak from all the unfortunate circumstances, your soul ripping apart that you had been forced to neglect your son for so long— you couldn’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm feeling warmth spread in you from the fact that your baby was with you in the moment.

“Shh, quieter Ben’.” you scolded him as you grabbed his tiny fist, leading him towards the kitchen, worried someone might take notice. You didn’t want to get yourself into trouble—and because you knew how strict the head maid could be, you lead your little boy into the kitchen.

However the moment you entered you wished you hadn’t because for the love of god, what was she again doing here, just loitering around; doing absolutely the bare minimum.

“If that isn’t my most favourite person ever!” she immediately chirped, as she usually did, stopping chewing on the piece of pastry in her hands to round the courner of the counter, adamant on annoying you on her short lunchbreak as always with the fattest grin anyone could have on their face—only to gasp.

“What—” her eyes widened, almost dropping her meal.

“What, what is that?” she pointed at your child as if he was a weirdly coloured bug that had slipped in. Unbelievably crude and rude.

“That's my son, Maria.”

“Your son? That's Ben you can't shut up about?” she grimaced and you felt your eye twitch, because you had mentioned him once in her presence.

“Bennett for you.” you were tempted to roll your eyes, picking your son up to sit him down on one of the many empty fruit boxes, perfect to be used as a chair. Maria just stared at you funnily.

“Do you want something Ben’? Mommy can make you anything you want.” you smiled at him, and somehow, in some way this just felt right. And for a moment you fantasised that this nice kitchen was yours—that this home was only yours and Bennett's. That you were free.

And then Maria’s obnoxiously loud stomping snapped you out of it again and you threw her a dirty look as she left the kitchen to do god-knows-what.

Only unbeknownst to you, not only the black-haired little snake and a few other maids, which were either adoring or annoyed caught you, but also the lord's heir—the one searching for you almost frantically, because you had not come when you usually would.

Where were you?

He was hurrying down the stars, frenzied, desperately searching for you—you were practically promised to him now; promised to stay by his side day-in-day out. You were just a servant for fuck’s sake—you didn't and shouldn't have autonomy to just anything. Could a dog walk without its owner? No. So where the fuck where you—

That's when he caught sight of you in the kitchen, with a little demon by your side, making you smile and yap so sweetly that it could rot teeth.

Straining his memory to figure out what that leech was that made you beam in a way that you never had at him before in the entire year you had been working here—his anger only heightened the moment he finally remembered.

”Oh, my little Ben absolutely loves..”

That's your kid.

Your child; this little ant.

How dare he, an insufferable brat, who probably still shits himself from time to time, dare consume your attention so entirely that you would neglect your duties and dote on something so tiny and powerless compared to him.

Why was it him, this fool, this insufferable little devil that took you—why couldn’t your eyes soften as much as when they laid on him. It was unfair, criminal. He was the heir to the entire land his father had inherited from his grandpa and to think with all the influence he held you would still go and pick a toddler over him was maddening. To think that you another insect scurrying around together with all the others could dare to be picky.

No, he was lying. You weren’t just another insect, you were his mom-to-be.

“Mother.” he spat under his breath, knuckles white from how tightly he clutched the pearls of his actual deceased mother's in his hand—he had specifically fished them out of her jewellery box that sat abandoned in one of the many rooms of the manor to gift you them but now here he was watching you betraying him.

“I have lost a mother once.” he was slowly ripping the poor necklace apart—the band holding on for dear life.

“I won’t lose one twice.” the pearls all spilled to the ground like blood.

So he laid a curse on you; one so cruel that you wouldn't have any other choice but to accept your rightful position as his dog.

Just you wait and see.

---♡---

Life sometimes developed in strange ways, did it not? Because you never would've imagined to sit with Jonathan under a cherry blossom tree.

The summer was fading and cold, cruel days were arriving, but somehow everything felt much better this way. It felt right. This fragile understanding of affection—you were glad the colder days would put some distance between the two of you, force you to part, because after the young man had confessed to you, you couldn't help but feel the flattery get to your head—allowing yourself to wish and long for something unattainable.

“I—” awkwardly clearing his throat he looked over at you, “I want you, m’lady.” scratching the back of his neck, he looked down.

“I am big and strong. My position is stable--my salary isn't half bad. I am quite a catch.” he declared cockily, with his chest puffed out proudly, trying to feign arrogance, when you knew he was nothing but a puppy in love.

You couldn't help but chuckle, “Jonathan, you're sweet, but--” you protested half-heartedly, more amused than anything. Mostly because you both knew you were officially still married.

“No—no, lady! I am serious, as I am about my feelings for ya.” you found his drawl endearing and found your fave heating up the moment he leaned closer, the lines on his forehead deepening.

“Stop laughing m’lady!” you couldn't help but laugh—it was comical how he kept on addressing you as if you were noble yourself, as if you were above him.

“Just tell me what to do, so you'll believe me.” you didn't say anything anymore, instead you just smiled bashfully as he kissed your knuckles before fleeing inside again.

But, it seems luck despised you because father like son, Charles was glaring down at the scene from his study, feeling his heart rip at the sight of another man vying for your hand, while another already had bound you in marriage.

It wasn't fair, why was everyone getting a piece of you, why were you giving everyone something to cherish but you let him starve?

He so desperately wanted you, he craved you, but unlike his son, he would never take anything forcibly, especially not you a delicate rose with blunt thorns. Rather he would wait for all the flies around you to die by themselves so that your soul could find its way back to his, where it rightfully belonged to.

---♡---

No.

You refused this reality.

This couldn't be happening.

Crying nor screaming changed what had occured; you had murdered your child with your own two hands. All because you couldn’t take him with you, make him stay close to you.

Still you had tried to lie to yourself. To believe and to fantasize that your baby somehow could be well without you. You had hoped that your husband—as horrid as he was—at least would never reach him; never get too close to your treasured pearl, but he did. He managed to tear everything down and he took Bennett with him; he dragged him back into the lion’s den only to let his own son rot like a beggar out on the streets.

You had hoped. You had prayed daily, trusting god. But trust alone just wasn’t enough.

It never was.

He had died because of you—because you were stupid, foolish and worse than your own mother. Your grandmother would’ve died a second time if she had witnessed you now—a vile excuse for a human; picking up the cold corpse of her child, of a toddler with chubby cheeks that now were icy to the touch.

Tears brimmed at your eyes and you wondered if they would wet your cheeks first or your heart would shatter first—frail like glass. Memories flushed back into your head. Willow had died in your hands too—sick and frail as a baby, but Bennett, he had been a lively child, sticking to you like glue no matter how lithe he was. He was alive—had been alive for god’s sake! And now—now his chest didn’t rise anymore.

He was gone.

And it was your fault.

Until you sighted the man who had driven you away from your babies—who had inevitably caused their deaths.

So who could blame you now? An eye for an eye—wasn’t this what priests preached; wasn’t this god’s holy words? So as any good mother would do, following nothing but instinct, you followed the path of the holy to succumb to sin.

You tackled him—it was easier than you thought it would be. He was still weary; having just awoken from a drunken slumber, peacefully snoring away while your baby had lost the battle to a fever, that would’ve needed care and attention to heal; but it could have subsided, he could have lived. The only reason he was dead was this monster under you, now starting to struggle—roaring at you to get off. But the knife was already secure in your hand.

You had found it in the kitchen; it was a big butcher’s knife, one that your mother’s mother and her mother had owned to slice through a chicken’s neck like butter.

“Hey—what are you doing? Get off me you madwoman!” he yelped and cried, nearly managing to throw you off and tumble forward before you could swing. Nearly.

But as you had been too late, he also was, and the blade sliced through his neck without any resistance, tearing almost through everything.

He was dead before he could blink.

Still, you dropped the blade on his throat a few times more—just for good measures really—until his head rolled off; empty as it was, spilling all it was worth on the ground.

For a moment all you did was pant and stare, now he was just a shell spilling crimson in gallons, his blood your tears.

You stared until you couldn't anymore, until bile rised in your throat and you scrambled to your feet gagging.

Stumbling over him, skirt drenched in red and the floor slippery you crashed back to your knees, clawing your way back to your child like a mole, trying to navigate through the blurring of your sight. Yet the moment you felt his cold hand you cradled him, clutching him like a lifeline—like if you pressed him close enough to your own heart, his would start beating too like a match sharing its flame with another.

Even if all you wanted was to embrace and mourn your little boy, there was something inside of you—a certain fire, a nagging in the back of your head that screamed at you to get up, to get moving, that not all hope was lost yet.

And so you were quick to scramble to your feet, disoriented like a lamb but staggering forward and out the door. The wind whipped at you—untangled your scarf from you. It was winter, the north wind bitter cold, yet he couldn’t affect you, nothing could and the snow that had risen to your ankles inevitably bloomed in red with each of your steps as you continued to push through, to drag your feet forward, agains the bellowing howls of the wind. Your hands were red too, everything was, but what made you cry out was the filthy colour staining your baby. How dare he. To dirty him even in death, monster.

You were going to safe your son from the paw’s of his father that extended even death, you would bring him to safety and that safety was the manor—the only place where you once had felt warmth blossom in your chest that had beheld a functioning heart.

The walk was long, it took an hour. A whole hour out in the cold, ice nipping at your skin, and snowflakes decorating your hair—but all that didn't matter, it couldn't matter if it meant a way to save him. The lord was a powerful man, he could summon a doctor knowledgeable enough to save Bennett—you were sure of it. He would save your baby.

Yet, by the time you arrived, having left terrified figures behind you, the guard at the gait immediately jumped forward.

“Fuck (Y/n)!” Jonathan spat in surprise, eyes round in terror.

“What happened to you? Are you hurt? Did someone attack you? What is it him?—” and he would've demanded more, already reaching out to touch your shoulder, if he hadn't seen little Bennett in your arms—pale as snow and frozen on the spot. Something was deeply disturbing about the picture of the little boy in your bloodied arms and the longer he stared the more his hand trembled.

“He—” he started but cut himself off with a look at your face. He was worried, terrified for you.

While he could do nothing but stare in shock —like all the villagers you met on your way had looked at you—you slipped into the garden, striding forward to the manor, only hearing panicking behind you accompanied with heavy stomping after you slipped through the front door; already inside. And nothing could stop you from bringing your son back to life.

Fear was a stranger now.

So you climbed up the stairs and burst into the baron’s study unprompted, with no use of the usual manners you portrayed.

“Please—” you were quiet, so quiet you feared he wouldn’t take notice of you.

But it wasn’t just the lord, Nicholas was also standing there consumed in a lively discussion until you entered and both of their heads whipped towards you, eyes immediately widening.

“He’s stopped breathing. I don't know why—he was just laying on the floor without moving. I have tried everything, but he just doesn’t want to wake up, please, I don’t know what to do anymore and—” you were a broken machine, only able to repeat yourself over and over again, in hopes they could read between the lines of your anguish; that they could decipher your pleading for a doctor, even if you were just a maid. And even if your life was worth nothing compared to them, Bennett’s life was something worth to you and you hoped that they could see that. That even if your child was a commoner as you, he was worth the world.

“What happened?” the lord was the first one to speak up. He stepped close enough to look at the boy in your arms.

“Why are you drenched in blood? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? You look pale as a ghost. Where are you bleeding—” Nicholas questions rained down on you, yet you could do nothing but stare into his father's eyes, ignoring his fuzzing.

Slowly, the lord outstretched his arms.

“Come. I will help. Give him to me.” he urged, shutting Nicholas up.

You didn’t want to. This was Bennett, your little boy, a seed that had sprung from you and had grown under your wing and to hand him over to someone else, while the same blood pumped through our veins seemed odd; cruel even. But this was the lord, wasn’t he—he was kind, understanding and your only flimmer of hope. Only he could save your baby, your Ben.

So you let him take the one thing of value in your life; your child.

And that's when your world’s edges blurred and foreign arms wrapped around you.

“Mother—” yor sweet baby was talking to you. At least you heard his voice one last time.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe now mother.”

Only you didn't pass.

But your soul had.

“Bennett?” you were calling out for him until your throat was raw, but he never came.

“Mother, calm, I am here. It's alright mother. Your son is here.” Nicholas muttered again, chanting the string of words like a mantra, as if they would ring true when reached a certain number of repetition, as if you would magically start believing in them after a certain time.

“We’re here for you, love.” the lord muttered, calling himself Charles, telling you it was fine to mourn to cry and rage, but that you had a new family now. And that this new one would ensure your utmost happiness till the end of time. Everything was so bizarrely confusing—and all you wanted to do was scream.

Maria was ominously around you too; always in the shadows, serving you, whispering to you when she would hand you a glass of water and wipe your sweat-covered face, trying to awaken from yet another nightmare.

Yet no one mentioned Bennett. No one even spoke his name; it was like a taboo, almost like his mention would curse you all.

You prayed harder and stronger, yet no one ever heard you, or seemed to care. Nicholas grip never loosened on you, he never stopped calling you mom and the baron not once failed to call his beloved—and both expected you to wear it like a badge of honour when all you wanted was to reunited with your child.

Finally you concluded that God had abandoned you long ago.

Just this time, please, don’t let me be reborn again.

[antonsbf]

The Scandal- jake x male reader

chapter 001

summary: Jake is caught in a scandal, and the group’s manager suggests a fake relationship with a mysterious boy to fix it

(previous chapter) (next chapter)

The room felt like time was moving in slow motion for Jake.

His eyes stayed locked on the boy in front of him, his mind racing. Who is this? Why him? And why does the company think he’s the solution to this mess?

The manager finally spoke, his voice cutting through the thick tension.

“This is Y/N. From this moment on, he will be Jake’s boyfriend.”

“What?” Jake blurted out. He barely had time to react before Jungwon leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Wait, hold on who is this guy? Why him?”

Y/N remained still, his expression unreadable behind the mask. He didn’t flinch under their stares, standing with quiet confidence as if the situation didn’t faze him at all.

The manager sighed, already expecting their resistance. “We chose him because he’s the best fit for the role. He’s someone the company and I trust.”

Jake scoffed, crossing his arms. “That doesn’t really answer the question.” His voice was sharp, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. “I don’t even know him.”

Y/N finally spoke, his voice calm and collected. “You don’t need to.”

That response only irritated Jake more. “So, what? You just show up and pretend to be my boyfriend like it’s no big deal?”

“Pretty much.” Y/N said, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he watched Jake struggle between confusion and frustration.

Jay sighed and cut in. “Alright, Jake, enough. You don’t get to be picky about this. Everyone here is dealing with this because you got caught in a scandal. So please, let the manager speak and stop being so hardheaded.”

Jake opened his mouth to argue, but the manager spoke before he could.

“Okay! Now, on to the terms of this ‘relationship,’” he said, making air quotes. “Y/N and Jake will be seen together publicly, they’ll interact on social media to sell the relationship, and we will stage moments of romance.”

His gaze swept across the room. “Are these conditions clear?” His voice was firm.

“Yes, sir,” Y/N responded without hesitation.

Jake clenched his jaw. “I hate the idea of lying to Engene, sir.”

Jungwon spoke up. “Jake is correct, sir. I speak for the team when I say this… the idea of lying to Engene doesn’t feel right.”

The rest of the members nodded, their expressions serious.

The manager let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples. “Alright then,” his voice laced with irritation. “Please, enlighten me. What’s your plan to fix this mess?”

Silence.

Jake clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. He wanted to argue, to say this whole thing was ridiculous, but… what other option was there? The scandal wasn’t going to disappear on its own.

The manager scanned the room, waiting. “That’s what I thought. You don’t have one.” He leaned forward slightly. “We don’t have time to sit around debating what’s right or wrong. This is about control. If we don’t take charge of the situation, it will only get worse.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his frustration mixing with a feeling he didn’t want to acknowledge, helplessness.

Y/N, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke. “It’s just acting.” His voice was calm, almost uninterested. “If you do it right, no one will feel lied to.”

Jake snapped his head toward him, eyes narrowing. “You don’t get it.”

Y/N barely reacted. Instead, he tilted his head slightly. “Don’t I?”

Something about the way he said it so unbothered, almost knowing made Jake’s irritation flare even more. "Who is this guy?" Jake thought.

The manager clapped his hands together, cutting off the moment. “Good. Now that that’s settled, let’s go over the plan.”

okay! hope you enjoy the first "actual" chapter, i know is not so long, so i'm sorryyy! but please give me it a heart, if you want chapter two to be longer!!!! and share your thoughts in the comments!!! i love feedback or theories. - eli

[thollandsgirl2013]

Could you do one where the reader is generally really shy and anxious but around tom or peter, she's herself openly

Hope I wrote it correctly, its really short.... Thanks for requesting!

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → fluff, introvert! Reader

Summary → Peter's your safe place.

(gif not mine)

The cafeteria was loud—louder than usual. The buzz of overlapping conversations, the clatter of trays, and the occasional burst of laughter made your head spin. You hated crowds. The sheer amount of people, the noise, the pressure to navigate social situations—it was exhausting. You kept your head down, gripping your lunch tray tightly, your heart hammering in your chest. You wished you could disappear.

But then you spotted him.

Peter Parker, sitting at your usual table near the window, already looking at you. The moment your eyes met, he smiled—warm, familiar, safe. The tightness in your chest eased. Your feet moved on their own, weaving through the chaos, straight to him.

"Hey, Y/n/n! There’s my favorite person," Peter greeted, scooting over to make room for you.

You sat down with a soft sigh, placing your tray in front of you. "You always say that," you murmured, but there was no real complaint in your voice.

"Because it’s always true," he shot back, grinning. "Rough morning?"

You poked at your food, hesitating for only a second before sighing. "Mrs. Thompson made me answer a question in front of the whole class."

Peter winced. "Yikes. Did she at least pick something easy?"

You shook your head. "Nope. It was about the Industrial Revolution, and my brain just... shut down. Everyone was staring, and I could feel my face burning. I swear I forgot how to speak English for a second."

Peter laughed softly, nudging your shoulder. "I bet you did fine."

"You weren’t there. It was a disaster."

"You know what’s a disaster? Me trying to cook," Peter said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Last night, I thought I could make grilled cheese, and somehow, I set off the smoke alarm. May banned me from using the stove for a week."

You snorted, unable to help the small laugh that escaped you. "You set bread on fire?"

"Apparently, I have a talent for it," he said, looking proud of himself.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, shaking your head, but you were smiling. Around Peter, it was easy. The anxiety that normally weighed you down seemed lighter. You could talk freely, ramble without overthinking every word.

Peter rested his chin on his hand, watching you with an affectionate smile. "You know, I love hearing you talk."

Your face heated instantly. "Why?"

"Because you’re quiet around everyone else, but with me, you’re yourself." His voice was soft, genuine. "I like that."

You stared at him, feeling a lump form in your throat. He always did this—said things so effortlessly that made your heart squeeze. "I—um." You cleared your throat, focusing on your tray. "It’s just… You never judge, so, I feel safe with you."

Peter’s smile widened. "Good. Because I’d fight off all the scary teachers and public speaking assignments for you if I could."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest remained.

Safe. That’s what Peter Parker was to you. Safe.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the best feeling in the world.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[gracie-eilish]

Could you please do something where reader is like super introverted but comfortable around billie (cuz they're dating 😛) and one day reader is just yapping so much like ranting, but then she realizes she's talking a lot and gets embarrassed and starts to apologize a bunch but billie finds it absolutely adorable when she gets passionate about things since its not too often she does it?

an: thanks for the requestttt babyyyyy:) i hope i like itttt🧡🧡🧡

Heart Eyes😍

It wasn’t often that you talked this much.

Billie knew that.

She knew you were quiet, introverted—the kind of person who preferred listening over speaking, who felt more at home in the background rather than the spotlight. She never minded. If anything, she loved it, loved the way you opened up just enough for her, how you never felt the need to fill the silence when you were together.

But sometimes… sometimes when you two were alone, you got carried away.

Like right now.

You weren’t even sure what had started it. One moment, you and Billie were curled up on the couch, her fingers lazily tracing patterns against your thigh, the two of you basking in that warm, easy silence you always fell into. And then—you started talking.

It was something small at first. Maybe a comment about a show you had been watching, something that had been bothering you about a certain character.

“I just don’t get it,” you huffed, shifting against the cushions as Billie let out a small hum of acknowledgment. “Like—why would they build up this whole storyline just to throw it away? Do they not understand how character arcs work?”

Billie smirked, eyes flicking up from where her head rested against your shoulder. “Oh no,” she teased. “Here we go.”

You shot her a playful glare, but that only encouraged her grin.

“I’m serious, Billie!” You sat up a little straighter, suddenly feeling the need to gesture as you spoke. “They spent three seasons setting this up! And then what? They just—throw it away like it’s nothing?” You scoffed, hands flying in frustration. “What was even the point? It’s lazy writing, that’s what it is. They had so much potential, and they ruined it!”

Billie watched you with an amused glint in her eyes, her lips twitching like she was holding back a smile.

“I mean, tell me I’m wrong,” you pressed, turning to her expectantly. “You know it was bad. Like, objectively bad.”

Billie finally let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, babe, I’m not about to argue with you. You’re on a roll right now.”

That only fueled you more.

“Exactly! And it’s not even just this show—writers always do this! It’s like they don’t trust the audience to appreciate a slow-burn arc anymore.” You sighed dramatically, running a hand through your hair. “Like, God forbid they actually develop their characters instead of just rushing to wrap things up in the most unsatisfying way possible.”

Billie let out another hum, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your knee. “Mm, sounds like someone should just write their own show.”

You paused, considering. “Honestly? I could do a better job than half these people.”

Billie snorted. “No doubt.”

“I’m serious!” You shifted to face her more fully, your expression animated. “If I ever wrote a show, I’d actually respect my characters. I wouldn’t just throw out their development for shock value.”

Billie’s grin widened. “Oh, I believe you, baby.”

You went on, too caught up in your thoughts to notice the way she was looking at you.

“And another thing,” you continued, “it’s like they don’t even watch their own show. How do you write for characters you clearly don’t understand? How do you spend years creating something just to betray the entire foundation of what made it good?”

Billie bit her lip, watching as your hands gestured wildly, your eyes practically glowing with passion.

You barely stopped to breathe, completely wrapped up in your rant. “And don’t even get me started on how they completely sidelined the best character. Like, hello? They deserved way more screentime—”

Then, suddenly, mid-sentence—

You froze.

Your face went hot, your stomach flipping as you realized just how much you had been saying.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your hands immediately retreating to your lap. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You turned to Billie, half-expecting her to look overwhelmed, or maybe even a little annoyed.

Instead—

She was staring at you.

Like, full-on staring.

Her blue eyes were impossibly soft, lips slightly parted, and if you weren’t mistaken—her cheeks were a little pink.

She looked completely entranced.

“Billie?” You blinked, suddenly very aware of how quiet the room had gotten. You shifted under her gaze, ducking your head as embarrassment settled in your chest. “I was totally rambling, I—I didn’t even let you say anything. I’ll stop now.”

But then Billie melted.

Like, literally melted.

She let out the softest little sigh, her entire body going warm against you as she reached forward, cupping your face with both hands. Her thumbs brushed over your cheeks, her expression so stupidly in love that you felt even more flustered.

“Are you kidding?” she whispered, her voice dipping into something soft, something almost dazed.

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “W-What?”

Billie’s smile was slow, her lips curling at the edges like she couldn’t contain it.

“That was adorable.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted, but before you could even think of what to say, she was already leaning in, pressing the softest, most lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” she murmured, her nose brushing against your skin as she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You never talk that much, and I swear I have actual heart eyes watching you right now.”

You made a noise in protest, your face burning. “Billie—”

“No, seriously,” she insisted, grinning now, her fingers sliding down to gently cradle your jaw. “You were so passionate, I could feel how much you cared, and—ugh, you’re just so cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Stop.”

Billie giggled—an actual, breathless little giggle.

She pried your hands away from your face with ease, tugging them into her lap before lacing your fingers together.

“Why are you embarrassed?” she teased, tilting her head. “I loved it. Love when you talk like that.”

You chewed on your lip, still trying to process the ridiculous amount of fondness in her eyes. “…You do?”

Billie sighed dramatically, squeezing your hands. “Baby. I love everything about you.”

You exhaled slowly, the warmth in your chest growing until it was almost unbearable.

Billie beamed, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Now—go on.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned. “Keep talking. I wanna hear more.”

Your heart stuttered.

You hesitated, but the way she was looking at you—the way she was practically soaking up your every word—it made the nerves melt away just enough.

So you did.

You kept talking.

And Billie listened.

She held onto your every word like it mattered, like you mattered.

And maybe, just maybe—

You’d let yourself get carried away more often.